”Tell me again what happened? And no, I don’t care that she was getting cracker crumbs in the company car.” My uncle frowns at me disapprovingly as I try for the third time to make sense of what went down with Clayton Monroe this morning.

I feel like I’m on hour 36 of an all-nighter. My head feels inflated and my heart beats erratically. Can this all be related to the mold growing in my kitchen sink? I start to wonder if Cal is actually killing me with ...