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“Former nasty assistant.”
“Because you fired her.”
“Yes.”
“Some rag publishes bullshit about your grandfather.”
“Yes.”
“And you immediately accuse Layla.”
I grind my teeth.
“Yes.”
“Without asking her what happened.”
“I was angry.”
Tank winces.
“Never helps, mate.”
“I know that now.”
Dane folds his arms.
“Then Layla publishes a piece clearing your grandfather's name with actual evidence and writes what sounds like the fairest fucking profile anyone has ever written about you.”
“Yes.”
“And your conclusion is she never cared about you?”
“Yes.”
Silence.
Koa rubs his face. Luca mutters something in Italian. Tank looks genuinely concerned for my cognitive health.
Dane just stares.
“What?”
“Och, you're in the sin bin for good, mate.”
I blink.
“Excuse me?”
“The sin bin.”
“I know what the fucking sin bin is.”
“Good. Because you're in it.”
“For what?”
Dane's eyebrows shoot up.
