Iris channeled her older sister, Rose. Assume control, project confidence. She pulled open her front door. “Ty. What a surprise. I believe I mentioned I never conduct client meetings in my home.”
“We need to talk.” His somber expression alarmed her.
Iris stepped aside, gesturing him in. “What’s wrong?”
Tyler crossed her threshold before turning to face her. “Why didn’t you tell me you were fired from RGB for unethical behavior?”
A hundred words flashed across Iris’s mind. Several of them were quite unprofessional. She kept a grip on her temper by channeling her inner Lily. Remain calm; get the facts.
Iris counted to twenty while she closed and locked her front door against the chill of the late-March evening. She faced Tyler, keeping her arms at her sides and her gaze level with his. “What makes you think RGB fired me?”
“My sources in the industry told me.”
His sources? The lightbulb clicked on. Pete Kimball, that nasty, little troll. Iris drew a deeper breath. How did Lily maintain her serenity?
“Your sources are incorrect.” She tilted her head. “Are you interested in the truth?”
“Of course.” Tyler crossed his arms over his broad chest.
Iris gave him a once-over. His teak wool overcoat masked his long, lean form. His ebony eyes burned with outrage and...betrayal? Did he think she’d broken his trust? She had too much personal integrity to do something like that. But of course Tyler wouldn’t know that because he didn’t know her.
Iris led him the few steps into her living room and gestured toward her chunky, emerald sofa. “Have a seat.” The invitation went against her grain. She’d never intended to entertain clients in her home. But by showing up on her doorstep and questioning her character, he’d left her no choice.
Tyler hesitated a second or two before shrugging off his overcoat and following her instructions. Iris didn’t take his coat. He wouldn’t be staying that long.
“What happened at RGB?” Tyler set his coat on the cushion beside him.
Iris settled onto her matching love seat. “RGB was my second job out of college. I’d worked there for more than five years as a public relations coordinator. Meanwhile, other people with less experience and ability than me were advanced ahead of me because they either had the look the executives wanted or their father knew someone in management.”
“The old boys’ club.” Tyler’s tone was dry.
“Exactly.” Iris crossed her legs and folded her arms. Her stomach still churned at the injustice. She’d never forget it. “I’m not proud of the fact that I played their game for so long. I thought my hard work and dedication would be rewarded. Instead, I behaved like the definition of insanity.”
“You were literally doing the same thing over and over again, and expecting a different result.” Tyler’s eyes no longer burned with the fires of retribution. They’d softened with an empathy Iris was even less comfortable with.
“That’s right.” She lifted her chin, defiant. “I was passed over for a fourth time for an account executive position. Management promoted the son of one of the vice president’s friends. My consolation prize was being assigned to his team provided I did his work.”
Tyler frowned. “If they wanted you to do his work, why did they give him the job?”
“His father wanted him to have the title and pay.” Iris swung her right calf in short, stiff movements. “And to take the credit.”
“Unbelievable. What did you do?”
“That’s probably where the claims of unethical behavior come in.” Iris didn’t hesitate. “I told them in anatomically correct terms what they could do with their offer and how they could do it. But I didn’t give them the chance to fire me. I quit. I can show you the email if you doubt me.”
Tyler’s eyebrows leapt up his high forehead. “You responded in an email?”
“Maybe that’s how Pete Kimball got the idea that my behavior was unethical.”
“Who mentioned Pete Kimball?” Tyler’s enigmatic expression didn’t fool Iris.
“It’s simple deduction, Sherlock.” Iris stopped swinging her leg. “Pete Kimball wants your account. And he knows I have it.”
* * *
The marketing consultant was on to him. Tyler looked away. He wouldn’t—couldn’t—lie to her. And he was glad she’d stopped swinging her leg. He’d been distracted by those shapely limbs in the faded, red leggings. About half of his bluster had been his attempt to mask his reaction to them.
His fingers twitched, itching to remove the clip binding her sable tresses. But the style emphasized her elegant, warm-honey features: high cheekbones, long nose, that Cupid’s bow mouth. He could blissfully drown in her wide, coffee eyes.