Melinda’s POV
Claire West was exactly what I expected.
Perfect posture. Crisp blazer. No visible flaws.
The kind of woman who spoke in statements that felt like they’d already been edited and approved for publication.
We met in a private conference room at the Hotel Belvedere. James sat between us, but not as a buffer.
He knew better.
Claire offered a tight smile. “Melinda Holt. In the flesh.”
I returned it. “Claire West. Still wearing black and judgment, I see.”
She blinked — just once.
Then smiled wider.
Touché.
James cleared his throat. “Let’s keep this focused.”
Claire opened a folder. “Agreed. I’ll skip the warm-up. Someone — I’m guessing Marcus or someone he’s paid — is trying to build a narrative. That the two of you weren’t a coincidence.”
“Define narrative,” I said.
