Paulo. WTF was he doing on the second floor of the Brantley’s home at 8:07 in the morning? I breathed a sigh of relief—at least I knew the bastard creepin around the house—and clutched Chanel to my chest, my feet frozen on two different steps, my mind trying to move in one direction or another. I tried to remember where Clarke was, if this was the week he was in California for that litigation or if that was last week. It’s been so hard, being on set all day, to keep track of his movements too…
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