A Whole Lot of Love. Justine Davis

laughingly held the microphone out of her reach.

      Anger shot through Ethan. She’d put this whole thing together, she’d worked long and hard, she was utterly dedicated to this cause, and she deserved a hell of a lot better than to be treated this way.

      And the next thing he knew, he was on his feet.

      “I know it’s too low for the woman who brought us all here tonight with her tireless efforts,” he said, loudly enough to be heard across the room, “but I’ll match the highest bid of the night.”

      Layla’s head came around sharply. She stared at him, and he had the oddest feeling she wasn’t particularly grateful for what he’d done.

      “Well, well,” said Ruttles. “A man who doesn’t even care that she doesn’t have a date prepared!”

      “She organized this, didn’t she?” Ethan said with a wide gesture toward the room. “I’m not worried.” You jerk, he added silently.

      A round of applause that seemed as much relieved as anything met his words, and he sat down.

      Layla, brooking no further denial, finally wrested the microphone away from the suddenly wary emcee. But if she was angry, it didn’t show in her voice as she thanked everyone for coming and promised that their contributions would be put to good use in the fight.

      The lights went out. In the shadows, Ethan saw her set the microphone down on the podium and walk away. He stood, but waited until most of the crowd had filtered out, watching the stage door.

      “Thank you, Mr. Winslow.” Ethan turned to see the man who had greeted him at the door. Harry, he thought. “That could have been an awkward moment.”

      Ethan shrugged, not knowing what to say.

      “I should have listened to Layla. She said she didn’t like the guy.”

      Good judgment, Ethan thought.

      Harry thanked him again, then bustled away. Ethan waited. And waited. The lights went down in the room, and the hotel staff, who were already cleaning up, cast glances at him.

      He finally left without ever seeing Layla again.

      “I’ve been more humiliated in my life, but not in the last ten years.” Layla stabbed at her salad rather viciously.

      “Sounds to me like the proverbial prince on a white horse rode in and rescued you.”

      Layla slanted a look across the table at Stephanie Parker.

      “Hey,” her best friend said, “who cares how it happened. Just enjoy.”

      Layla grimaced. “You only say that because you haven’t seen him.”

      Stephanie set down her own fork, then looked at Layla intently. Her friend, Layla thought, was exactly the kind of woman you would expect to see Ethan Winslow with. Normal height, with thick, glossy dark hair cut in a short, chic bob, a slim, shapely figure and a glamorous look that could have graced any magazine cover. And on top of that, she had brains; she was a vice president at one of the biggest ad agencies in the county.

      But beneath all the glamour was the most steadfast, loyal friend Layla had ever had. They had connected in the third grade—before Layla had begun the spurt of growth that had left Stephanie far behind—and been the closest of friends ever since.

      “So,” Stephanie said now, “how gorgeous is he?”

      “The kind that’s usually spoken in conjunction with the words ‘drop dead,”’ she said wryly.

      Stephanie grinned. “Good girl!”

      Of course, Stephanie didn’t understand. How could she?

      She’d never in her life been anything less than beautiful. She doubted if Ethan Winslow had ever been, either.

      “I’ll have to look up his name,” Stephanie said.

      It was a hobby of Stephanie’s; she loved to analyze how people matched or contradicted the meaning of their name. Layla, Stephanie had told her years ago, was a variation on the Middle English Leala, which meant loyal.

      “So where are you going to take him?”

      Layla sighed. “I’m not.”

      “But he bid—”

      “It was charity, Steph.”

      “Well, of course. The whole thing was for charity.”

      “I mean what he did was charity. Out of pity.”

      “He told you that?”

      “Well, no.”

      “What did he tell you?”

      Layla shifted in her seat. “Nothing. I…haven’t talked to him.”

      Stephanie’s dark, perfectly arched brows rose. “You haven’t talked to him since Saturday night?”

      “I took yesterday off. I always take the Monday after the auction off, you know that. And I haven’t been into the office yet today.”

      “And you…what, forgot his phone number?”

      “It’s on my desk. At work,” Layla clarified. Sometimes Stephanie was like a bulldog, never letting go. And now she was studying Layla as if she were one of her proposed ad layouts.

      “So tell me, girlfriend,” Stephanie drawled, “who are you hiding from? Him, or yourself?”

      “Both,” Layla admitted. “But with reason. It would be…silly to expect him to keep that promise, when it was made essentially under duress.”

      Stephanie sighed aloud. “So, you think he’s one of those? Like Wayne?”

      Layla grimaced. This was the problem with friends who had known you forever, they knew too much. She’d tried her best to forget Wayne Doucet, who had been the architect of both the highest and lowest days of her life. The highest had been when, at her thinnest, he’d proposed to her. The lowest had come after her hospital stay, when she had regained some of the weight she’d forced herself to lose, and gotten back to what her doctor had told her was a healthy weight for her. Wayne had dropped hints about her “porking up,” as he’d called it, and when she finally told him that this was her natural weight and she couldn’t fight it anymore, he had walked out. But not before saying he thought she’d better give him back the ring he’d bought her—if she could get it off.

      “I don’t think there’s anybody like Wayne,” she muttered.

      “Oh, I’m sure they’re out there,” Stephanie said. “But it usually takes longer than two minutes face-to-face to ferret them out.”

      Layla flushed. “I don’t really think he’s…like that.”

      “Then why are you running?”

      “I’m not,” she said. “I’m just…giving him time, so he knows it’s not important, that I don’t really expect him to do it.”

      “So you do think he’d hold your size against you?”

      Layla sighed; Stephanie was clearly in full bulldog mode. “I was watching his face when he first saw me. He was better and quicker at hiding it than most, but it was there.”

      She knew she didn’t have to explain. Stephanie had been through enough with her over the years. And one of the things Layla loved most about her was her honest outrage at the way Layla was sometimes treated. She could almost feel it bubbling up in her old friend right now.

      On the thought, Stephanie spoke and proved her right. “You’re a smart, dynamic, intelligent woman! And whether you believe it or not, you’re beautiful. It’s the men who can’t see that who have the problem.”

      Impulsively, Layla reached across the table and clasped her friend’s hand. “And you’re the best friend anybody could