Winchester Boyd is a hangnail on my soul. The current bane of my existence. And as of today at nine a.m., my employee. I glance at my watch. Nine-oh-one. I heave a sigh. Winnie says nothing, and I continue pretending she isn’t there, even as every cell in my body seems to have swung her way like tiny, malfunctioning satellites. Being around her is like being massaged with rough-grit sandpaper.
