James, sitting across the table from me and shooting me lots of winks and smiles, is the big brother of the crew. Literally and figuratively. He’s got these luminescent golden-brown eyes and dark brown skin. He’s six foot five and built like a linebacker, but despite looking like he could play pro sports, he’s our resident foodie and restaurant critic. I originally started hanging out with him so he’d take me out to all the hot spots either for free or on the company’s dime, but it didn’t take long for us to build a genuine friendship.

I look at each of them as they go around the table, pitching their stories and giving updates on current projects. I don’t process their words, just find comfort in their smiles as I take small sips from the cup of water someone thoughtfully placed in front of me. Ever so slowly, my stomach begins to settle.

If only I could say the same for my heart.

Natasha’s voice cuts into my internal dialogue, saving me from myself. “Lana, normally I’d give you a day or two to pull yourself together and give me a new pitch, but . . .” She gives me a look that’s not entirely sympathetic and finally takes a seat, letting her unspoken expectations complete her sentence. “You know your dating articles bring in the traffic we need. What can we expect from our resident relationship guide?”

“Wow, too soon, Natasha.” Corey pats my arm.

“Would you rather talk just the two of us?” Natasha crosses her arms and leans on the clear Plexiglas table, her stare pinning me down and telling me in no uncertain terms that heartbreak or not, it’s time to get back to work.

I shake my head. Having my friends surrounding me is the only thing keeping me together at this point. “No. I’m okay. Not exactly brimming with dating and relationship pitches right now, but I’m okay.” And it’s not true, obviously, not even close. But I will hold it together for the sake of work, and to save some tiny sliver of face in front of these people whom I love and respect.

And maybe, work-wise, this can actually be a good thing. I’ve wanted out of the dating game—writing about it, anyway—for months, even years, now. I want to write about things I’m passionate about, and I’m not all that passionate about relationships. But dating articles always bring in clicks, which ATF needs more and more of these days, and I’m incapable of saying no to Natasha. Perhaps the silver lining of being dumped by my would-be fiancé is finally getting the kinds of assignments I actually want to write.