“You see me every day,” I remind the dog.
Its lip curls up.
“Mandy.” I point to her dog.
“She went out before I brought her up.” Mandy sounds out of breath.
“No. It looks crazy.”
The whites of the dog’s eyes are showing, and her ears are laid back against her head.
“That’s just how she is,” Mandy says.
“She’s not going to freak out at the charity function. Is she? Do you have medication for her or anything?”
Kneeling down in front of the dog, Mandy whispers, “Let’s try and keep it together. I’ll take you to Olive Gardenfor a personal plate of pasta, no garlic. But not ’til after the event because I know you’ll get an upset tummy.”
“This is going to be a fucking disaster,” I say to the ceiling. “And where is my date?”
“She’s coming,” Mandy promises, checking her phone. “She’s on her way.” Her smile is forced.
I know Mandy. She’s worked for me longer than any other assistant. I know when she’s on top of a task because she’s in this Zen flow state, completely confident. This? This is not one of those times.
“How long?” I ask.
“Um, fifteen, twenty minutes?”
“Goddamn it.”
I try not to worry as I dry my hair then put on my tux, selecting two heavy sterling-silver cuff links and one of many Patek Phillip watches, all lined up neatly in their drawer.
The port contract is mine.
And yet there has been no doorbell.
I walk downstairs, my steps in time to the ticking grandfather clock my brother regifted me a few months ago.
Time is running out.
I will have this contract.
Mandy and her incompetence will not ruin it for me. If she fucked up, she’s going to pay.
The lock on the safe in my study clicks as I punch in the combination.
The jewelry that I had specially ordered for this night is waiting inside. I tuck the flat box in my tux jacket. Ready to present it to my date, if she ever shows up.
Mandy is crouched down in the kitchen behind the island, whispering angrily into the phone.
“Swear to god, answer, you—” She shrieks when I step around the island, and the phone clatters to the tile floor.
“Mandy.”
“Um, she’s going to be here,” my assistant assures me as she hastily scoops up her phone.
In the next room, the clock chimes.
The dog pants.
