“Nye, not again.”
Ingrid Norris, my business partner in the small, thriving courier service where we both worked six days a week, sighed and shook her head. “It’s as if the universe has a bull’s eye on you twenty-four-seven.”
I grunted as I walked by, uncomfortable and squishy in my soaked attire as I headed to the small locker room in the back. “You’re probably right.” Once I was changed and dry, if not in better spirits, I clocked in and went through my inbox, which was piled high, as usual.
“I don’t know why I ever let you talk me into this crazy business ten years ago,” I said, grumbling as I tossed the junk mail in recycling and separated bills from the other detritus. She handled the early shift, and I worked until closing, which was around eleven at night, depending on the delive
