I clap my hands and call, “It’s a wrap, everyone.”

The staff claps along. Saskia hugs Adam, Mandy, and me. Bah, she even smells good. Saskia would probably hug everyone else on set, but her PA herds her downstairs to get changed before moving on to their next commitment.

Saffron comes to stand next to me. “Cool stuff,” she says, sliding pictures on her phone with a finger. “Exactly the edgy, young vibe we needed.”

I bend my head closer to hers to peek at the screen. “These are amazing.”

If Saffron managed to snap pictures like that with an iPhone, I can’t wait to see Adam’s final product. He and his assistants have already dismantled the set and are carrying away the last bits of equipment. Before Adam leaves, we agree he’ll send me as much as he can by Monday.

When everyone else is gone, I do a check of both the makeshift dressing room downstairs and the rooftop to make sure we left nothing behind. Alone on the terrace, I rest my arms against the railing to look at my old office building across the East River. My eyes travel all the way up to the thirty-eighth floor, to Évoque’s windows. Manhattan might’ve chewed me up and spit me out in Brooklyn, but I’ll be damned before I renounce my dream.

“You’ll see,” I promise the sunlit building. “I’ll be back.”

Five

Never Make Impulse Decisions

Monday at the office, I’m happily shuffling through all the amazing photos Adam sent me when my personal inbox flashes on the computer screen.

Transfixed, I stare at the sender’s name and subject for a few seconds.

Date: Mon, May 1 at 9:18 AM

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Subject: Our Breakup

I haven’t heard from the ex since spaghetti night. What does he want? Despite myself, my pulse quickens. I let the mouse hover over the subject line without actually opening the email. What will the text say? What do I want it to say? Do I want it to be a groveling apology and desperate plea for me to take him back? Sure. But why? Is it only pride or am I kidding myself thinking I could get over a three-year story in less than a month?

After some serious soul-searching, I’m ready to read what Gerard has to say. Yes, I want him to apologize for cheating on me with his secretary. But, no, I don’t want Gerard back. Our breakup, however un-classy it was on both our parts, was the right call.

One click and the full message appears on the screen. With every passing line I read, bile swells in my throat, and by the end, I’m full of acid and anger. To think that for a second I even considered taking him back!

When I hit reply and start playing whack-a-mole with my keyboard, Indira stops her work and turns to stare at me.

“What’s the matter?” she asks. “If you keep batting the keys like that your fingertips will bruise.”