My mouth went dry.
I looked toward the conference room again, as if maybe the clients would magically still be there, sitting patiently with coffee, waiting for me to explain myself.
They weren’t.
All that was left was the smell of burnt office coffee, printer toner, and the slow death of the best opportunity our little agency had seen in months.
“Nick, I’m sorry,” I said. “I am. But what was I supposed to do? Drive past her?”
“Yes,” he snapped.
The room went even quieter.
For a second, I honestly thought I’d heard him wrong.
