GRACE.
Christopher Miles got to my door step at exactly few minutes to nine the next morning in his usual, disorganized look. He was wearing an over-sized winter coat over a shrunken shirt. It rained early this morning, so I was sure everywhere would be as forlorn as my mood.
I asked him to come in, but he declined, explaining he was going to stay out to arrange his camera as he left home in too much of a hurry.
“Grace?” he called from outside. “You know the interview is taking place in his home office and not at his main company right?”
Oh, I had no idea. What the hell is Connor Shelby planning anyway? The entitled bastard! I scoffed.
“Sure Chris, let’s go,” I said, emerging from my house and shutting my door.
We used Precious since Chris didn’t have a car. I hoped sh
