The receptionist at Brooks Headquarters was a model of corporate composure—sleek bun, tailored navy blazer, faint perfume that smelled expensive but not too overwhelming. Her fingers moved quickly over the keyboard as she glanced up with a polite, nonintrusive smile.
"Hey, I am here to see Jack," the man in front of her asked, voice clipped, his shoulders stiff.
She adjusted her headset slightly. "Good morning, sir. Do you have an appointment?"
"Yes." The word came out too fast, too sure.
Her brows lifted slightly, not suspicious but cautious. "May I have your name?"
"Sam."
The receptionist kept her professional smile in place but tapped a few keys. "May I have your full name, sir?"
"Samuel Miller."
She typed again, scanning the monitor carefully. Her perfectly manicured nails clicked against the keys. "I'm sorry, Mr. Miller, but I don't see your name in Mr. Brooks' schedule for today. Are you sure the appointment was set for today?"
