Page 100

And just like that, I'm reminded that keeping my baser instincts under control for the next thirty days might be considerably harder than protecting Granddad from whatever she's trying to uncover.

Chapter 10

Layla

Inside is nothing like the department store.

There are gowns, but very few.

Fabric swatches line one wall. Sketches cover another.

No racks crammed with identical sizes.

No mannequins silently informing me what shape a woman is apparently required to be before she's allowed to spend an obscene amount of money on a dress.

I immediately feel myself relax.

A little.

Not completely. Because Mitchell is standing beside me. And I'm becoming increasingly aware that Mitchell Knight might be more dangerous to my peace of mind than an entire floor of judgmental saleswomen.

I sneak a glance at him.

Big mistake.

He's still exuding a pissed off vibe.

I can tell by the hard line of his jaw and the way his shoulders haven't quite relaxed since we left the department store.

Because of me.

No, not because of me.

Mitchell was pissed for me.

There's a difference. One I really don't need to be thinking about.

A woman emerges from behind a curtain.

Silver threads through her dark hair. She's wearing a simple black dress, a measuring tape draped around her neck, and the kind of enormous glasses that should look ridiculous but somehow make her fabulous.

She sees Mitchell first.

Then me.

Her entire face lights up.

“Oh my!”

I stiffen. I can't help it.

I’m thirty-five years old. I have a successful career. Good friends. A body I've worked very hard to love exactly as it is.

And one bitchy saleswoman manages to resurrect every insecure teenage thought I buried years ago.

Awesome.

The designer approaches. Her eyes move up and down over my body.