I never know what to expect when I open my door to new clients.

The preliminary phone call only reveals so much. In this case, it came from a woman who introduced herself as Marissa Bishop.

My marriage is in trouble, she began. I need to talk to my husband about something, but it's a bit complicated. I thought if we came in together—

I’d cut her off there.

I don’t want any bias to color my perception before we meet. Plus, the initial communication is for scheduling and security screening only. The actual work doesn’t start until the first of our ten sessions. Still, I gleaned a fair amount of information about Marissa Bishop during our brief conversation: She has money, since she didn’t balk at my fee. She’s polished and well-spoken, using complete sentences rather than the fragments and fillers people often rely upon in spoken communication. And she’s nervous; her voice wavered.

The doorbell chimes, indicating the Bishops’ arrival, a few minutes late for our 7:00 p.m. appointment at my home office.

Are evenings okay? My husband works long hours; he has a demanding schedule.

If I decide to work with them, this lack of punctuality won’t happen again. I send a quick text to the man I’m seeing later tonight: 8:30 works. Do you have any limes? I set my phone to silent mode, then tuck the bottle of expensive tequila a client brought me earlier today into my tote bag. Therapists aren’t supposed to accept gifts from clients. But I’m not one to follow the rules.