manager.
“Print me whatever you can legally print. Dates. Forms. Signatures. Anything with my name on it.”
Grant laughed once.
A sharp, ugly sound.
“She doesn’t know what she’s asking.”
“I know exactly what I’m asking.”
Mr. Mallory’s eyes moved from Grant to me.
For a moment, he looked like the boy I remembered from Sunday school years ago, the shy one who continue reading …
