“Brooke…”
Her face changed.
Only slightly.
But I saw it.
Fear.
So I walked onto the stage.
She stepped backward.
“Claire, don’t.”
“You took the microphone first.”
I gently removed it from her hand.
Then I looked toward the back of the room.
“Grant?”
The man in the charcoal suit stood.
He carried a thick envelope toward the stage.
Mason frowned.
“Who the hell is that?”
“My investigator.”
The color vanished from his face.
Brooke whispered,
“You hired somebody to follow us?”
“For four months.”
Grant placed the envelope on the table beside our anniversary cake.
I opened it and removed a report.
Brooke shook her head.
“No.”
I had not even spoken yet.
Interesting, isn’t it?
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