She listens, nodding as she types a brief reminder into her calendar. “Right. Send me the revised drawings by Wednesday afternoon, and we’ll schedule a final walkthrough for Friday morning.” A small smile crosses her face. “Perfect. Thank you. I look forward to talking to you then.”

Bette ends the call and immediately returns her attention to the computer, then a familiar voice interrupts her concentration.

“Uh, Bette?” James sticks his head through the partially open office door.

Bette doesn’t look up. “Yeah?”

“It’s almost two.”

Bette’s fingers stop moving. She glances at the clock in the corner of her monitor, then quickly checks her watch. “Shit.” She immediately pushes back her chair and stands.

James chuckles as Bette grabs her tailored black jacket from the back of her chair, slips it on, and straightens her lapels. She reaches for her phone and checks the time again. “If I’m late again and end up in the pickup line behind Angie’s newfound nemesis, Addison, I will never hear the end of it.”

James laughs.

Bette sighs dramatically as she walks around her desk. “Apparently, this child has made it her personal mission to beat Angie to the front of the pickup line every afternoon. And according to my daughter, Tina and I are directly responsible for allowing this injustice to continue.”

James smiles. “Well, we certainly can’t have that.”

“No, James, we cannot.” Bette grabs her clutch and tucks it beneath her arm before reaching for her car keys. “Listen, I just sent you the updated installation schedule. I need you to confirm the catering numbers with the event coordinator and make sure Joy’s team signs off on the final exhibition catalog proofs.”

James nods and slides his hands into his pockets. “On it…”

Just as Bette reaches the main exhibition floor, her cell phone begins ringing. She glances at the screen and answers without breaking stride. “Bette Porter.”

She listens as she walks towards the exit. “Yes, thanks for getting back to me.” Her expression brightens. “I just wanted to confirm everything for my friend’s bachelorette party in a few weeks.” She pushes open the gallery’s glass front door and steps outside into the warm afternoon sunshine. “Right, Shane McCutcheon. We spoke last week about reserving the private lounge for the evening.”