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“My niece. She was only four at the time. I didn’t stand a chance.”

Claire closed her eyes briefly like she was asking God for patience. This man. Of course he let his niece name his dog. “You let a four-year-old name your dog?”

“Have you tried arguing with a four-year-old?”

“Have you tried managing clients?”

“I promise you, Ainsley is worse. I don’t think your clients give you puppy dog eyes to get what they want.”

Claire did not have time for this. She attempted to step around them. That was when her iced coffee slipped. Noah reached out without even thinking and caught it before it hit the floor. It spilled slightly, but the majority of it survived.

Claire stared at him. He stared back, holding her drink. “You’re late,” he observed.

“How do you know that?”

“You’re wearing one earring, and your blazer is inside out.”

Claire looked down. “No, it’s not.”

“It is.”

Another pause. Then she slowly turned back. She would have to run in order to find her second earring and fix her blazer. She couldn’t be late on her second day.

That was not the image she was creating.

Noah, unbothered, handed her the coffee. He looked entirely too calm for someone delivering chaos on a Tuesday morning.

“How are you so calm?” she asked.

Noah shrugged. “I fix things.”

He said it like it was a personality trait. Claire couldn’t decide if that was ridiculous or admirable.

“That’s not a personality trait.”

“It is for me.”

Biscuit sat down between them like a mediator. Claire looked down at the dog again. Then at Noah. Then back at the dog. “Fine,” she muttered, “but I am not a dog person.”

Biscuit wagged his tail like he disagreed.

“Do not look at me like that,” Claire warned him.

The dog continued looking at her.

“That is manipulation.”

Noah smiled. Claire was smiling too. She hated that Biscuit was probably right.

Claire Bennett did not lose arguments with golden retrievers.

Claire slipped into her chair just before nine, balancing an iced coffee in one hand and her laptop bag in the other. Despite the unexpected lobby encounter, she made it to work on time.

“Morning,” called one of the designers.

“Morning.”

She had barely opened her laptop when an email from Mrs. Sinclair appeared.