Are there ever “firsts” that aren’t absolutely awkward and nerve-wracking?

There’s the first day at school (pee your pants, have the kids call you “Jackie Pee Pee” for the rest of the year).

There’s the first kiss (teeth clacking, not enough lip, zero tongue control).

There’s the first time you have sex (not enough lube, over in one minute).

There’s the first time you get drunk (vomit in someone’s shoes, wake up in a neighbor’s water fountain).

And then, of course, the first day at a new job.

In particular, your first day at a new job that could provide a fantastic opportunity for you and change your whole entire life.

That kind of a first day at a new job.

And to say that I’m a nervous wreck is a ridiculous understatement.

I stare at myself in the bathroom mirror and take a deep breath in through my nose, out through my mouth, like they try and teach you during yoga, only I’ve never taken a yoga class in my entire twenty-five years. I’m starting to think that maybe I should, if it can help prevent me from hyperventilating.

“You’ve got this Jackie. Breathe,” I tell my reflection, hoping no one can hear me. It’s a full house these days.

At least I look the part. I didn’t have a lot of money to spend on office clothes, and while I know that the company is pretty casual, I wanted to make a good first impression. I’m going into the job with an uphill battle already.

Luckily, Forever 21 and H&M are life-savers for the financially challenged, even though I have to go up a few sizes to accommodate my size-10 curves. I borrowed my mother’s car, took it downtown, and braved Vancouver’s busy Robson Street and mall, searching for enough outfits to last me the first week.

For today’s first impression I wiggled myself into a grey pencil skirt and a blue and white pinstriped dress shirt, paired with grey kitten heels. The skirt shows off my ass and hips in a good way, nipping in at the waist (though Spanx would be nice), the shirt somehow manages to keep my boobs streamlined and under control. To complete the outfit my mom gave me her Louis Vuitton Neverfull bag to use, since my only handbag is a denim piece of shit from Old Navy I snagged on sale years ago.

I decided to keep it simple with my face: tinted moisturizer, used the only tube of tinted lip balm I own, and loads of mascara that highlights my eyes. My hair, on the other hand, is a hopeless case. Long and blah-brown, I haven’t had the time (nor money, nor expertise) to get it cut or colored in a long time, so I just pull it back into a bun. My mother has been dying to get me into a salon ever since I moved back home two weeks ago, but it’s been low on my priority list.

Though now, I can kind of see her point. I sigh, wishing I had lip liner to define my lips underneath the balm, and decide I look good enough. Pretty and polished, but not enough to turn heads or seem like I’m trying too hard. Anyway, I’m sure the moment I step into that office it won’t really matter what the hell I look like. I imagine everyone has heard that I’m the boss’s estranged daughter.

Yeah. My first day at work and it’s for my father’s film company. Which isn’t a bad thing per se, just that the circumstances that brought me here have been difficult, to say the least. It’s been a hell of a month. Actually, the last few years have been hell. The only saving grace in my life has been my seven-year-old son, Tyson, who has somehow braved the worst with me and turned out to be the most mild-mannered and intelligent little boy.

Me, on the other hand, I feel like a complete mess. One moment I’m struggling to make ends meet up in buttfuck nowhere in the northeast corner of British Columbia, Ty’s deadbeat dad Jeff turning to a life of crime and leaving me to work two jobs to support us. The next moment Jeff’s being hauled off to prison and I’m packing up my supremely shitty life and heading back south to the city with my tail between my legs. I’m just lucky that my parents took us in, and even more lucky that my father found a job opportunity for me. They might be family, but our relationship has been nothing but distant and strained for almost a decade.

Of course I’m not working directly for my father. He already has an executive assistant, Patty Le, who has worked with him for a long time. My position is as executive assistant to his business partner, William McAlister.

Honestly, I have no idea what to expect, all I know is I’m organized and a quick learner, and if I do a good job I might have a bright future there, providing my boss isn’t a hard-ass, which I don’t think he is. I remember Mr. McAlister from a long time ago, back when I was a teenager. Other than having a mild crush on him because he reminded me of some of my favorite actors (Gregory Peck, Montgomery Clift, Cary Grant), he was just my father’s friend and business partner, and would sometimes visit with his gorgeous wife for dinner. He was always exceedingly nice, funny, and very charming.

To be honest, I could use a lot of of nice in my life right now.

“Mom,” Ty calls out softly from behind me.

I turn around and see him standing in the doorframe of the bathroom, wringing his hands together anxiously, his brow furrowed with worry.

My heart squeezes at the sight. He’s been so resilient with the move and all the changes, but I know it’s been really hard on him, and the fact that I’m leaving him to go to work only makes it more difficult.

“Yes Ty?”

“Do you have to go?”

Ugh. My heart is melting all over the place.

I go over to him and drop to my knees, pulling him into a tight hug. “You know I do,” I say into his hair before pulling back. I put my hands on his shoulders. “It will be just like before, but better. Because this time I won’t be working so long or so often. I’m off at five. And you have Grandma to take care of you. Didn’t you want to spend some time with the horses?”

He tries to give me a small smile but fails. “I’m scared of them.”

I sigh, brushing his hair off his face. “You know, when I was your age I was scared of them too. They were so big and I was so small. Smaller than you. But you know, your grandmother is a really good teacher. It’s what she does best. She taught me not to be afraid and, in time, the horses became my friends.” I pause, whispering. “And you know what? If you’re really good, she might teach you about the special magic.”

“Magic?” he asks suspiciously, getting to that age now that magic is questionable.

“That’s right. She taught me all about it. This magic let me control the horse, so it would listen to me. Not only did the horse become my friend, but I had all this power and the horse would do whatever I said. Magic.”

Ty’s nose scrunches up as he thinks it over. The fact is, I’m not really lying. My mother was a member of the Canadian Equestrian Team before I was born, competing numerous times at the Pan American Games, so I was raised into the world of horses. In fact, we’re standing in the house I grew up in, located right in the rural, horse-friendly suburb of Southlands in Vancouver. My mother still runs the equestrian center on the property, mainly boarding other people’s horses, but she still gives lessons a few times a week, along with the occasional workshop. Riders come from all over the country to train their show jumpers with Diane Phillips.

But while I was more gung ho about them, and even had my own pony growing up, Ty’s never really been around them. I moved up with him and Jeff to Fort St. John for Jeff’s work when Ty was just a baby. We never visited my parents. They only came up twice, both times for his birthday. Jeff didn’t like it much when I talked to my family, let alone saw them, and I was the idiot who listened to him for far too long.

“What if I come with you to work?” Ty asks hopefully. “I would rather see the dinosaurs than the horses.”

I get to my feet and ruffle his hair lightly. “You know Grandpa’s company just draws the dinosaurs, right? There aren’t actually any dinosaurs there. In fact, I’m pretty sure if I brought you to work you would be bored out of your mind. A bunch of people sitting in cubicles and staring at their computers all day.”

He shrugs just as I hear my mother calling from the kitchen. “Jackie-O, you’re going to be late.”

Shit. I eye the clock on the wall. I should have left five minutes ago to catch the bus on time.

I grab Ty’s hand and scoop up my mother’s LV, putting it on my shoulder. “Come on, come say bye to me with Grandma.”

We leave the room and head down the hall to the kitchen. While I’m getting back on my feet and living with my parents for the time being, I’ve scored the downstairs suite in the house, which used to be guest room. Ty is upstairs in my old room, which I think he likes because it gives him more privacy than the couch he used to sleep on in our old trailer.

My mother is filling up a glass of water from the sink when we walk in.

“Well you look nice,” she says to me but her eyes don’t reflect the smile. It’s been a bit of a learning curve this last bit, trying to get to know each other all over again. Then there’s the fact that I think she’s waiting for me to lose my mind at any moment. I guess I don’t blame her. I’ve been through a lot and, frankly, I’m not sure how I’m managing it so well.

I attempt to do a quick curtsey in jest but then realize my pencil skirt doesn’t bend that way. “Thank you. Let’s just see if I can get through the day without spilling something on my blouse.”

She grins at Ty. “You excited for your first riding lesson today?”

He stares at her, suddenly shy, and wraps his arms around my leg.

“He’s excited,” I tell her, prying his arms off me. “He just doesn’t know it yet. I told him that you might teach him about the magic.”

“Magic?” she asks, and then reads the pleading look on my face. “Oh, of course. Horse magic. Here,” she says, snapping up the keys to her SUV from the counter and coming over to place them in my hand. “Take my car. You’ve missed the bus already. I don’t know why you thought you should take it to begin with. You know transit is a nightmare going from here to downtown.”

Because I already feel like a freeloader, I think to myself, but manage to give her a grateful smile, taking the keys.

Meanwhile she scoops up Ty into her arms and he looks so uncomfortable I almost laugh. I can only hope he survives the day. He starts his new school next week; we moved just as the schools were going on spring break, so until then my mom has her hands full.

“All right, I’m going,” I tell them, kissing Ty on the head and giving my mom an awkward wave.

“Good luck,” she says. “But you won’t need it. You know everyone at Mad Men is pretty amazing.”

Actually I don’t know it, but I’m about to find out.

The drive from this area of Southlands, which is across from the airport, all the way to downtown Vancouver shouldn’t take more than thirty minutes most days, but of course today there’s bumper to bumper traffic on Granville Street and I don’t know the city well enough anymore to try any shortcuts. By the time I pull up to Mad Men Studios, and then circle the block a few times trying to find the right parking garage, I’m already ten minutes late.

Just fucking great. It takes everything in me not to have a panic attack right there in the garage, and through some hasty breathing exercises I make my way down the street to the building. At least it’s not raining, though the grey clouds seem threatening.

The Mad Men Studios I remember growing up, back when it was Phillips Films before my father partnered with Mr. McAlister, was this damp warehouse in East Vancouver, a dangerous part of town even back then. I know they’ve moved buildings once or twice since, but I’m totally not prepared to see this.

Mad Men Studios seems to take up the entire block, housed inside a red brick building with iron details. Everything about it screams fresh, hip, and new, fitting right in with the surroundings in Yaletown, the yuppie part of downtown. The rent here has to be astronomical, which is another indicator of how well my father must be doing.

I know it sounds totally nuts to not know these things about your own father and his business, but since I was eighteen I’ve pretty much been cut off from this world. The only reason I know a little bit about the company is because I researched it once I realized he was giving me a job.

I hate that part, the fact that I’ve been granted this job with no interview, like I’m a charity case. Don’t get me wrong, I’ll do whatever I can to provide a better life for myself and Ty, it’s just my pride is stubborn—dangerously stubborn at times—and I would much rather earn it than be given it. But beggars can’t be choosers, and a month ago I was begging to start my life over again.

And I’m sure most people in my position wouldn’t sweat it if they were ten minutes late on their first day. After all, what’s my father going to do, fire me? But if anything that fact makes me want to prove myself even more. The last thing I want is for the rest of the employees to think I’ve been given anything.

I walk through the glass doors and into the reception area, quickly taking in the room. Movie posters adorn the brick walls in thick gold frames, while black couches and chairs sit atop a white sheepskin rug.

The space is empty except for the receptionist who is in the middle of a call, talking into a wireless headset. She’s young, Asian, and teeny-tiny with square-frame glasses, talking in a clipped voice. I can’t tell if she’s utterly bored or just trying not to expend any excess energy.

Finally, she glances up at me and her expression changes. She comes alive. “You must be Jackie.”

I smile, relieved to find her friendly. “I am. I’m so sorry I’m late. Traffic was horrible and I missed the bus and . . .”

She shrugs. “Eh, doesn’t make a difference to me. I’m not your boss. And I doubt Will would care either. In fact . . .” she leans back in her chair and peers through an archway that leads into the rest of the open office, a mild murmur and clattering of keyboards wafting out, “I don’t even think he’s here yet. So you’re good.” She looks me over. “You might want to button up your top though.”

I glance down and see the top buttons of my blouse have already busted open. My face goes red as I quickly do it up. “Shit. This is what I get for buying this at Forever 21.”

“Hey, I’m twenty-one myself and half their clothes are too slutty for me. Those buttons never had a chance. Buttoning them up goes against their destiny. Here.” She pulls something out of her desk drawer and holds it out of me. It’s a safety pin. “Remember, in case of emergency, break the glass and ask for Tiffany. Whatever you need, I’ve got.”

I give her a grateful smile as I pin my shirt back together. I don’t trust the slut buttons. “I can see why my father hired you.”

“He hired me because I lied on my resume,” she says bluntly. “They found out pretty fast that my miraculous skills in Excel and PowerPoint were all bullshit. But then I just worked extra hard with the Tiffany charm and made up for it. There’s no way in hell I’m going back into that job market out there.” She jerks her thumb toward the window, as if the vile job market is lurking at the door.

I’m already enamored by her honesty. “How long have you been working here?”

“About five months,” she says. “But everyone in the office is kind of new these days. Including Will, as you know.”

I’m not sure I want to admit to Tiffany how little I know, but she seems to read it on my face. “Will controlled the LA office, right,” she says. “They deal mainly with visual effects. We used to do that too, though now we’re doing the animation side of things. But he moved back here last month, so even he’s a bit of a noob. As in newbie. As in the same as you and me.”

“Why did he move back?”

“He went through a divorce. His ex-wife is the general manager down there.”

“Ex-wife?”

Tiffany gives me an odd look and shoves her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “How much did your father tell you about the job?”

“To be honest, not that much. He just knew I needed work and said Mr. McAlister needed an executive assistant.” I pause. “The last few years I’ve been up north, and I haven’t really kept in the know about my father’s company. Or really anything.”

“Mr. McAlister,” she says with an impish smile. “That’s cute.”

I let out a soft laugh. “I remember him from when I was teenager. That’s all he was to me. My dad’s friend. A younger friend, much younger than my dad, but even so, when I was fifteen anyone above twenty was super old. He was probably thirty at the time? So yeah. An ancient old man to teenage Jackie.”

Tiffany raises her eyebrow. “Well I’m guessing he was married back then too. All I know is he split from his wife a year or two ago and tried to tough it out, but I guess it was too hard. I can’t blame him. They’ve got a staff of like a hundred and fifty in the LA office, but when you’re working next to your ex all day that’s got to be rough.”

“How many work here?”

“About fifty. But we’re growing each day. The dinosaur movies, you know, DinoWars, are a real hit right now, so as long as Warner Brothers keeps doing deals with us, we’ll keep expanding. Maybe get some new clients. Hence all the new hires, some of which I still don’t know their names. Whatever. But I’ll know yours. Otherwise Ted will kill me.”

Ted’s my father. Will and Ted, the CEOs of Mad Men Studios, coined because apparently the two of them are mad when they’re together. Least that’s what the company bio said. In reality, I think that means they drink a lot in each other’s presence.

“He’d probably kill me for being late if he were here,” I point out. One good thing about today is that my father is away on business, so I don’t have to deal with the awkwardness of being around him on my first day of work.

“He probably won’t be here all week, so you’re golden,” Tiffany says. “He travels so much now that Will’s here. Heading down to LA all the time.”

I have to admit, it’s a bit weird to be around someone who knows more about your father in the last five months than you have in the last twenty-five years. I better start getting my shit together before people catch on that my father and I aren’t exactly close.

She glances at her computer. “Hmmm. I guess I should call Alyssa and tell her you’re here.”

“Who is Alyssa?”

“She’s the office manager. She’ll be training you, I think.”

“I thought my father, Ted’s assistant, Patty, was doing that.”

“She’s with your father traveling. It’s for the best anyway, Patty takes everything too seriously. Alyssa is a lot more fun—she knows everything and will tell you everything. Especially when she has a few drinks in her. Not that we drink at work.” And at that Tiffany cups her hands around a mug of coffee (at least I think it’s coffee, though now I’m suspicious) and takes a sip before placing it back down. The mug says something about Muggles, and I automatically know I’m dealing with a Harry Potter fan, which makes me like her even more. I swear those books got me and Ty through some pretty lonely nights up north.

Lonely, and scary. I shudder at the thought.

“You all right?” Tiffany asks, peering at me. “I suppose if I was the kind of receptionist I pride myself on being, I would have offered you tea or coffee or water by now.”

“No, it’s fine,” I say quickly. “Thank you.”

She studies me for a moment more and then hits a few keys on the computer. “Alyssa,” she says into the headset. “Your nine o’ clock is here to be initiated into the program.” She looks to me. “She’ll be right out.”

“Program?” I repeat.

“Joking,” Tiffany says brightly.

A curvy blonde woman in skinny jeans, t-shirt, and blazer appears in the doorway, a notepad in hand. She eyes me through her blunt-cut bangs and extends her hand.

“Hi Jackie, nice to finally meet you. I’m Alyssa,” she says, taking my hand into hers and giving it a quick shake. “Are you excited? Nervous?”

“Both?”

“Don’t worry, you’ll fit right in here, I promise.” She looks at Tiffany. “You’ve been nice to her, right?”

Tiffany just rolls her eyes. “Yes master.”

Alyssa grins at me, showing off a gap in her white teeth that reminds me of Ty. “I get to boss her around, it’s the best part of the job.”

“Ha ha,” Tiffany says before she answers a call. “Good morning, Mad Men Studios, how may I direct your call?”

“Shall we start with the tour?” Alyssa asks, gesturing toward the rest of the office. “Come on.”

I follow her out through the doorway and into a large rectangular space with high ceilings and exposed beams. Along the edge of half the room are classic offices, glass exteriors with wood doors, plus blinds for privacy. Across from a few of the offices are desks and a few cubicles. In the middle of the room are what look like long, white picnic tables, with a few monitors and people sitting in front of them. In the corner of the room are couches, coffee tables, and chairs, like some hip café. More people are strewn across them, some talking but most listening to their headphones and furiously typing on their laptops.

It takes me a moment to realize where I am, that this is my father’s company. Who the hell knew he would create something so fresh and urban? Though there are some classic features, this place definitely has a trendy slant with the iron details, the brick work, and the communal work benches.

“This is the belly of the beast,” Alyssa says proudly, “where all the administrative, communications, finance, and executives work.” She points across the room where a glass door leads down a hall. “Down there is where the so-called magic happens, where the animators work. I’ll show you that later, but I don’t think you’ll have much to do with them. So what do you think? I’m the office manager in case you didn’t know, so I pride myself on first impressions of this place.”

“It’s pretty cool,” I tell her, looking around. A few people look up at me but quickly go back to work. “Everyone looks so young.”

“Median age is twenty-nine,” she says. “Your father is the oldest, which makes sense since he started the company. The LA office is a bit older, which is probably why he’s started traveling down there more often. I think he feels like a grandpa here.”

“Well he is a grandpa,” I tell her.

“Oh that’s right,” she says, giving me a sheepish smile and briefly putting her hand on my arm. “I’m sorry, I forgot. He’s been excited to have you and your son back home. You have a little boy, right?”

“Yeah. Tyson.”

“How old is he?”

“Turned seven in November,” I tell her, waiting for the inevitable but you look so young, you must have been a baby when you had him, etc.

To Alyssa’s credit she doesn’t say that. “A Scorpio. He must be a feisty one.”

“Actually he’s pretty quiet. Just likes to read. And he’s currently obsessed with dinosaurs, so he’s a bit jealous that I’m working here now. He knows Grandpa is in charge of all the dinosaur cartoon movies.”

“Shhh,” Alyssa says sharply, putting her finger to her lips. “You call them cartoons and you immediately get tossed out the door by the artists. Animation. Always animation.”

I raise my brow. “Even if it’s not animated?”

“Yes. Just to be safe. The artists are touchy.”

“Good to know. So how does the table set-up work here? Where do I work?”

“Oh, well,” she says, gesturing to picnic tables. “A lot of people don’t have permanent desks or offices. They just work wherever they want.”

I frown, not too thrilled about it. “Where do they keep their stuff?”

“They have lockers in the back, and under the table there’s a drawer for stuff they need on hand. We just like to keep it flexible. But you have a desk right across from Will’s office. This way.”

I sigh with relief, following her along the row of offices, doors all closed. I read the names: Alyssa Martin, Darlene Birch, Bob Cantu. “This is your father’s,” Alyssa says, gesturing to a large one in the corner that says Ted Phillips, President, on a gold plate on the door, then the office right next to it that says William McAlister, Vice President. “And this is obviously Will’s. They like to both be tucked away in the corner and away from the riff-raff.”

“I’m guessing my father is the one calling them riff-raff?”

“You got that right.” She turns around and splays her palms out to the cubicle across from the offices, split into two with a partition between. “This is your desk. Patty is on the other side.”

It’s a nice sized desk, wrap around style with lots of room for folders and files, with both a MacBook and a desktop Mac as well. The partition between Patty and I is frosted, so it provides a bit of privacy too and I won’t have to feel like someone is breathing down my neck.

I’ve just put my bag on the desk and am about to ask Alyssa where the restrooms are, when she puts one hand on her hip and says in a coy voice, “And here comes the man of the hour himself. Late as usual.”

I look over to see a tall, broad-shouldered man stride into the office, briefcase in one hand, and leashes attached to two dogs in the other.

The dogs take me by surprise.

As does the man’s hulking silhouette.

Alyssa goes on, whispering to me, “There’s no excuse for him being late though, he lives just around the corner. You should see his place. Heard it costs three million. Wait, I forgot to check, you’re okay with dogs right?” she asks me quickly.

“Huh? Dogs? Yeah,” I say absently, unable to take my eyes off him—my boss—as he approaches, walking toward us with the two dogs, one a small Pitbull type, the other a scruffy thing. Both extremely cute.

I don’t really get a good look at him until he’s just a few feet away. A few feet away, stopped, and staring at me with a wry grin on his face.

Holy shit. Is this really Mr. McAlister?

The Mr. McAlister I remember from when I was a teenager was tall, dark, and handsome, his voice and furrowed brow reminding me of Gregory Peck. A total old-fashioned movie star. Now he’s all those things magnified. Age has made him one hell of a sexy beast dressed in a sharp navy blue suit, his dogs now sitting politely beside him.

“You couldn’t possibly be Jackie,” he says to me, looking me up and down with the kind of wonderment that nearly brings heat to my cheeks. His voice is stronger than I remembered, shoots some kind of electricity through me. It’s as deep as sin, smooth as scotch, the kind of voice that should do voiceovers for car commercials.

“That’s me,” I manage to say, straightening my back and trying to look professional, even though this whole exchange is unraveling me for some weird reason.

“You were just a kid when I saw you last,” he says smoothly. “You look like your mother now. Thank god because I couldn’t stomach someone else looking like your father. Getting a bit sick of his mug already.”

Alyssa breaks out into a nervous hyena-like laugh. I frown at her, wondering what her deal is.

“So,” he goes on, ignoring her, that distinctive voice drawing my attention immediately back to him, and he stares at me for a moment. I can’t help but stare right back, marveling at the color of his eyes, green-blue, like a lagoon, the bare masculinity of his wide jaw covered with a five o’ clock shadow, the dark swoop of thick black hair off his forehead.

How the hell am I supposed to work with a man—for a man—who looks like he could be the next James Bond?

It could be worse than having daily eye candy, I quickly remind myself. When I worked at Safeway, my manager had ear and nose hair you could braid.

“Sorry I’m late,” he says, glancing down at the dogs. “They tie me up most mornings. This is Sprocket,” he looks at the scruffy one, then to the Pitbull. “And this is Joan of Bark.”

I can’t help but laugh. “Joan of Bark?”

“We call her Joanie for short. I don’t always bring them in, but the dog-walker cancelled today. God, I hope you’re a dog person,” he says, running his long, tanned fingers over his stubble as he seems to ponder the consequences.

“And what if I wasn’t?”

He grins at me, a smile that lights up the space around him. “I’m sure Joanie would make you a believer. Maybe not Sprocket though. He can be a little dick.” He looks to Alyssa. “Are you done giving her the tour?”

“We were just getting started,” she says.

“Good, give me a bit to get ready,” he tells her before he winks at me. “See you later, kid.”

He takes the dogs into his office and shuts the door.

I look at Alyssa. Did my new boss just call me kid?

But she’s got a silly smile on her face, her cheeks pink. “So that’s Will. You’re a lucky girl you know, he’s probably the best person to work for here.” Her voice is rich with some sort of nuance I can’t place. She pauses. “I mean, your dad is really nice too, don’t get me wrong. I’ve been working for him for almost five years now and—”

I raise my palm and nod. “It’s okay. It’s my dad. You’re not going to hear me signing his praises, believe me.”

“Right, well I guess it’s good you’re helping Will then.” She leans in close. “You know he’s recently divorced,” she whispers. “Poor guy. I’m still in contact with his ex, Sasha, pretty much every day. She’s the general manager at the LA office. She’s nice and all, but I’ve heard things . . .”

I just nod, not sure at first what she wants me to say, and then remember Tiffany’s warning about her being a gossip. “The last I saw Mr. McAlister, he was with Mrs. McAlister,” I tell her, finding it neutral enough.

She laughs softly, eyes dancing. “You call him Mr. McAlister. That’s funny. Anyway, let’s get going.”

She picks up her notepad and starts walking toward the sleek white picnic tables in the middle of the room.

I look behind me at the closed door to Mr. McAlister’s office, catching him just as he’s done opening his blinds and turning around, saying something to his dogs as they come running over.

Jeez. I’ve talked to him for a few seconds and I’m already a smitten kitten. I take a moment to admire his back side, before hurrying after Alyssa to continue the rest of the tour.