DAMIEN
I was sitting in this swanky little restaurant about an hour from my office, dressed in a sharp suit, hair perfectly in place, looking like I had my life together, and for what? For the client to be thirty minutes late.
Fine. I could do thirty minutes. I opened my laptop, tried to focus, made a few notes, and started zoning into some semblance of productivity. Maybe I could salvage this hour. Maybe I could breathe.
Then my phone buzzed.
Client canceled. Just like that. Gone. Vanished. Poof.
I slammed the laptop shut, my jaw tight. Seriously? What kind of professional move is that? I’d rearranged my whole damn schedule for this meeting. I was pissed—no, not just pissed—I was fuming. Every muscle in my body tensed. My chair scraped against the floor as I shoved back, mutter
