She eyed the food, tempted beyond all endurance to gather up the heavy box and slink away, but she knew she couldn't. If she didn't live up to her promises, her fledgling business would suffer. She'd worked too hard and too long to risk her reputation with one of her best customers. Besides, a ravenous Cashman or a starving Slickert might slap her with a lawsuit.

Nana always said the only way to swallow a bitter pill was to do it quickly and get it over with, so Melanie took a deep breath and rang the bell. She tapped her foot, waiting, mentally cursing Mike, her delivery man. Of course it wasn't Mike's fault he was sick, but having to make this batch of deliveries herself had turned a bad day into the day from hell.

The day had started when her alarm didn't go off and she woke up forty-five minutes late. Then there was no hot water for her shower. In her haste, she got shampoo in her eye, burned her fingers ironing her shirt, and got a run in her stockings. All before she arrived at work-an hour late.

Speaking of late, where are these people? She rang the bell again and knocked on the glass door for good measure. Another minute went by with no response.

Great. They'd probably given up on her and gone home. A weary sigh escaped her. Now what? She wasn't about to leave the food here in the hall. What if they'd all left? If they weren't there to get their food, she was going to bring it home. Why leave it for the mice?

Hefting the heavy warmer into her arms, she struggled back to the bank of elevators. I'll go down to the lobby and call the lawyers. If they don't answer, I'm outta here. The elevator door shushed open and she shoved in the box with her foot. When she stepped in after it, her heel got caught in the narrow space between the doors. She gave her stuck foot a heave and the heel snapped off cleanly.

Jeez. Calgon, take me away. Far away. Yanking the broken heel from the crack, she limped onto the elevator and jabbed the L button with her broken shoe. She sagged against the wall, closed her eyes, and wondered what she'd done to bring the wrath of God down on her head. Must be her tendency to speed in the Dodge, she decided. Or maybe the fact that she'd kicked Tony Pasqualio's shin in the third grade had finally come back to haunt her.