The man arrived without an appointment at eleven-forty on a Wednesday and stood at Seraphina's desk with the energy of someone who had decided in the car over that he was going to be difficult today and was committed to the whole performance.
His name was Mr. Harrington. She knew this because Mrs. Lawson had mentioned him once in passing with a look that communicated several things without selecting any of them. Four secretaries in two years, all of them cried before lunch. This was, apparently, his signature.
He was a broad man in an expensive grey suit with cufflinks that caught the light and eyes that had already assessed Seraphina and arrived at a conclusion she could read from across the desk without trying.
"I need to see Roman Carter," he said. Not to her specifically but to the general airspace above her head.
"Mr. Carter is in a meeting that runs until one," Seraphina said pleasantly. "Can I help you with something in the meantime?"
