Ayaan checks his texts again, frown getting deeper when he reads for the umpteenth time. He's going to meet you at Impresso's. At five. Please, just drop your schedule for today. If there's anything you can't delay, just tell me and I'll take care of it.

He wants to reply with something crabby because her Oh-my-God-Ayaan-his-voice-is-so-pretty guy is late. But he holds back because he's still mildly embarrassed about being an airhead on the phone with her.

He sighs and looks through the see-through glass of the cafe and at the moderately busy street, finding his mind drifting through all of the scenarios he could approach Avni with the ring, but soon realizes he's failing terribly because every time a new car whizzes by, it leaves his head in a fog all over again.

Somewhere at the back of his head, a voice calls the entire thing a waste of time, since they had both known they'd have to marry each other one day or the other.

But another voice--firmer and more insistent than the first one--tells him that this is only the right thing to do. To give her this because if she didn't have a say in the marriage either, a decent proposal is what she deserves. As her closest friend for so many years, he owes her this.

Releasing a breath and then rubbing his temple as more of a force of habit than because of the subdued headache that seems to be following him for weeks now, he rechecks the glass doors of the place for a supposedly curly-haired boy.

Less angry but more lost now, he flips through his unchecked mails, knee bouncing under the table. If Ma saw me right now, she'd snap at me to sit straight. He shakes his head and looks over at the doors yet again, jaw ticking with impatience. He tries to suppress the returning annoyance but fails when half an hour passes by with no sign of the guy.

Patience was never his best quality anyway.

He isn't here. I'm leaving, he texts his sister and swiftly slides out of his seat, face marred with irritation. He fixes his coat and doesn't bother checking his phone when he receives a text right after, assuming it's Tanvi. She always replies within seconds.

He can't find it in himself to check his phone even when it chimes two more times, striding out of the café and straight to his car. He slides his phone inside his pocket, resisting the urge to just shut it off when it chimes one last time.

In a span of the next three minutes, he's driving away, unaware of the fact that the boy with impossibly tousled hair that comes rushing through the café doors is going to flip his entire life upside down in a matter of weeks.

-

Mason instantly calls the now familiar number again, hand on his hip as he pants because of how hard he had to run around the block, disappointment clouding his damp face as he realizes that the man he's supposed to meet has probably already left.

Idiot, idiot, idiot, he calls himself internally, sighing at nothing when the woman picks up after a few rings.

"Did he leave? For real? Please, tell me he didn't."

"I think he did," he replies softly, trying to mask the distress in his voice. He cards his fingers through the mop of his curly hair in chagrin. "I should have been on time. I have no excuse. I'm so sorry."

Tanvi, like the angel she is, quickly waves his apology away. "No, no, no! It's fine. I wish he had waited just a few minutes more-"

Mason can't help but let out a chuckle. "Ms. Allen, please. This is solely on me. He's a busy man." He hesitates, lower lip held between his teeth. "I know this is asking for too much, but if you could do me a little favor..."

"Oh, not at all. Go ahead."

"I would really appreciate it if you could tell me where he would most likely be at this hour. I have an appointment I need to make up for," and then with a sheepish smile, he adds, "And a wild boss to save myself from."

Tanvi lets out a short laugh, obviously a little more at ease now. "Of course, we wouldn't want Gwen's wrath showered upon you. I believe Ayaan must have headed back to his office right away. It's actually not that far from where you are." Mason holds back a sigh of relief. "I'll text you the address and inform his secretary to pencil you in."

"That'd be great. Thank you." He checks his watch before heading towards the barista to order and espresso. Then, as an afterthought, he adds, "What kind of coffee does Mr. Sharma like?"

If only he could see Tanvi smile on the other end. "None. Just tea. Lemon."

-

It takes Mason fifteen minutes to reach his destination by cab whose driver he warmly smiles at before he steps out.

A low whistle leaves his mouth when his eyes take in the intimidating structure of the tall building in front of him. A very tall building.

The darn thing looks like it could fit the entire city in there, he muses. Immediately shaking his head at his stupid thoughts, he runs his hand through his hair again and scratches the back of his neck right after when he realizes he probably looks like a walking mess.

He looks down at himself once just in case, making sure his blue button-up shirt isn't unceremoniously tucked out of his slacks like it usually is.

Christ Almighty, kid, why are you always so unkempt? His mother's voice speaks distinctly inside his head. When will you learn how to present yourself in front of people?

He hates it. Hates that of all times, this is when her words appear to haunt him. The time when he stands in front of the building where his first real client awaits. That is if he hasn't screwed it up already with the whole getting late fiasco.

And now thanks to his mother's ever piercing words if not her physical presence, he feels like a little kid all over again at the worst time possible.

He sighs and grips the styrofoam cup in his hand a little tighter, metally ticking the things he already knows about the man he's going to meet as he steps in through the giant automatic doors.

"He's not cold," Tanvi had told him in a small voice when he had asked her what to expect of her brother. "...a little subdued, maybe? He might seem really intimidating, just a heads up."

Mason is already thinking of ways to apologize when he reaches the petite, middle-aged receptionist who smiles at him politely in greeting and asks his name.

Don't screw this up, you little shit, Gwen's words of warning repeat inside his head while he gives the receptionist his details. If Gwen doesn't already know that he was late to the meeting with Ayaan, she's definitely going to be disappointed in him if he can't get the man to hire them officially as their wedding planners.

The brightly lit place only adds to his agitation, but he forces a smile in return when the woman in front of him finally gives him directions to the CEO's office.

"Don't screw this up," he mutters to himself like a mantra when he finally enters the elevator and presses the button for the thirty-second floor.