Myra Gilbert walked toward us in a black evening gown.
Every gaze snapped to her.
She stopped in front of us, her face dark as a storm cloud. Her cold stare settled on me.
"Luke, even jokes have a time and place."
"Who said I was joking?"
"You deliberately arranged for me to kiss Jordan for ten seconds?"
"I did."
I smiled and nodded.
"I'm your wife."
"And you want me to kiss another man?"
"Are you out of your mind, or am I?"
Myra's chest heaved with barely contained fury.
She was fighting — visibly fighting — to hold herself together, to keep the rage locked behind her teeth.
"Think ten seconds is too short?" I said.
"Let's make it twenty."
I watched them both with a lazy grin — Myra frozen in disbelief, Jordan rooted to the spot like a man staring down a firing squad.
The rest of the company had gone blank. The entire ballroom was silent enough to hear a pin drop. Jaws hung open. Every single person stared at me like I'd lost my mind.
A long moment passed.
Myra's teeth sank into her lower lip so hard the skin went white. Her delicate face, lightly touched with makeup, had turned black as coal.
"Luke Cobb, have you completely lost it?"
"Lost it?"
"Maybe."
"But..."