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“Why wouldn't you be?”

What?

Celeste actually recoils. Mitchell doesn't seem to notice. Or care.

“She walked into this room tonight and instantly became the only woman here I find the least bit interesting.”

My heart stops. Full stop.

Dead. Call the coroner.

Celeste stares at him. So does everyone else. So do I.

Mitchell's eyes remain on mine.

“Actually, interesting doesn't quite cover it.”

Oh, Jesus.

“Layla Hawthorne is fascinating.”

My knees threaten mutiny.

This can't be real. It isn't real.

Remember the story.

Remember why you're here.

Remember why he invited you into his life.

Control.

Access.

Strategy.

Except Mitchell isn't looking at me like this is strategy.

He's looking at me like—no.

I don't know what he's looking at me like. That's the problem. Then those warm blue eyes leave mine and turn back to Celeste.

Ice again.

“She is here because I asked her to be here. And I'm damn lucky she said yes.”

Celeste's face goes slack.

I don't care.

“Nobody in this room holds a candle to Layla. Not one fucking person.”

My gaze finds my Firecracker.

Those hazel eyes are wide.

Good.