“Sorry,” I say, offering a smile. “I’m here to see Mr. Wainwright.”

She pushes her phone out of the way and straightens her back. “Is he expecting you? Andr—Mr. Wainwright doesn’t like to be disturbed.”

“Yes, I have an eleven a.m. meeting with him.” I shift the strap of my bag on my shoulder, wishing I could set it down. Sometimes in my meet-and-greets, clients want to hire me to start working right away since they’re busy, so I always carry my portfolio with me, along with some linen samples and various pamphlets for different caterers and decor companies.

The young woman looks nervous and fiddles with her hands.

“Is there a problem?” I ask.

“I don’t know.” She bites her lip. “Mr. Wainwright is very specific for me to never interrupt him before noon unless it’s really important. Or if a messenger is here with delivery papers. Right. I must remember that.” She says the last part almost to herself.

“He set the meeting with me for eleven, so I’m going to say that he thinks it’s important, so if you wouldn’t mind bothering him…”

She bites her lower lip again and a pained look crosses her face.

The door behind her whips open and Andrew stands there without his suit jacket. His pressed shirt tapers at his waist. His tie is tight around his neck. But it’s his wavy hair, as if he’s already run his hands through it a million times today, that’s the only thing not completely in place and I hate that he’s making me slightly breathless.

“Darla, did I hear—” Andrew’s eyes shift to me and he stops talking.

“Hi.” I give him a little wave that makes me feel juvenile.

Darla spins around in her seat. “I didn’t know if I should tell you she was here or not.”

Andrew’s forehead wrinkles, disdain clear in his features. “I told you I was expecting someone.”

“Well, I don’t know. I can’t keep all these rules straight.” She throws her hands in the air out of frustration and looks as if she’s a minute from breaking down in tears.

“It’s fine. It’s no problem, really.” I look from Darla to Andrew with wide eyes.

With a shake of his head, Andrew steps back in his office and comes out with his jacket in his hands. “The meeting is in the conference room. C’mon.”

I give Darla a small smile before catching up to Andrew, who is already straightening the collar of his jacket.

“Here, I’ll carry your bag.”

“Oh, you don’t have—” But before I finish my sentence, he has the strap in his hand and over his shoulder. “Thanks.”

“Thank me later when I’m seeing a physical therapist with a back injury. Seriously, how are you holding this up?”