Blade motions with a hand. “Being the focus of attention is something you’ll have to get used to for the position you want. It’s best to get started.”

But do I want this position? Is it even about me, or is it about what people think about me? “Actually,” I shake my head, “no.”

“No?” Blade and Drew exchange a glance. This time, it’s not commiserating looks of irritation aimed in my general direction. They’re surprised. Blade’s brows are nearly to his hairline and Drew . . . well, he still looks pretty stern and serious, actually.

“Yeah, no. I’m not going to do this. I quit.”

They continue to exchange looks, a silent message passing between the three of them. Something I’m used to, but this time it’s . . . different. Stacey is smiling. Drew’s lips are pursed, a small groove between his brows. Blade is frowning, but that’s how he always looks.

“I get that I don’t fit in, okay? I know it. And frankly, I don’t care. So.” I shrug. “Have a nice day.” I leave, walking away, leaving them in the room gaping after me. I’m grinning so big my cheeks hurt. I finally freaking did it.

I totally nailed my pitch. I laugh out loud, giddy. That was fun. And, even better, I can quit again tomorrow if I want.

But the euphoria is short lived.

“Hey. Jane. Come with me.” Mark grabs my hand.

I tug my fingers from his grasp. “Mark. Stop.”

He stills, watching me with wide eyes.

“I’m not sleeping with you, okay?”

His eyes grow impossibly larger. “What?”

“Listen. It’s over. And in the future, you should probably be clear with whoever you want to mess around with that it’s meaningless sex and nothing serious. It’s not fair to give people the wrong idea. I’m human too. I have wants and needs, and I need more than a quick bang in a closet.”

His mouth hangs open, eyes so wide they might pop out of his skull.

“Look. I get it. You want an escape, a good time, all that, and that’s fine. You do you. But if you’re not up front about your intentions, people get hurt. And maybe all of that could have been prevented with one honest conversation. Is that so much to ask?”

His mouth opens and closes like a fish. “Um, I, you, I don’t know—”

“Mark. It’s fine.” I pat him on the shoulder. “It’s okay to grieve.”

“Grieve? Who said anything about—”

“And it’s okay to feel guilty. It’s okay to feel however you feel, but don’t lead other people on. Maybe talk to someone about it. Oh, here.” I reach into my briefcase for the card I’ve been carrying to work every day—and having to recreate every day. “It’s a list of grief counselors. Think about it. Okay?”