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“Yes!”

“If you really did come with Mitchell, where is he?”

I stare at her. Then actually laugh. Not because anything about this is funny. Because this woman is fucking insane.

“You were the one watching us so closely. You know exactly where he is. He went to speak to someone.”

“How convenient.”

“Oh, for fuck's sake.”

A few more heads turn.

Good. Fuck it.

She wanted an audience? Now she has one.

“Do you seriously think I smuggled myself past security, found Mitchell Knight in a ballroom full of hundreds of people, somehow convinced him we came together, and now I'm what? Waiting for him to get drunk enough to take me upstairs?”

I scoff. More people are starting to stop and listen to this insane conversation.

“I wouldn't put it past some women. After all, I don’t even know who you are.”

“Some women?”

Her gaze travels over me again.

“Yes, women like you who don’t fit anywhere.”

There it is. No more pretending.

“In fact, no one here knows you.”

“You don't know everyone here,” I counter.

“I know you are definitely not on the guest list!”

“Apparently, I am,” I reply, forcing myself to calm down.

“I know Mitchell very well. And even if you convinced him to bring you here, he would never take someone like you seriously!”

The words come fast.

Too fast.

Possessive.

And suddenly this whole bizarre conversation makes a lot more sense. I tilt my head.

“Do you really know him well?”

“Yes.”

“How well?”

Her nostrils flare.

“I beg your pardon?”