Cassie forced a serene smile, the kind that could calm a storm, even as Genevieve's sharp eyes bore into her.
She could feel the older woman on the edge of declaring her a liar, and that's when she struck preemptively, her voice smooth and unwavering.
"Why would I discuss my man's boxers with his mother or anyone else?"
The words were measured, controlled, disarming in their simplicity. Genevieve blinked, caught mid-sentence, and for the first time hesitated.
But she wasn't about to let Cassie wriggle away so easily. "Franklin has a private room. What does he do there?" she asked, her tone precise, probing.
Cassie's eyes flicked instinctively toward Tristan, hoping for some clue from the boy, but he was as clueless as she was. She met Genevieve's gaze, unwavering. "He said
