“You owned part of Whitmore Technologies before I did.”For a moment, the sentence meant nothing.The words were English. I understood each of them individually.Together, they were nonsense.“What?”Across the kitchen, Julian’s expression had gone completely still.Grant exhaled into the phone.“Come to my apartment.”“No.”“Camille.”“You can send me the document.”“I’m not sending this electronically.”“Why?”“Because considering what we’ve discovered about people using your name and accounts, I’m surprised you still want anything sent electronically.”That was irritatingly reasonable.I looked at Julian.He shook his head.I raised an eyebrow.He pointed at himself, then toward the door.He wanted to come.Absolutely not.I turned away from him.“Fine. I’ll meet you somewhere public.”“My apartment isn’t dangerous.”“I didn’t say it was.”“You’re treating me like I’m going to hurt you.”The accusation caught me off guard.“Grant, forty-eight hours ago you handed me divorce papers
آخر تحديث : 2026-08-17 اقرأ المزيد