Ugh. The last thing I want is to have a regular contract with Connor. “Actually....” I clear my throat and sit up straight. Connor can’t see me, but from my research I know that body language sends as many signals to you as it does to the other party in the conversation. I’d strike a power pose, but there’s a couple making their way through the courtyard and I don’t want to draw their attention. “I’m calling about ending the contract.”

“Really?” I almost believe the disappointment in his tone. “That would be a real shame. I’d be sad to see you go.”

“I just don’t think it’s the right—”

“I’d also be very sad to have to confiscate your signing bonus. I’d be willing to let you keep a week’s worth of payment, since you’ve already done that much of the job, but the other seventy-five percent will have to be returned to Global.”

I have to snap my mouth shut to keep from looking like a gaping fish. “What are you talking about? You can’t take the money back. You already paid me.”

Connor laughs. “Are you pulling my leg?” My soul recoils from the dad-joke vibe of it all. Connor’s younger than I am. It’s gross. “You know perfectly well that under the terms of your contract, you forfeit the bonus and the remainder of payment if you don’t complete the project.”

I grit my teeth. “That’s not—that can’t be right.” I say the words even though, deep down, I know it can be right. Connor would know the contract better than I would, but I can’t admit that to him. I cannot admit that I didn’t read the terms carefully before I signed on the dotted line. There were creatures living in the ceiling of my apartment. All I wanted was to get out of there.

“I can send you a fresh copy of the contract, if you want. What’s the best email address to send it to?” There’s a faint tapping sound on the other end of the line, like Connor’s getting ready to send that fuck-you email right now.

I let out the world’s fakest laugh. “You got me. I just wanted to inject a little humor into your lunch hour. Everything’s going great.”

Connor guffaws, deep and loud. “Glad to hear it, Jenny, because—”

I hang up the phone.

There are three weeks left in the contract. I can survive until then. In the cool air conditioned lobby, I roll my shoulders back and down, trying to exhale the dirty feeling from my lungs. This is only a matter of survival.

That’s what I manage to tell myself right up until I see Roman, leaning against the doorframe to my office, obviously waiting, a glint in his eye. “Did you enjoy your lunch break?”