“Our appointment was at ten,” is the first thing he says and while I should be completely embarrassed by that, the deep tenor of his voice makes the inside of my stomach do an odd somersault.
“Yes, I apologize about that,” I say sheepishly as sweat beads across my forehead.
“Do you need a tissue? Maybe a fan?”
I emit an incoherent chuckle.
“I just ran from the train station,” I explain myself awkwardly, like a thirteen-year-old dork. “My usual train didn’t come. I promise that this is not my normal level of professionalism.”
Lies.
This is totally my new normal.
I swallow slowly as Mr. Warner hands me the box of tissues sitting on the round table next to the sofa. It feels like he’s moving completely in slow motion as I try not to gawk at the way his shoulders flex underneath his shirt as he moves an arm covered in swirls of tattooed ink toward me.
“Here,” he commands gruffly, as if my sweaty temples are making him uncomfortable.
I grab a few tissues and dab my face down, completely forgetting that I’m probably ruining my makeup by doing so.
Great.
Now I’m late and I look like a sweaty rat. I might as well find him another referral right now. I wouldn’t even blame him if he wanted someone else. But he’s got another thirty minutes to put up with me, so I go through the usual new client motions, knowing full well that this is probably the first and last time he will come here.
I open the file folder Fatima created for Mr. Warner and I see several empty sections of his intake form, which tells me a lot about him already.
“So what brings you here today, Mr. Warner?”
He cocks his head to the side, inspecting me curiously.
“Do you know who I am?”
Should I?
Wait, is he actually that Game Of Thrones actor?
“Um, you’re Mr. Warner.” I smile politely. “My first appointment of the day.”
“You didn’t read that print out in your hand beforehand, did you? I filled that thing out online two days ago.”
“I apologize but–”
“Yeah, I get it,” he cuts me off. “Your train didn’t come.”
My eyes hit the floor.
I’ve had clients that project their feelings of uneasiness onto me before, but his annoyance with me feels different. I should have read his intake submission two days ago or at least been here thirty minutes before our session so that I could have reviewed it. Clearly, his identity is a part of the reason why he’s here, and I’m clueless as to why.
My third mistake of the day.
“I’d love for you to explain to me what’s in your file,” I counter. “I notice that you didn’t fill out most of the intake form. What did I miss?”
“Apparently everything. My name is Dakota Warner. My name has been on the news for the last seven days. I’m here because the organization I work for is mandating it.”
Name in the news?
I still have zero idea who this man is.
To be fair, I’ve been indisposed most of the week and do not know what’s going on in the world, but I probably shouldn’t reveal any of that to him. I’m already on thin ice with this guy.
