Two days have passed since the evening Andrew and I met. I’m due to meet him and Bethaney at his office today at eleven to discuss the possibility of me being hired as the event planner for the law firm’s holiday party.

I have the usual nerves that are present before I meet any client, but there’s an extra layer of unease knowing Andrew will be in attendance. Which is stupid. The man is infuriating with his stoicism and disdain for the best time of the year. Not to mention, we couldn’t be more different. So why does the thought of seeing him make me feel giddy as if I have a schoolgirl crush?

With a deep breath, I step out of the elevator on the floor that Simons, Berns & Scofield occupies. As I expected, the atmosphere is posh with lots of walnut, glass, and brushed brass. I walk over to the receptionist and tell her I’m here to meet with Andrew Wainwright. The short, dark-haired girl directs me to the left and instructs me to follow the hall to the end, then take a right and keep going. I’ll find his assistant outside the office with his name on the door. Seriously, is he too important to come and get me? He probably told the receptionist he was too busy to be interrupted.

I’m wearing the Balmain sweater dress I purchased on a used clothes website last year. It’s been my lucky dress for first meetings with clients ever since I ate ramen noodles for an entire month due to the purchase price, but it was worth it. I fully subscribe to the “fake it until you make it” mantra. Dress for success, they say, but that’s only possible if you’re already successful, so a girl does what she needs to do to make it. I paired the monogram-jacquard knitted dress with my knee-high black suede boots. Finishing the look with a center part in my hair, straightened and pulled back into a low pony.

The look is mostly professional, part sexy, and says this is a woman who has her finger on the pulse of the city. A lot of my clients are always trying to one-up their frenemies with their own event, so it pays to have people think you’re ahead of the curve as to what’s hot and hip.

After wandering for a minute, I come upon a closed door with Andrew’s full name on a bronze plaque. A young brunette sits at the desk outside the office looking at her phone, frantically typing away with her thumbs.

I wait for her to notice me, but she doesn’t look up. She’s frowning and sighing at her phone as she reads the text on her screen. Since I don’t want to be late for this meeting, I clear my throat. She startles and her phone fumbles out of her grip.