Camile
It takes forty-five minutes to drive across town to Natalie McClure"s apartment. I knock, only to be met with the housekeeper, who shuts the door in my face before eventually letting me in.
Her heels click-clack against the hardwood floor as she leads me through the hallway and into a large, luxurious apartment with expensive furniture, an ornate chandelier, and original paintings on the walls.
Natalie shoots up from her armchair when she notices me. "Camille, it"s great to see you again," she says, her voice wavering slightly.
"Is Logan around?" I ask, trying to catch sight of his figure somewhere in the room.
Natalie"s eyes narrow. "No. Why?"
"Will he be back soon?"
She shrugs. "I don"t know. Maybe." Her gaze darts from corner to corner, almost as if she is trying to hide s
