CHAPTER 7
IRIS
I’m a firm believer in words of affirmation.
Say what you want to the universe and it will hand it over eventually.
Mother Nature is a feminist, and men love to downplay her after she kept their species alive for this long.
Which is why, once in a while, I unwind properly.
Listening to meditation podcasts with candles around me is one of the few ways I reset after spending a whole week in a male-dominated environment.
I don’t know—men just drain you. When they get too close, it’s like they suck the joy right out of you.
Like vampires. Thank you, Olivia Rodrigo, for naming the enemy.
It’s like the second they enter a room, the air quality drops and my soul starts leaking battery.
I inhale deeply as the podcast host linda kagrill starts chanting. I sit cross-legged on the floor, eyes closed, hands on my knees.
“Release the burden of male expectations, you are powerful,” the woman on the podcast says in her calm and soothing voice. “Men are emotionally draining. Say it with me: I am superior to men. Men are wicked. Men are stupid.”
I breathe in and breathe out, starting to relax. The candles around me gives my room a soft glow, allowing for my mood to be sated. I get into the mood chanting and venting as a close my eyes. But we can't all have what we want, can we? A knock at my door, pulls me out of my calm phase.
I keep my eyes closed, trying to ignore it. “Ignore it,” I whisper to myself. “Just like the Jehovah’s Witnesses.”
Knock knock. Knock knock knock.
I exhale sharply, push myself up, and walk to the door. “Who is it?” I asked from beside the door not opening it yet. I wouldn’t have to do this if my land lord installed peep hole doors instead of this cheep shit.
A deep voice I know too well answers, “Open the door.”
I groan. “Are you holding a gun?”
“Yes.”
“Are you going to shoot me?”
“No.”
“Then who are you planning to shoot?” A long, irritated sigh is heard, before he says, “Open the door. Why are you always like this?”
I unlatch the door and crack it open a few inches.
Ilay stands there in dark jeans and a black button-up, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his tattooed forearms on full display.
He’s holding a bouquet of red roses in one hand and a briefcase in the other.
He tilts his head slightly, listening to the podcast still playing behind me. “…and remember: men drain your energy—”
He raises an eyebrow. “What the hell are you listening to?”
“It’s a meditation podcast.”
“About hating men?”
“Got a problem?.”
He looks past me at the candles. “And what’s with all the candles? Are you a witch?”
“Yes,” I say flatly. “I just finished a summoning ritual to bring you here. Step inside so I can slit your throat on my altar and use your blood for sacrifice.”
He smirks. “I can’t believe I’m falling for a man hating woman who also practices witchcraft. But hey, love doesn’t discriminate.” I open the door wider, eyeing the roses. “Why did you bring those?”
“To brighten your morning.”
“If you wanted to brighten my morning, at least get some yellow flowers or something. Red kind of sours my mood.”
Without hesitation, he turns and tosses the entire bouquet down the hallway. It lands with a soft thud somewhere near the stairs.
I gape at him. “I didn’t say I hated them. Why would you throw them?
“You said they sour your mood,” he interrupts, turning back to me with that infuriating smirk. “And I want to be in your good graces.” He pauses. “May I come in?” I narrow my eyes at the briefcase. “What’s in the bag? A bomb?”
He lets out a gentle chuckle, “Look,” I continue, crossing my arms. “If you’re planning to kill me, at least leave my body intact.”
He bends toward me, closing the space, and I can’t help but retreat, his voice a quiet, intimate brush against my senses.
“I’m not trying to kill you. And there’s no bomb in this bag.
In fact, you’re going to love what’s in this bag.
” He straightens, tilting his head. “So again. May I come in?” I scoff and step aside.
He has to duck his head to get through the doorway. Once inside, he looks around slowly, taking in the cramped space, the peeling paint, the secondhand furniture.
“So this is where you stay,” he says, scanning the room. “It’s like a little rat burrow.”
I glare at him. “Okay. If you’re going to insult my living space, then you should get out. I don’t see the point of you coming here just to trash where I live and what I can afford.”
He turns to face me, his expression unreadable.
“With all the dangerous cases you’ve been taking, you’re not living it up.
I was quite surprised when I heard this is where you lived.
” He glances around again. “Darling, I think it’s time for a career change.
Because this—” He gestures vaguely. “—is not going to motivate anyone to take on a law degree.” I grit my teeth.
“Enough about my living space. What’s in the bag? ”
He opens the briefcase, pulling out a thick file. The words on the front make my heart skip.
*Evidence Against Senator Ivanov.* I lunge for it immediately. He lifts it high above his head, and I’m left jumping like an idiot, my fingers grasping at air.
“Give it to me!” I jump again, my hand brushing his chest.
“Did you wear a bra?” he asks, his voice laced with amusement. I freeze mid-jump, then glare up at him. “You’re a pervert. Why were you staring?”
“Hard not to notice,” he says, still holding the file out of reach. I jump again, gripping his forearm this time. “Give. Me. The. File.”
He catches my wrist gently, stopping me. “You want this file, and I want something in return.”
I cross my arms, breathing hard. “What do you want?”
“A date,” he says simply. “With you. Right now. I blink. “What?”
“When we go on this date, I’ll give you the file. And we can all be happy. I want to make it up to you—I didn’t like what the senator did. And after you put him in jail, I’ll take care of the rest.” He pauses. “All I ask is a date.”
I stare at him. This man is insane. But I need that file.
“Alright,” I say quickly. “I’m going to go take a shower and put on a dress.
You stay here.” I pause, glancing around my tiny studio.
“Actually, you know what? Just stay outside. There’s no place for me to change, and I don’t want you staring at me.
So go outside. Take the briefcase and go outside. ”
He grins. “Come on. I can see you naked now. I mean, I already saw you in a bra. What’s the difference if I see you in the—”
“Get out!”
He laughs, then moves toward the door. “I’ll be waiting, angel.”
I slam the door, lock it, and lean against it for a second, then I rush to the bathroom.
****
Twenty minutes later, I step outside. I’ve showered, thrown on a simple black dress that hits just above the knee, done my hair, added a little makeup. Nothing fancy, but enough to look presentable.
I open the door to see Ilay leaning against the wall, scrolling through his phone. When he looks up, his eyes take me in slowly, from head to toe, then back again.
“You clean up nicely,” he says. I roll my eyes. “Whatever. Let’s get going on that date.”
He pushes off the wall, offering his arm like some old-fashioned gentleman. I ignore it and walk past him toward the stairs. Behind me, I hear him chuckle.