“Rough night?” Christina pops her head over the gray cubicle wall between our desks, catching me rubbing my eyes. It’s 9:15 on a Friday morning, and in the hour since I’ve been here, a gentle murmur of conversation has slowly overtaken the early-morning silence.

As far as offices go, ours is pretty clutch. It takes up the entire top floor of a historic building downtown, and it has high ceilings, exposed brick, and tons of light streaming in from wide, arched windows. Thanks to our proximity to Puget Sound, the scent of clean ocean brine is a permanent fixture in the building, bringing to life the framed cruise ship photos that line the inner hallways.

I tear my gaze away from the email I’m drafting to James’s assistant to discuss my idea for a last-minute British Columbia direct call campaign.

“Just busy,” I say. “And sleep-deprived. How about you?”

Hopping up to perch on the edge of my desk, Christina crosses her legs, emerald capris hiking higher up her slender calves. “Awful,” she says with her usual flair. She flips her long sheet of straight black hair over one shoulder. It stands out starkly against her white eyelet shirt.

Rereading my email one more time, I hit send before settling in to listen to what will likely be a very long-winded, very dramatic story.

“So remember how I was going on a date with that guy from Bumble last night?” she begins.

Only vaguely, but I nod anyway.

“Well it was all going fine until we left the restaurant. There we were, standing on the sidewalk, talking about what to do next, when a cop drives by. And you know what this guy does? Leaps behind the nearest trash can like he’s Batman or something. It turned out my date has a warrant out for his arrest.”

I sit up straighter. “What did you do?”

She shrugs. “Went home with him. He was pretty cute.”

My jaw pops open.

She laughs. “I’m kidding, Henley, geez! I told him I got a migraine and ditched him, of course. But then I met this other cute guy…”

“All right, well, I’m going to need the full debrief.” I prop my elbow on the desk, chin in hand. Not having much of a dating life of my own, I live vicariously through Christina’s adventures in dating land.

She slides off my desk. “How about lunch? Waterfront Park?”

I bite my lower lip. I have a lot I need to accomplish today.

“I know you’re always ‘so busy,’ ” she says, complete with air quotes. “But come on. We haven’t done lunch in weeks.”

“I know,” I groan. “I’m terrible. Happy hour instead?” I can’t remember the last time I went for drinks after work that didn’t involve a business school networking event.

“Don’t you have class?”