“Morning,” she said as I stepped in. “Coffee’s on your left. Updated agenda at your seat. And yes, I know.”
“You know what?”
“That he’s coming.”
I looked at her.
“The fiancé,” she said. “The one with the face.”
I almost smiled. “The face?”
“The one that says he tips only when people are watching.”
I sat down at the head of the table.
At 9:03, Logan walked in.
He entered mid-conversation with one of his analysts, laughing about something, his confidence preceding him by a full two seconds. Then he looked up.
