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“Does he?”

“Oh, yes.”

The confidence in her answer is almost impressive.

She takes a sip of champagne, eyes traveling deliberately over me from head to toe before flicking toward the people beside us.

“And you're definitely not it.”

Chapter 12

Mitchell

Taking Layla to Elle’s to get outfitted for tonight is either the smartest or dumbest thing I have ever done.

Seriously.

Right now, I need to get the fuck away from her.

That's the truth.

Yes, Congressman Hale has been trying to get my attention for the last ten minutes.

Yes, there's a legitimate business matter we need to discuss.

But neither of those things is why I excuse myself from Layla's side.

I need distance.

Immediately.

Because my dick is half-hard in a ballroom filled with politicians, billionaires, photographers, professional gossips, and enough sharks to smell blood from three states away.

Unacceptable.

I adjust my jacket as I walk.

Subtle. Controlled.

At least, I hope so.

Jesus fucking Christ.

I knew she'd look good in green.

I did not anticipate she’d look that good.

When I walked back into Elle's boutique and saw her standing there, every coherent thought in my head simply ceased to exist.

Emerald silk.

Dark blonde hair falling around her shoulders.

Those hazel eyes somehow greener against the dress.

Soft breasts pushed high enough to make a man reconsider every decent intention he's ever had.

That waist.