Chapter 25
Roman
After my shower, I throw on the clothes I laid out for today’s travel day and pack up my toiletries.
I do a final check of the bedroom and bathroom and then head into the living room with my luggage, ready to say my final goodbye to Iris.
When I enter the room, however, Iris is sitting on the couch with her phone to her ear and a look of anguish on her face.
“It wasn’t a sex tape, Roberta,” Iris says. “It was a photo of me on a date at an upscale restaurant.”
Shit.
So far, that photo of Iris and me on the internet hasn’t hurt me at all.
In fact, despite Cameron’s initial paranoia about Iris pulling me into her shit tornado, it seems the world has nothing but eye rolls for me at worst and bro-ish admiration at best when it comes to the possibility of me giving Iris what she said she wanted in that video.
Since college, I’ve had a bit of a reputation as a ladies’ man, so this new brick in the wall has only enhanced my image, I’d say, rather than tarnishing it.
But after hearing only a few words of Iris’s phone call, I’ve got a feeling Iris isn’t getting quite the same treatment.
“Please,” Iris pleads, wiping her eyes. “A few vocal parents shouldn’t be allowed to—Yes, I know.
But—” She takes a deep breath. “I’m flying back to Denver tomorrow.
Let’s please meet first thing Monday morning to talk about this face-to-face.
” Iris rubs her forehead while the person on the other end of the call speaks.
After a while, Iris replies, “I understand, Roberta. I couldn’t disagree more, but I understand your logic.
Please, tell anyone who asks about me . .
.” She chokes up. “That I really loved working there and never wanted to leave.”
Oh, fuck.
Iris ends the call and looks at me with tears in her eyes, so I lurch toward her with my arms open and heart splintering. With a pitiful little wail, she springs up from the couch and falls into my waiting arms.
“I’m so sorry,” I coo, stroking her hair.
“Apparently, I’m no longer an ‘appropriate role model’ for the kids.”
“Tell me exactly what she said you did wrong,” I command, outrage and protectiveness flooding me. I’ve got a team of lawyers at my fingertips. I could enlist one to send a threatening letter to the school, at the very least.
Iris sniffles. “She said going viral twice in one week was one time too many, and she can’t protect me from the ‘rising throng’ of disapproval any longer.” Iris hiccups. “She also said I’m too big a distraction—that I might even be putting the children’s safety at risk.”
“What?”
Iris nods. “She said I might attract ‘internet crazies’ to come to the school.”
“That’s bullshit.”
Iris hiccups again. “My worst offense was what I shouted at the end of the video. ‘In a church, of all places, Iris!’ She said that went against the morality clause in my contract in the first place, but it’s especially egregious now that it seems I’m ‘brazenly following through with it’ for the ‘whole world to see’ with a ‘known womanizer.’”
“Motherfucking hell.”
“She said one of the most influential parents at the school, aka one of their biggest donors—it’s a private school—has been demanding to know why they hired a ‘slut’ to teach small children.”
“This is insane. We were having dinner, not fucking on the table.”
“It was the photo combined with the video combined with your reputation that did me in. She said when I chose to have dinner so publicly, with such a high-profile person, mere days after the video going viral, that showed an ‘astonishing lack of judgment’ that also made me look desperate to ‘fan the flames of my internet fame.’” She tries to catch her breath.
“The good news is, they’re giving me a month’s severance, at least.”
“A month?” I shout. “That’s it?” I’m enraged—wishing I could fly straight to that school and threaten to sic a team of overpriced lawyers on their ass if they don’t take Iris back or pay her enough money not to care.
Fucking hell. I’m the one who pushed Iris to get out into the world and ignore all the bullshit on the internet.
I’m the one who told her the video would blow over and not to worry about it.
And now, thanks to me and my goddamned reputation, she’s lost a job she loves along with everything else she’s lost over the past week.
“You know what?” I say. “Forget what we talked about last night, baby. Go pack your bags. You’re coming to LA with me today.”
Iris looks flabbergasted. “I’m not doing that.”
“I know some lawyers there. I’ll set up a meeting.”
“I don’t want a lawyer. I don’t want to fight. I don’t need the stress.”
“You can’t let them do this to you. You love your job, and you did nothing wrong.” When she bows her head, I take her hand. “I’ll have to put you up in a hotel for the first couple weeks, just so Maverick can get to know you before I—”
Iris lifts her head abruptly and pulls her hand away. “I’m not going to LA with you. I’m going to Denver to move all my stuff out of Brandon’s house, as planned, and then I’m going home.”
I shake my head. “I’ll hire someone to get your stuff for you in Denver while you’re hunkering down in LA with me and figuring out—”
“I have no desire to ‘hunker down’ anywhere,” Iris says disdainfully. She crosses her arms over her chest. “All I want to do is get my shit out of Brandon’s house and go home to Orchard Blossom for however long it takes to find a new job.”
I exhale with frustration. Why is she being so fucking stubborn? “Look for a job while you’re in LA. You said you’ve got good friends there, right? Plus, I’ll be there.”
Iris squints. “What’s your endgame here, Roman?”
“I-I want to help you.”
“Why?”
“You lost your job because of me.”
Her mouth twitches. “Let me see if I understand. You’re asking me to follow you to LA like an unemployed puppy—so I can meet with a lawyer for an hour but otherwise sit around in a hotel room and wait for you to deign to give me scraps of your valuable time in between your football and parental obligations—out of guilt? ”
I run a hand through my hair and inhale deeply, trying to remain calm.
“It’s not only out of guilt. It’s also because .
. . Look, the bottom line is I don’t know where things might lead for us.
I admit that. This is horrible timing for me, but I’m willing to bring you to LA and do the best I can under some difficult circumstances. ”
Iris looks at me like I’ve gravely insulted her.
“Like I said last night, I’m not interested in dating anyone right now, not even you.
Especially not you, if I’m being honest. The last thing I want is to draw more attention to myself by being seen in public, once again, with a guy the internet calls Roman ‘Ribbed for Her Pleasure’ Maguire. ”
I let out a little grunt. “I had nothing to do with that stupid nickname. My teammates gave it to me in college as a joke, and it leaked and took off in the media like wildfire. Trust me, I’ve always despised it, every bit as much as you hate being called the ‘Horny Runaway Bride.’”
Iris swallows hard. “The point is you haven’t exactly made me an offer I can’t refuse, Roman. If you think you have, then I’m sorry to inform you: You’re suffering from delusions of grandeur.”
I scoff. “What the fuck, Iris? I’m trying my best here.”
“Don’t. Please. I release you, completely.
” When I glare at her, she throws up her hands and bellows, “People are saying you pity-fucked me! Why would I willingly subject myself to another round of horrendous comments like that, for the mere chance to maybe fuck you again, at some point, in a hotel room in LA? I respect myself too much for that.”
“I didn’t pity-fuck you! Don’t you know you’re like cocaine to me? Does a man pity-snort cocaine?”
Iris pinches the bridge of her nose. “I’m not built for this, Roman! There are people telling me to kill myself because I’m such a disgrace and a whore. They’re calling me a five out of ten! They’re saying you must have lost a bet to even think about railing me.”
My head is spinning. My veins are bulging with rage, adrenaline, and protectiveness. And yes, guilt, too, knowing I’m the unwitting catalyst for Iris’s latest round of abuse.
“You’re a perfect ten, baby,” I say, touching her shoulder. “Fuck anyone who says otherwise. Also, let’s not forget, nobody but you and I know for sure what we’ve done behind closed doors. They’re speculating, yes, but nobody knows the truth.”
Iris swipes at her eyes with a little whimper.
“I’m a girl from a small town—one where everybody was always nice to me.
I work with children who are always nice to me.
My favorite thing to do is ride horses because—you guessed it—they’re nice to me.
Are you picking up on the theme here? I don’t have thick skin, like you do.
I’m not a professional athlete. I’m not a celebrity.
I can’t handle all these people being so mean to me all the time. ”
She bursts into tears, and I pull her to my chest like I did earlier. My God, my heart feels like it’s being physically dragged over rusty nails.
“I’m so sorry, baby,” I murmur.
“I just want to get my stuff in Denver and go home to Orchard Blossom and wait out the storm while surrounded by people who love me. That’s all I want to do.”
“Okay, if you won’t come to LA with me, then at least go straight to Orchard Blossom and skip Denver. I don’t want you risking a run-in with your ex. I’ll hire someone to get your stuff shipped to you.”
Iris leans out of our embrace. “I say this as a teaching moment for you, Roman, but you don’t get a vote about what I do or where I go.
From now on, nobody does, except me.” She wipes her eyes again and gestures toward my waiting suitcase.
“Please, just go. I don’t want you missing your flight on my account. ”
I’m flying private, so they won’t leave without me. But I don’t think now is the best time to mention that fact. “Let me send you money every month, till you find a job,” I say softly. “It’s the least I can do, since it’s my fault you got sacked.”
“It’s not your fault. Nobody could have predicted this would happen. Also, there’s no reason to send me money. I’ll be staying with my father in Orchard Blossom till I find a job, and he won’t charge me for rent or food.”
“Where are you going to look for a job?” Please, God, let her say LA.
“I need to see what the job market looks like. For all I know, there might not be a preschool anywhere in the country that’s willing to hire an immoral, attention-seeking slut.”
I gasp with an epiphany. “Why don’t I hire you?”
Iris looks as flabbergasted as I feel. Why’d I suggest that? I don’t know, honestly, but now that I’ve had the idea, it’s rapidly gaining traction inside my head.
“Don’t say no, Iris. It’s a great idea. I need a nanny while Maverick’s with me, remember? So, why shouldn’t it be you, while you look for a job? You’re more than qualified.”
Iris pulls a face like I’ve offended her. “I don’t want to be your employee.”
“Technically, maybe,” I say lamely.
Iris sighs. “Look, I appreciate that you’re trying to help me in a time of crisis. But let’s rip off the Band-Aid and end things cleanly, like we’ve always planned to do.”
“Do I feel sorry for your situation? Yes. But I don’t pity you.”
“Whatever that distinction means, it’s not reason enough for me to do something with you I’d be embarrassed to tell the world about.
My mother always said, ‘If you’re too embarrassed to do something loud and proud and in front of the whole world, then that’s your sign you shouldn’t be doing it at all.
’ Well, sorry, I’m not ready to tell the whole world, loud and proud, I’ve agreed to become your wait-around side piece in LA, only a week after my failed wedding, and the day after I lost my job for being an immoral slut.
On top of all that, I’m especially not willing to become a side piece for a man who’d only prolong my nightmare by attracting even more cameras and online attention to me.
I can’t stand the attention, Roman. I’m not like you. ”
My God. Are my intestines tumbling onto the floor right now, because I feel like she just fileted me from my chin to my balls.
Iris levels me with determined eyes. “I release you from all guilt, Roman. Now, please, go catch your flight. I’ll never forget this amazing week with you, and I’ll always root for you from afar. But it’s time for us to say our goodbyes now.”
My heart aches at the thought of leaving her. But my brain knows she’s probably right.
“I’ll never forget this week with you,” I choke out. “I’ll always root for you from afar, too.” I peck her cheek. “Goodbye, Iris.”
“Bye, Roman.”
Swallowing hard, I grab my suitcase and stride through what feels like molasses to the front door. But before turning the doorknob, I turn to look at Iris’s beautiful, sweet face one last time. “I’m sorry if I’ve added to your pain. I only meant to help.”
Iris smiles thinly and nods through tears. “Thank you for everything.”
With a gigantic lump in my throat, I slip out the front door and immediately start striding with purpose toward my rental car in the parking lot.
I’ve got a whole new life awaiting me in LA—one I couldn’t be more excited about.
And yet, with each step I take away from the bungalow—away from Iris—I feel increasingly like I’m walking away from the great love of my life.