Maybe he’s more affected by my tension than I thought. “I’ll wait outside, sir,” he says, surprising me, and he climbs out of the car before I can stop him. Taylor clears his throat and his eyes dart to mine in the rearview mirror. I’ve signed the revised heads of agreement. Well, that’s something I can rectify when I take control. The business behind those closed doors could be an insurance company or an accounting firm-they’re not displaying their wares.
Set back beyond a wide, open sidewalk, the building is shabby and in need of renovation the company’s name is etched haphazardly in the glass, and the frosted effect on the window is peeling. She’s inside-inside Seattle Independent Publishing. Taylor sits in the driver’s seat, staring straight ahead, wordless, looking his usual composed self, while I can barely breathe.
The atmosphere feels stifling, and though I’m trying to remain calm, the anticipation and anxiety are knotting my stomach and pressing down on my chest.
I shift in my seat in the rear of the car. I know I’m early, but I’ve been looking forward to this moment all day. It’s 5:36 and I stare through the privacy glass of my Audi at the front door of her building.
