The minute I step through the doors of our agency, I feel a hum of excitement mixed with anxiety slither under my skin.‌

My year interning here felt like sitting on hold for a call I was dying to make, just having to listen to the same elevator music loop endlessly and hope that I wouldn’t get disconnected along the way. But now, I’m here with the freedom to act as a full-time agent, and it’s like the call has finally connected. I have a purpose and a future, and I could sing from the joy of it. The anxiety comes from knowing I have to interact with the jerks in this office while enjoying that freedom. But I don’t want to think about that

now.

Two things happened when I heard that journalist’s question about the Sharks cutting Derek. (1) My heart sank for him—the man I love. Seeing how he believed them instantly, how his entire demeanor shifted into despair—I hated it. I wanted to do whatever I could to secure his dreams.

(2) My blood lit on fire. How dare they try to cut my client from the team. Or to leak the information to put us in a groveling position. After all the years he’s devoted to them—all the games he’s helped them win, this is how they’re going to treat him? Unacceptable.

Mr. Rogers has a saying I’ve always lived by: “There are three ways to ultimate success. The first way is to be kind. The second is to be kind. The third is to be kind.”

And that’s why I’m going to kindly ask if there is any truth to those rumors. And if they confirm them, I will kindly tell them they can shove their underhanded gossip-leaking manipulation up their asses, and then I will kindly remind them that if needed, we would have been happy to revisit contract terms and salary had my client been shown the respect of approaching us first—but when that respect is violated, they can go suck on gumballs as far as we are concerned.

I have an entire email mentally writing itself through my mind as I move down the hall. But the second I open my broom closet office and find it utterly empty, my thoughts are wiped.

Where is my stuff?

And then another appalling thought.

Oh my god, did they fire me?

A chuckle sounds behind me. I spin around to face Nicole.

“I can practically hear your terrifying thoughts as you’re thinking them,” Nicole says with a grin on her red lips. She’s looking fabulous in her expensive wide-leg trousers, shiny pink heels, and a white silk blouse tucked in. I’m sure there’s a matching jacket draped over the back of her desk chair. “Welcome home,” she says with a mischievous lilt. “I knew you’d see your office and assume you were fired. And by the look on your face, I was right.”

I sigh with relief, thankful I’m not finding out I’m fired while wearing leggings, an oversized smiley face T-shirt, and a hat that expresses my support of macaroni and cheese. “I’ll be honest, I don’t enjoy this pit of despair you’re dangling me over for your own twisted fun. But I do like seeing you happy, so by all means, carry on.”

She groans. “Follow me.”

We pass a few male colleagues in their starchy gray department store suits and they do not look happy to see me. I mean—to be fair, they’ve never been overjoyed to see me under normal circumstances. But definitely not after returning from my honeymoon, apparently. And none seems more unhappy I’ve returned than Marty—who is watching me from his desk as I

pass his office. His pasty white complexion is full of disdain that I don’t think I deserve. Actually, I know I don’t deserve.

“Marty,” Nicole says as we pass. “Might want to wipe that look off your face and then do the same with the mustard on your shirt.”

I almost wish I had been drinking something so I could have done a dramatic spit take.

Nicole is my queen. She doesn’t take anything from anyone. I would go to the ends of the world for her. And I hope that one day I can have skin as thick as hers—because part of me is a little afraid that if I have to work in a building surrounded by so many unkind people every day, I’ll crumble. Derek’s words echo in my mind. You have options. But do I really? I worked so hard to get to where I am now. If I quit and go somewhere new, will I have to start from the bottom again?

Ugh—Derek. My anxiety is like building blocks, layering one after another, forming an endless, daunting tower of misery. This morning was weird. Awkward and uncomfortable and I can’t decide if it was me making it tense or him. What happened to our breezy openness from Cancún? My honesty felt tied up and locked in a dungeon. I couldn’t even bring myself to ask him if he was upset that I was going to work instead of the hospital. Somehow it felt like saying those words out loud would infect a healing wound. I was unprepared for how quickly life would slam into us, and I wish…

No time to think of all that.

I follow Nicole down the hallway to a closed office door. My eyes bounce from Nicole’s smiling red lips to the door she’s gesturing for me to open.

Tornadoes take over my stomach as I touch the handle and tug it down. The door opens and I stand rooted—speechless as I stare at the beautiful office. The office that now houses my desk and my belongings. The office with enough room that Derek, Jamal, Nathan, Price, and Lawrence could all fit in here comfortably with me. And look! It has a window. A huge picture window that overlooks the city and is bursting with sunlight. There are even fresh flowers in a vase on my desk.

Nicole got me an office. A real, honest-to-goodness office.

“You know I have a no-crying rule,” Nicole says, interrupting the moment.

I sniffle. “That’s unfortunate because I’m about to blubber all over you.” I turn my face to her, and Nicole takes a retreating step back.

“Oh no you don’t.”

But I do. I practically leap for her and wrap my arms around her fabulously dressed body and squeeze her like a lemon. “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Now, let me go or you’re fired,” she wheezes out.

I release her so I can finally step into my new grand office. It feels so official when I take a seat at my desk. So important. Everything I’ve ever wanted, and…I’m immediately sick with guilt over it. I lied and I manipulated things in my favor so I could come out on top—and it worked. I have the sudden distinct feeling that I don’t deserve any of this.

“I need to confess something.”

My hands bunch into nervous little knots under my desk. “The marriage…we lied to you about it. The elopement wasn’t on purpose, contrary to what we told you and Joseph. We accidentally got drunk and eloped, and then he saved my butt by suggesting we sell it as true love for a while. Long enough to let the scandal fade. The only part that was true in our whole speech was that we dated in college.”

I pause, waiting for Nicole’s anger or feelings of betrayal to show. But instead, she smirks. “Yeah—I figured. And it was smart.”

When she doesn’t say anything else, I show indignation on her behalf. “No. Not smart! Cunning. Manipulative. Wrong,” I pronounce with conviction.

“I literally called you and told you to come up with a hell of an argument. And you did. Job well done.”

I shake my head. “I don’t deserve any of this. I got it through deceiving others, and now I’m going to have to sit in here every day on my throne of lies and know what I did to achieve it! I should quit. Better yet…you should fire me! Go ahead. I can take it.”

Nicole runs her tongue over her teeth and then gracefully takes the seat facing my desk. She leans back into the corner of it and crosses one perfectly creased pant leg over the other. “Listen to me, I never, ever want to hear you say you don’t deserve any of this again.”

The quiet ferocity in her voice has me keeping my mouth shut—but I know my eyes are saucers.

“You did not earn this job because of who you are or are not married to. I could honestly give two shits about your marital status. It’s true, lying about your marriage helped you keep your job because the world is still very cruel to women and would have eaten you alive if you admitted to getting drunk with your client and accidentally eloping. They wouldn’t have been able to see any of the nuance in the relationship.” She uncrosses her legs and leans forward. “But I know you, Mac. I know you better than you realize. And if you didn’t already love Derek, your college sweetheart, you never would have gone along with the plan. If you didn’t know deep down in your heart that Derek might still be the one for you—you would have come clean immediately. But part of you knew he was a safe bet.”

I open my mouth to argue but she continues, “Besides all of that, you weren’t breaking any company policies. The only reason you were going to be let go after you married him was because of the scandal it would have caused when you divorced right away. Because it would look sloppy. And would have made the agency look sloppy. But you salvaged it by selling your love story—just like I hoped you would.”

She does have a point. But my conscience is still screaming at me. “I don’t feel good about keeping this job under false pretenses.”

“It’s not false pretenses though, is it?” she asks with a conniving grin, and I know exactly what she means before she even clarifies. “Are you and Derek still planning to divorce?”

I pause. “No.” At least, I don’t think so. Dammit. Why didn’t we hammer out those details?

“And did you two by chance exchange declarations of feelings at any point on your honeymoon?” she asks with a raised brow. All-knowing sorceress.

I fight a smile, because at least we did do that, even if I didn’t tell him the extent of my feelings for him. “Yes. Declarations were exchanged.”

She rolls her eyes and waves off my fear with a flick of her hand. “Then put it all behind you, Mac. We all make choices in life and some of them are necessarily more gray than others. This is one of those times. You’re a good person and I don’t think for a second you would have eloped—or even gone out drinking—with anyone other than Derek. You did what was needed to extract yourself from a messy situation, and it was honestly brilliant.”

My moral compass is spinning out of control.

“I’ve had to make gray, self-preserving choices too,” she continues. “I think every woman fighting for equality has or will have to at some point to be honest. And we need each other’s support along the way. You have mine, not because of who your husband is, but because even before all of that, you were the best intern and associate we’ve had in years. No one has worked harder than you, and I truly believe you’re going to be one of the best agents in the business. That is why you deserve to be in this office— and that’s why I never want to hear you say anything contrary to it ever again. Understand?”

I press my quivering lips together and nod. “Thank you, Nicole.”

A kind smile pulls at both corners of her mouth. She really does like me. The sound of a muffled sneeze outside my office door yanks us both from our conversation. And then panic hits. My door was open during all of that. And even though Nicole is understanding about it all—who’s to say

that anyone else would be.

Nicole must have the same thought as me because she shoots from her chair and goes to the door, peeking her head out to look both ways down the hallway.

“There’s no one out here. We must have heard someone in their office.”

My shoulders relax and I let out a whoosh of air. “Before you go. Can I get your advice about Derek?”

Nicole closes my door this time and retakes her seat in front of me. I tell her everything that happened at the airport this morning and we spend the next twenty minutes talking strategy and wording for when I go digging for

the truth. This. This is what I love to do. And knowing I’m fighting for the career of the man I love makes it even more tantalizing.

After a while, Nicole stands from the chair and heads for the door. She hesitates before leaving, though, and turns around. “I’m glad to have you in the office, Mac. You…you make the tough environment here more bearable.”

I grin proudly. “It really cost you to say that, didn’t it?” “Thank you for noticing.”

“I don’t care what you say, you’re a great friend, Nicole.”

She narrows her eyes. “Work friend. We’re work friends only, got it?”

“I would honestly die for you,” I say solemnly while standing up from my desk and moving around it without having to press my back to the wall. “We’ll be best friends by next week.”

“I already have a best friend.” “Which is me,” I whisper.

“It’s not you.” She rolls her eyes. “It’s my husband.”

I gasp with genuine shock. “You’re married?! Why did I not know this?”

Nicole grins—proud of the secret she’s apparently kept from me for goodness knows how long. “I don’t mix my personal and work life.”

“What will you tell me next? You’re a singing governess for the von Trapp family on the weekends?”

She’s already walking away from me. “Goodbye, Mac. I’m leaving now.”

“Nora, actually,” I correct for the first time. “I’d like to go by my first name from now on, because I’ve honestly never liked Mac. It doesn’t feel like me.”

Nicole pauses to look back at me. She smiles (or in the special way that only Nicole can smile where it’s really just a minuscule lift to the corners of her mouth) and nods. “Nora it is.”

“Thank you, bestie.”

She disappears down the hall into her office and I turn to look at mine again, trying to convince myself that the hesitation I feel about working

here for any length of time is just nervous jitters. I put my hands on my hips and force a smile. “Yeah. This is going to be okay.”

My phone starts ringing and I’m hopeful that it’s Derek, but then I register my dad’s contact photo and my stomach drops to the earth’s core. This is it—the call I’ve been dreading. The one where my dad will expect me to be so happy for him even though I haven’t heard a peep out of him in months. He’ll also expect me to offer my wedding planning services in some way like I have in the past. He’ll want me to be happy for him even though it’ll mean him trading me out for another family until he moves on from them too and circles back to me.

Normally, I would be compelled to answer this call. I would be afraid it would be my only shot with my dad—and if I missed it, I wouldn’t get another one. But not this time. The more rings that go unanswered, the easier it is for me to completely let it go. To finally see with unflinching clarity that I deserve more than this. And from now on, I’m not going to dangle off the edge of his halfhearted communication. I’ll call him back when I’m good and ready. And then I’m going to tell him I won’t be making it to his wedding, and that after the wedding, we need to have a real talk.

I reject the call and then look out over my office and smile.