"The incessant talking, the constant influx of texts, the timed trips to the bathroom."

"Nervousness or caffeine, a full social life, and a weak bladder," Kat says, refuting my claims.

"The two guys that were there the other day."

"You said they were friends from a restaurant," she says as though that's easy enough to believe.

"Then tonight," I start, ready to close the case with the whopping burden of proof, "there was a knock on the door while I was powering down my pumpkin risotto."

"That's where you went wrong. Risotto is the kind of meal you savor. Mmm." She licks her lips. "And it's not strange that he'd have a friend stop over."

"If you had to sit there and listen to him talk about his grandmother's hip replacement recovery, you'd want to dine and dash too. But the guy on the other side of the door kept shouting random foods: roasted garlic, butter pecan, smashed potatoes-turns out that was this week's password." I cross my arms in front of my chest. "He said business hours are from one to five in case you're wondering."

"Maybe he teaches a cooking class. He also works at the coffee shop. Why would he need both jobs?"

"Probably to find new clients. Kat, the guy who stopped by said he needed a fix. Coke, pills, weed," I repeat what I heard and rub my temples.

"Oh."

"Zero stars," I say. "I'll never be a second class craving in a relationship."

"Amen," Kat says. "The good news is I recorded tonight's episode of the Bachelor for you. Five stars for Blake and Sasha."

"Shh. Don't tell me who got the rose!"

"It was so good, I'll watch it again." Her smile tilts toward apology. "Sorry Bash was a dud."

I settle in on the couch next to Katya, help myself to a handful of popcorn, and at least for tonight, am thankful I'm single.

It's the end of week one of the UBoss program and what a week it's been: I made it back to work and kept a low profile after the coffee incident. I discretely poked around to find out why Carrick needs a publicist, but couldn't even pry info from my coworkers, leading me to believe he's there for damage control. However, I did an internet search, but didn't find anything incriminating.

Tonight's UBoss assignment is to pour a glass of wine and fix a cheese plate before logging onto the group chat. I have a few slices of rubbery American on my plate, stale Saltines, and a rapidly browning apple. I don't photograph it like the other woman do with their highly stylized, Pinterest worthy creations.

I scan the group's highlights of the week of daring.

One woman reports that her boyfriend made her a pasta dinner; previously, the closest he'd come to preparing a meal was ordering pizza. Another found herself speaking her mind more often instead of worrying she might offend. DaisyDuke31 realized she already had loads of outrageous and fabulous clothes hidden in the back of her closet. MichelleM has gone to the movies every night this week and loved every moment of the quiet theater-and the Twizzlers.

My fingers hover over the keyboard. I'm not sure what to say when Mimi Boss's icon lights up to indicate she's writing.

Ladies, you've done an amazing job with the week of daring. You've offered each other outstanding amounts of support. I'm really enjoying these powerful recounts of the bold red lips, fabulous new clothes, trips to the movies, and so on.

Now, I dare you to go deeper. I want you think about how these experiences make you feel.

Words like confident, bold, beautiful, independent, and charismatic flash by on the screen. I think about my red lips, my visit to the movie theater, and dancing naked in the apartment. I type Closer.

Mimi writes Tell us more.

I feel closer to the women in the group, closer to myself, and closer to all of the qualities written above, but it's like I'm on the edge of knowing something big about myself, but it's still just out of reach.

Mimi's avatar lights up. Big shifts in our lives take time. The best suggestion I can offer is to trust that you'll be led to your own personal miracle to help be the best boss of your life.

I spend the next several hours on the group chat, while members ask questions and Mimi coaches them to discover their own answers. She encourages us all not to be afraid to ask our burning questions because if one of us is wondering, there's a chance someone else is too, or in the very least the ensuing dialog will benefit the other members in witnessing the process of what Mimi likes to call digging for gold.

It's like a group therapy session and although we can't see each other's tears-there are many. Although we can't hug one another-the sentiment is there. However, the struggles these women are having with marriages, ailing loved ones, dying parents, and so forth seem much bigger than my measly quandary.

The clock ticks down to the end of the session and Mimi's avatar lights up.

Navybean, we haven't heard much from you. What's on your mind?

From behind the safety of my screen, I write All of the women in this program are so brave and have real problems. Mine is pretty first world. I sense they're waiting to know what it is so I write I hate my job and don't feel like sitting in a cubicle is my calling. I go on to describe my previous job, the work environment, how it ate away at my soul, robbing me of time, happiness, and fulfilment, the long hours, and then being let go. I feel like I'm at a crossroads and my compass isn't telling me which direction to go in.

Mimi writes I don't think that's your problem.

What? That's exactly my problem.

You don't need to read a compass to figure out which direction to take. You need to follow your heart. Easy for Mimi to say.

Her comment burns something inside that I can't identify other than feeling a prickle, an irritation, an energy that makes me clench my jaw and ball my hands into fists.

I close my computer without signing off. She doesn't know me, my story, or that my heart did a terrible job guiding me the last time I listened to it. A storm brews inside, winds of war cut across the peaceful calm Mimi tried to cultivate. The clouds filling my mind aren't gray, but red. Anger. Deceit. Distrust. The truth is that my heart is a liar. Tears sting the corners of my eyes like liquid fire. If this is the advice Mimi's going to give me, the UBoss program is a waste of money, and I should get a refund so I can pay my portion of the rent.

I'm about to flip my laptop back on and give her a piece of my mind when I spot a crumbled piece of paper on the floor. I pick it up and smooth it to reveal Carrick's number.

It's not Mimi who needs to hear my riot of complaints. It's him.

The ringing of the phone is distant to the battle cry rising to my lips.

"Navy?" Surprise laces his husky voice.

I don't take a calming breath. I don't hesitate. My words feel like lightning and thunder. "Carrick Kennely, I'm pissed."

I wait for the beep telling me he hung up.

"I've wanted to talk to you-"

"Oh, have you? You think you can charm your way out of this? Like I've been pining away for you all this time? You expect me to-after-" I hear him trying to get a word in, but I take a cue from Bash and verbally bowl him over. "You have no idea what your stupid act of selfishness did to me. It was humiliating. It broke me. My world crumbled. Yours was the worst kind of betrayal. Why couldn't you have just said something? Anything?" The tears threaten to breach, but vulnerability be damned. I've kept this to myself, hoping it would go away. It hasn't. "I felt confused and hurt. At first, I couldn't believe it, but reality is like a slap in the face and yours stung the worst. I've been lost ever since and trying-and failing-to find my way. You know what someone just told me? To follow my heart. Someone else suggested I do that once and it didn't work out so well did it?" My breath comes in heavy puffs. I pause to calm down.

"Can we talk about this in person?" he asks.

"What? So you can-"

"It won't be like that this time. I prom-"

"Don't you dare make a promise," I spit.

"Will you meet me?"

I don't answer.

"How about tomorrow morning for brunch." He suggests a restaurant on Lafayette. "Ten okay?"

"Ten at the Urban Table? I promise," I say with a cruel laugh and then hang up, my chest rising and falling rapidly. I'm high on vengeance, a little loopy on my intention to see how he likes the taste of a broken promise.

Maybe Mimi meant for me to follow my bitter heart.

With my pathetic cheese plate and glass of wine empty, I step out of my room to get a refill. Kat's door clicks closed. Did she hear? I swallow that question and others that not even Mimi Boss can answer with the rest of the wine.

I toss and turn in bed that night, prickly with anger that edges toward regret as the hours tick by. I wasn't any less harsh than Carrick deserved, though he could have held up a mirror and reflected the nasty back to me.

I finally doze around three a.m. only for my eyes to pop open at half past nine. I could have sworn I heard the beep beep of an alarm pulling me from a dream. The front door slams, indicating Kat's just left. The empty glass on my night table reminds me why my head pounds.

I pull on a pair of leggings, a fuzzy sweater, tie my hair back, and bundle up. No, I'm not going to meet Carrick looking like this. I'm not going to meet him, period. I'm going to watch him wonder where I am. I want to see if his face looked like mine when he broke his promise.

I make my way to Lafayette, keeping my eyes averted in case we're coming from the same direction. I don't want him to spot me. For the first time ever, I'm thankful it's only nine degrees out and my hat and scarf conceal most identifiable parts of me.

I'm hoping he's seated by a window so I can spy from outside. When I'm a block away, I catch sight of him ahead of me just before he ducks into the restaurant. I wait a couple of minutes and then take a surreptitious stroll past the windows, hoping to spot him waiting. His tall form passes the hostess booth and vanishes into the dining room.

The smell of cheesy eggs and bacon teases me with a cure for my hangover. A loud group of college students, probably with a similar need for a greasy breakfast, absorbs me as one of their own and tugs me into the restaurant. I'm trying to get back out the door when the familiar call of my name freezes me like the icicles on the awning.

"Navy, Navy!" a familiar female voice calls.

I could make a run for it. I could. I should.

"Nice hat."

She plucks it from my head, no doubt lifting my hair into unflattering, static-y tendrils. I turn to face Katya holding the knit hat in her hands.

"This one was always my favorite. I was wondering where it went. Have you had it for the last five years?"

If I recall, her grandmother knitted it and it somehow ended up in my box of winter gear when we left school. I meant to give it back. I swear. I do not have a winter hat-hoarding problem. And if I did, I'd blame it on my hair.

"What are you doing here?" she asks, gazing at the ceiling. She's either suddenly fascinated with industrial style heating vents or a terrible liar.

"I was going to ask you the same question."

"Meeting someone?" she asks me.

"Just having breakfast."

"Says the girl who rarely leaves the apartment solo." She jitters a laugh. "The girl who'd never goes to the movies or shopping alone..."

Crap, she's onto me and my attempts to improve my life. I don't resist when she ushers me into the dining room.

I keep my eyes fixed on the floor ahead of me, not daring to look around. The delicious smells of pancakes, enticing cinnamon spice of French toast, savory omelets, and fresh baked, toasted, and buttered bread turns my stomach.

In a lower, more alluring register, I hear my name over the head-pounding clatter of cutlery and jolly morning chatter. "Navy, Navy." Carrick gets to his feet, lifting his mug of coffee in greeting.

I shouldn't be surprised, but it doesn't seem like Kat is either.

Chapter 18.

Toodles "I haven't brushed my teeth," I hiss at Katya, making no movement closer to Carrick's table.

"But thankfully you got out of bed, what with this brunch date and all," she says, thrusting me toward him.

"This is not a date and," I sputter, "it's not what it looks like."

"Then explain what it is," she says, giving my bundled appearance a once-over. "You look like you just rolled out of bed."

"I did. Do I have you to thank?" I ask suspiciously.

"I heard you making plans and didn't want you to oversleep." She shrugs. "Sorry, not sorry. At least you could have brushed," she tucks her head back as though disgusted by my general appearance, "something."

"I had a rough night."

"I heard."

"What did you hear?"

Before either one of us can confess, Carrick says, "Good morning. Didn't know you were joining us too, Katya."

Neither one of us responds.

His confusion is short lived when Kat looks at her non-existent watch and says, "Gotta run. So funny to see you both here," she says, feigning ignorance. "Small world, always running into each other." She finishes with a nervous laugh.

"We were meeting for brunch," Carrick says, confirming her suspicions.

Kat pauses. "Oh really? Was that a promise you made?" she asks, angling a sharp eyebrow at me.

"I'm here, aren't I?" I blurt.

"Yeah," Carrick says with a smile. "You sure you can't join us?" he asks Katya as though the present conversation and the one we should have won't be awkward enough.

"Aw, thank you. That's so sweet. But I really should get going. I have to teach a class soon. You two enjoy brunch. The Challah bread they have here is the best in town. Toodles." She waves and then rushes off. A few eyes follow her out of the restaurant, but a few others train on Carrick, towering over our table. Tension ripples off us like steam from a fresh cup of coffee.

"I'm, uh, not feeling well," I say.

At this point, it's no lie. I sense people watching, maybe I really do look as bad as I feel, and customers are afraid I'm going to hurl all over their freshly made breakfasts.