I’m going half-blind reading boring-ass e-mails when an enormous Frappuccino appears in front of my nose. I have to look from the frothy Starbucks drink to the person delivering it twice before I register that she’s brought it for me. Kate drops into the chair on the opposite side of the conference room table, taking a sip of her own drink. “It’s a peace offering, Ms. McKenzie.” “That or diabetes in a plastic cup,” I say, picking it up and pointing at the mound of whipped cream. “Are those chocolate shavings?”
