Less than twenty minutes later, I’m in the back of a large SUV with tinted windows and I’m sitting mere inches away from him. My briefcase is on my lap and I’ve a pen in one hand. I’m preoccupied, mulling over the weirdness of this request.

“That habit is at odds with how you present yourself, you know.”

I look up at his remark questioningly. He is regarding me, half-smirking.

What the hell is he talking about?

I then realize I have a strand of hair between my fingers, absent-mindedly twisting it. I drop it and still my hands on my lap, internally cursing him out.

For God’s sake.

It’s...