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“Mitchell—”
“This is Celeste Turner.”
He says it almost pleasantly. Almost.
“Her father is a business associate of mine. Celeste and I have attended some of the same functions over the years because of that association.”
Her lips part.
“We are not friends,” he says. “We have never dated.”
Someone sucks in a breath.
“We have never slept together.”
Holy shit.
“I have no intention of ever dating her. And I have certainly never given her any reason to believe she has a say in who I spend my time with.”
Celeste looks like she wants the marble floor to crack open and swallow her.
I almost feel sorry for her. Almost.
“Mitchell, you don't have to humiliate me,” she whispers.
Something changes in Mitchell's face. Not much. But enough.
“No. I didn't. And you had no reason to try to humiliate Miss Hawthorne. But you did try.”
His gaze flicks briefly toward the security guard.
“You attempted to have my date removed from an event after publicly accusing her of being a liar, a scam artist, and a gold digger.”
Then he looks at Celeste again.
“You humiliated yourself.”
Ouch.
“Mitchell, I was only—”
“Jealous?”
Her face goes scarlet.
“I am not jealous of her.”
Her.
The word hits harder than it should. Mitchell hears it too.
His entire expression changes. And suddenly I know Celeste has made a very big mistake.
“You mean of Layla?”
His gaze moves to me. And everything in it warms.
Not a little. Completely. And my breath catches.
