My face instantly flushed. I glared at the picture, thinking of Dave’s hand with his own freckles, caressing the curve of her breast and lingering near her small nipple. She did this—she had sent this to me at work to fuck with me. Right after I’d gotten this great news from Steve.

Shaking, I began unconsciously shredding the picture with my fingers.

“Bitch, bitch, bitch,” I said aloud between gritted teeth.

When there was nothing left of the photo and envelope but a soft pile of white fragments on my desk, I flung the pieces toward the wall, letting the tiny bits lightly float to the floor. Chloe Johnson had just ruined another good thing.

I moved like a zombie in quicksand through the first couple of weeks post-breakup.

Staying late wasn’t a problem now, and being around people made me feel just slightly better than I did at home alone drinking Amstel Light on the green marshmallow couch. My only male companionship was Jon Stewart on TiVo.

I survived on a selection of Lean Cuisines for dinner, and I just told Ina, Lauren, and my other friends that things were really busy at work and I couldn’t meet up. All I wanted was to curl into the fetal position and cry in the dark.

Every time the phone rang, I’d fumble to check the caller ID, hoping it was Dave. I had no idea why I was wishing he’d call. He’d been lying and cheating on me. But some part of me wanted him to feel like he’d made a mistake. I wanted him to regret screwing “us” up.

But there were no calls or e-mails. He didn’t regret anything.

I told no one at work about our breaking up. I wanted to keep it private and separate from office drama . . . I just didn’t want to deal with the office gossip and the pickup lines that were sure to follow.

Hunkered over my computer one afternoon, I squinted at my screen, trying to make sense of some dialogue for the show we were prepping to shoot. I always got a little frustrated in the “playing it blond” scenes. That was the sexist description we gave to scenes where we had to explain everything in very simple language for the viewers to understand.

“Hey, Dani, you got a sec?”

“Sure, Steve,” I answered, hitting “save” on my computer. “I’m just working on the revised draft for next week’s show—the scene where Haley realizes the ‘evil twin’ has murdered her sister, so she can assume her life.”

“Fantastic, that’s a great one,” Steve said distractedly. “I just wanted to let you know a lot of eyes are on the show right now. Your buddy Les Moonves is watching the show very closely.”

“He’s not my buddy,” I said. “I’m sure he’d have no idea who I was if he met me.”