I know I told Julius that when I met him in London, but the more I look, the more discouraged I get. I thought renting might be a little bit better, but it isn’t.
I have been spoiled. I owned my own place in Boston that was paid off long before I inherited it from my family, so I never paid a mortgage. Then we moved here, and Max refused to let me pay anything for the apartment. It’s owned by The Williamson Group, and he said that part of the package of coming with him was free room and board.
Hell, even when we travel, we almost always stay at our own hotels, which means we don’t pay a dime.
It has been a long time since I have had to consider spending money on a place to live. When the hell did the cost of living become so high? How did I miss it?
I know it makes me sound like a rich bitch. The fact that I never considered money in this sense for a long while. It makesme realize that I have become so dependent on Max and The Williamson Group.
I’m still not sold on leaving the company, but maybe I should start considering gaining some independence from them.
It’s not like I don’t have the money. I have saved most of my salary for the past decade, only splurging on clothes and shoes from time to time.
I still don’t want to drop so much of it on a place I am not sold on, though. None of the places in London speak to me. None of them make me think of home.
Because it isn’t home.
I always thought I would be happy to move to London if I could, but now I’m wondering if that is a thought one has when visiting but never actually means. Would London lose its magical luster if I moved there? Would I become blind to the parts of the city I have come to love?
A knock at my door has me shutting my laptop. Thank God because I was getting a headache.
Opening the door, I smile when I see the doorman Bernard.
“Whatcha got for me?” I ask.
He hands over the basket with a smile. “A very strapping young gentleman dropped it off. Said he didn’t want to come up. Only wanted to make you smile. I like him.”
I grab the card and read it.
Thinking of you.
Clint.
“I do too. He’s a good guy. Thanks.”
“Have a good day, Miss Iris.” As he turns to walk away, the elevator dings and Max steps out.
I watch as he greets Bernard before coming toward me.
“Oh, what’s this?” he asks, but there is some tension in his voice.
I frown, wondering what is wrong with him. “A gift from Clint. What are you doing here? Didn’t you just get back from Vegas?”
He grabs the basket, walking it inside my place without asking. I shut the door behind him and make my way to the kitchen, where I find him picking through my basket.
“Hey, that’s for me.”
He gives me a “really” look.
“You aren’t going to eat chocolate-covered raisins, but I will. Come on, now, Iris.”
He’s not wrong.
I move closer and look through the basket. Sure, there are some things I will eat, but most of them are things I don’t exactly enjoy.
“Does this guy even know you at all? First yellow flowers and now a basket of chocolate?” Max sneers.
“I like snowcaps and the sea salt caramels,” I mutter.
