“I’m working today, from midday. What is the time?” I panic suddenly.
“It’s just after ten, you’ve plenty of time. What about tomorrow?” He has his elbows on the table, and his chin is resting on his long steepled fingers.
“Kate and I are going to start packing. We’re moving to Seattle next weekend, and I’m working at Clayton’s all this week.”
“You have a place in Seattle already?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“I can’t remember the address. It’s in the Pike Market District.”
“Not far from me,” his lips twitch up in a half smile. “So what are you going to do for work in Seattle?”
Where is he going with all these questions? The Christian Grey Inquisition is almost as irritating as the Katherine Kavanagh Inquisition.