“Ah. The pretty Ms. Baker is throwing you for a loop, eh?” “Pretty?” I narrow my eyes at him. “What?” That smug grin is growing. “You don’t think she is?” “I’ve got eyes, don’t I?” Delilah is pretty. Quietly pretty. She will never be the first person everyone looks at when entering a room. Especially not in LA, where beautiful women bloom like flowers in a well-tended garden. But among a bouquet of perfect roses, Delilah is much like her namesake flower—unexpectedly vivid and complex—making you realize that roses are boring in comparison. I don’t tell North that. Instead I glare at him. “Touch
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