MIRA (April 2013)
Tess arrived at the office, standing in front of a plate glass window, fixing her hair while trying not to act as if she
had spent the past ten minutes in a taxi, yelling at the driver that her life depended on getting to this meeting on time.
It was the Irish in her. A flair for drama came naturally to Tess. Yet in a sense, her urgent need was no exaggeration.
Finally, she was about to reach for her dream, and this meeting was a critical step in the process. She couldn’t afford
to be late or to be seen as a flake, or unreliable in any way.
The San Francisco fog had done a number on her hair, but the reflection looking back at her was acceptable, she supposed.
Dark tights and a conservative skirt, cream-colored sweater under a gray jacke