Serena Vale
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On Wednesday afternoon, I knocked on the doors to our meeting room once before pushing them open.
Grayson Wolfe was already there alone, leaning back on the seat like he owned the building. He was wearing a navy suit without a tie, his sleeves rolled up just enough to showcase his watch that could probably buy my car. Everything about him screamed expensive.
When he saw me, he stood up and smiled. “Miss Vale.” His voice was low. “Thank you for making time.”
“Of course.” I placed the printed outline on the table. It was my job and it wasn’t like I had much of a choice.
He pulled out the chair beside him and I hesitated for a second before sitting down. Taking another seat would be awkward. I couldn’t be awkward with our clients.
For the next thirty minutes, I explaine
