He didn’t look at me, not even when I gathered my belongings and left the party without saying goodbye to anyone. I didn’t see Connor for weeks after that, and then he acted like nothing had happened. In the years since, we hadn’t once discussed that evening.

It was obvious I shouldn’t continue ascribing meaning to that night’s kiss. The only thing that mattered from that party was the aftermath: the way he had brushed me off then and every night since then. Pursuing Connor was a waste of time, and I knew it. I shouldn’t squander another second on him, and should instead focus on things I could achieve: like securing a spot on the team for the Phillips trial. The high-profile case was going before the Southern District of New York in a couple of months, and Bill Hannover, one of the firm’s most prominent partners and head of the litigation group, had announced that one of the associates would have an opportunity to argue in court. Even though the very idea of speaking in court made me break out in hives, I desperately wanted that to be me. I needed the experience to progress my career, and I wanted to prove myself to Bill, a man who could almost single-handedly guarantee my future at the firm.

I promised myself that, going forward, I would clean up my act. I would stop wasting time on Connor, I would stop letting Audrey jerk me around like a pet, and I would stop trying to be someone different. Instead, I would be true to myself, be the ambitious, hardworking woman I knew I was. It had been working for me thus far.

I replaced the bottle of coral nail polish on the shelf and selected instead my usual pale pink. Handing it to Monet, I said by way of explanation, “Client meeting.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO AUDREY

Two months before college graduation, Nick and I were sharing a joint in his bed on a Tuesday morning when he lazily asked me, “So, did you want to move to DC with me?” I had laughed in his face, and that had been the beginning of the end of us. Rather, it had been the explicit beginning of the end—I’d always known our relationship came with an expiration date. Nick was fun, but it wasn’t like we were going to get married or anything. I mean, how could I spend my life with a man who counts Maroon 5 among his favorite bands? If Nick were moving to New York, we might have squeezed another couple of years out of things, Adam Levine and company notwithstanding, but at the time I couldn’t fathom moving to DC—not for Nick, not for anything.

Against all odds, though, DC was starting to feel like home. It would never be New York, but that was true of all cities that weren’t New York. Now that I’d been here a month, I was starting to appreciate the things that made DC unique: the slightly slower pace of life, the ambiguously patriotic feeling I got when I saw the Capitol Building each day. I missed the 24/7 vibrancy of New York, but there was something to be said for rolling up to a restaurant without a reservation and not facing a two-hour wait. That very night, I had ignored Cat’s protestations about work and dragged her out to sample some kale nachos at a place I’d seen written up in the Washington Post, and we had only had to wait fifteen minutes. I was so busy thinking warm and fuzzy thoughts about the city—The food is top-notch! The drinks are reasonably priced! Even my street is charming!—that I was halfway through my gate before I realized I hadn’t yet pulled out my keys.