Seventeen Minutes on Route 18 Wrecked an Eighteen-Million-Dollar Corporate Buyout
I was sure.
I dropped the phone onto the passenger seat, and it slid against the cold coffee cup.
Then I shifted the Buick into drive and headed back toward the office.
The engine was still warm when I pulled the Buick into the same space I had left ninety minutes earlier, and my phone went off against the seat leather.
Gavin, three times in a row.
Then a string of texts with no punctuation.