DAMIEN 

I was sitting in this swanky little restaurant about an hour from my office, dressed in a sharp suit, hair perfectly in place, looking like I had my life together — and for what? For the client to be thirty minutes late.  

Fine. I could do thirty minutes. I opened my laptop, tried to focus, made a few notes, and started zoning into some semblance of productivity. Maybe I could salvage this hour. Maybe I could breathe. 

Then my phone buzzed. 

Client canceled. Just like ...