BOOK 2

Devlin shifted, avoided her gaze. “What?”

“You didn’t.”

Now he crossed his arms, and Mitch watched with some amusement as Justine goaded someone other than himself for a change.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Devlin claimed stoutly.

“You did!” Justine clapped a hand to her mouth, but a laugh escaped. “You slept with her. Oh, Dev. That’s so . . . desperate.”

“No, despei'ate is knocking it out in the stock closet!”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” But her eyes slid guiltily to the couch behind them and Devlin hooted.

“And your couch!” he added, doubling over while he laughed, slapping his thigh. “Talk about despej-ate. Ah . . . sorry, Mitch,” he added politely. “No offense meant.”

“No offense taken,” said Mitch with the straightest face he could manage. “But just because we know Mitzy has, uh . . . excellent taste in men”—he broke off to give a mock glare to Jussie when she scoffed—“doesn’t mean much in the way of her character. Unless someone here knows something