“It’s Layla,” I shout before she can shut her door in my face. “She has her interview with the magazine today, and she lost power. She needs an extra set of hands.” It’s sort of incredible, the way Beatrice doesn’t hesitate. She pulls a set of keys out of a hidden pocket in her dress and turns the lock on the front door. She hustles down the stone steps and practically flies into the passenger side of the Jeep, leveraging herself up with the handle above the door. She buckles her seat belt and gives me an impatient look, her hand thrust forward out the window. “What the hell are you waiting
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