Seventeen Minutes on Route 18 Wrecked an Eighteen-Million-Dollar Corporate Buyout
One cup had a smear of lipstick on the rim.
“We thought he’d calm down,” the taller one said.
“He always calms down.”
“Not this time,” Nina said.
I shifted the cardboard box against my hip.
The painted mug inside knocked softly against the plastic astronaut.
“You pulled the server record,” I said.
Nina nodded.