The lighting in the hallway leading to the restrooms was dim, bathed in red and purple neons. The music was muffled here, a dull throb in the background.
Iris checked her makeup in the mirror. Perfect. Not a smudge.
She pushed open the door and stepped back into the hallway.
A man was blocking her path.
He was young, maybe twenty-five, wearing a suit that was too shiny and a watch that was too big. He had the glazed look of someone who had consumed too much alcohol and too much of his father's money.
Leo Leone. The son of a shipping magnate. A notorious pest.
"Whoa," he said, leaning against the wall. "Where have you been hiding?"
Iris tried to step around him. "Excuse me."
He moved to block her again. "Don't be like that. I'm Leo. You look... expensive."
"I'm out of your budget," Iris said, her voice ice cold.
She tried to push past him, but he reached out and grabbed her wrist. His hand was clammy.
"Let go," she said.
"Just one drink," he slurred. "Come on, Red."
"Hey!"
A voice boomed from the end of the hallway.
Iris looked up. Hunter was standing there. He must have been coming to the VIP bar. He looked furious.
"Get your hands off her," Hunter shouted, striding toward them.
Leo looked at Hunter, then sneered. "Relax, grandpa. She's fair game."
Hunter reached them and shoved Leo's chest. "She said let go."
Leo stumbled back, releasing Iris's wrist. He looked at Hunter, recognizing him. "Rutledge? What is this, your escort?"
Hunter ignored him. He turned to Iris, his eyes filled with a mix of adrenaline and white-knight complex.
"Are you okay, miss? I..."
He stopped.
The red neon light flickered, illuminating Iris's face.
Hunter froze. His eyes widened, his pupils dilating. He blinked, once, twice. He looked at the red dress, the cleavage, the dark lipstick.
"Iris?" he whispered. It was a sound of pure disbelief.
Iris smoothed her wrist where Leo had touched her. "Hello, Hunter."
He shook his head, as if trying to clear a hallucination. "What... what are you doing here? You look..."
"Different?" she suggested.
"You look like a..." He didn't finish the sentence, but his eyes raked over her body with a hunger he hadn't shown in years.
Dorothea appeared behind him, breathless from chasing him in her heels.
"Hunter, what's wrong? Who is..."
She saw Iris. Her jaw dropped.
"Iris?" she squeaked.
She looked Iris up and down, her eyes narrowing instantly. She took in the dress, the setting, the man (Leo) lurking nearby.
She let out a small, theatrical gasp to cover her mouth.
"Oh my god," she said loudly. "Iris, are you... working here?"
The implication hung in the air. Prostitute.
Leo snickered. "How much, then?"
Hunter's face turned a deep shade of crimson. He looked at Iris with horror. Not because she was being insulted, but because he thought she was embarrassing him.
"Iris," he hissed. "Tell me you're not doing this. We haven't even filed the papers yet. Think of the family reputation."
Iris laughed. It was a dark, rich sound that bubbled up from her chest.
She stepped closer to Hunter. She was close enough to smell the scotch on his breath. She leaned in, her lips inches from his ear.
"I'm not working, Hunter," she whispered. "I'm celebrating."
"Celebrating what?" he asked, stiffening.
"My widowhood," she said.
She pulled back and winked at him.
Hunter looked like she had slapped him.
Leo, emboldened by the confusion, stepped forward again. "So, if you're not with him..."
He reached out and placed a hand on Iris's lower back, his fingers sliding toward her hip.
"I said, I'm fair game, right?" Leo grinned.
Hunter opened his mouth to shout again, but he was too slow.
