It sounded stupid, her quest for a single small day planner. A whole month had passed since she left her planner at this particular spot, but she was desperate to have it back. Some treacly children’s book about rabbits-- or maybe they were hares, it didn’t matter to Jordana-- had crossed her desk this morning, and she had wanted to reach out to a Russian girl on the publishing house’s payroll to illustrate it. The only problem? Her on-the-go planner was missing from her purse, and the last place she had remembered checking it was out of sheer boredom on her horrible Tinder date, so here she was, just after work, trying to beg the staff into giving it back. “Surely you must’ve seen it, it’s got a marbled pink cover, spiral bound? Fits right into your hand,” she explained to the maitre d. He was trying her patience, but she knew it was easier to just be unerringly polite if she wanted to get her way. “I know I should’ve come earlier, but I really need it back.”