I’m sure he asked for me to be removed because of that moment with the paper. I, of course, spent weeks obsessing over it. What did I do wrong? Could he tell how into him I was and was embarrassed for me? Whatever he did, touching me, leaning in, he clearly thought it was a mistake.

I thought we were friends. We bonded over a shared love of colorful design. I even helped him pick the colors for different levels of Bubble Crush. That’s when I told him about my own dreams of designing clothing. And he didn’t laugh or tell me it was a pointless dream like everyone else. He didn’t point out my drab work clothes and lack of visible style. He encouraged me. He sincerely appreciated my hidden creative streak. At least, I thought he had.

Shortly after that, Mark showed an interest in me and . . . he’s not worth mentioning.

I get home and try to work on a new pitch, but I can’t focus.

My resolve wavers about forty-seven times over the course of the day.

Figuring out what to wear is an agonizing decision. I want to look cool but casual, nice but not like I’m trying too hard, sexy but not overly so. I wish I could call Eloise or ask her advice, but the thought makes me queasy.

Besides, I don’t have a phone.

I finally settle on a pair of dark, stretchy jeans and a T-shirt Eloise gave me. It’s a multihued V-neck, colorful and vibrant and more eye-catching than I would like but there’s a bit of red lace in the bottom of the V covering my slight cleavage, and I have a little red jacket to match. She wore it to some teen choice award. I think she wore it as a dress, but it barely covers my ass so I’m not sure how she managed to pull that off.

I use the dirty pay phone to call a cab and take it into the city, jangling with anticipation and unease the entire ride. I attempt to distract myself by gazing out the window as we drive over the Bay Bridge and into the city, the cables and towers dazzling in white lights, the city a glimmering jewel in the distance. But it doesn’t help.

The cab drops me on the corner of Grant and Fresno, right in front of the Saloon. The building is two stories, with chipped and faded red siding.

There’s no line to get in. I sort of expected one. I mean, Alex is pretty chill, but he is an up-and-coming millionaire. I’ve seen articles of him in The Chronicle regaling the locals about his successes and noting even who he’s dating and where he’s been spotted around town.