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“The Mitchell Knight who is hot as fuck and also very, very single?”

“So what, Cat? Lots of people are single!”

“Not people who look like that and have billions of dollars in the bank!”

“Oh my God, Cat, are you even listening? He’s agreed to let me interview him!”

“There’s got to be more to this.”

She’s not wrong.

I grab a bottle of water from my refrigerator and drop onto my couch. The springs squeak beneath me.

My ass was sitting on Italian leather twenty minutes ago. Now I'm pretty sure there's a metal coil attempting to penetrate my left butt cheek.

Reality restored.

“Okay,” Cat demands. “What happened?”

“I went to the gala.”

“I know that part.”

“I found him.”

“Obviously.”

“Technically, he found me.”

Another pause.

“Interesting.”

“Don't interrupt.”

“I didn't say anything.”

“You said interesting.”

“Because it is.”

I roll my eyes even though she can't see me.

“We talked. I asked him about the Rovers. He dodged. He flirted.”

“He flirted?”

“A little.”

“How little?”

“Not relevant.”

“Extremely relevant.”

“To you. Not the story.”

“Was there touching?”