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promoted,” Helen reminded her. “New management means new opportunities.”
    “Maybe.”
    Helen leaned forward. “Just be yourself. And whatever she asks you to do, you do it. Deal?”
    “Fine.” Sometimes it was uncomfortable when your friends knew you better than you knew yourself.
    “You’d be a lot more easygoing if you were getting laid.” Helen pointed at her with the mouth of her beer bottle.
    “I thought we were past that. I seem to attract pussies.”
    “That’s my job.” Helen smiled. “What about the guy next door? You’re always lusting after him, right?”
    “Max?” Bridget snorted. “He’s eye candy, sure, but I hardly know him. Plus, he’s a total man whore. He’s got women there all the time.”
    “Maybe it’s not what you think.”
    Bridget was spared from continuing the discussion by the arrival of the Chinese food. To her relief, Helen didn’t pursue the subject, and she could eat in peace. Too bad Combination Platter Number Five was just as mediocre as every other meal she’d ordered from the Golden Peacock.
    Helen left at midnight. When Bridget was seeing her out, she noticed a white Toyota Matrix in Max’s driveway that definitely didn’t belong to him. The only light shining in his house came from the small half windows in the basement. Was his bedroom in the basement? Who was in his house that night? Sure, she’d seen cars come and go all the time, mostly on weekends, but always gone within a few hours, maybe half a day. Not that she’d been keeping track, of course.
    Now, though, someone was spending the night?
    The pang of jealousy surprised her. Was she was jealous of the woman with Max, or just that he’d taken someone to bed when she would spend another night alone? Man whore . Bridget sighed and shut the door behind her.

Chapter Two
    Bridget hated Monday mornings. She really shouldn’t complain: she only worked in the office three days a week, but the hellish commuter train ride always left her feeling harried. She already felt twinges of stress as she walked past the cubicle farm to her own tiny office, which fortunately was separate from the cubicles, although not much bigger. At least she could shut her door and escape the endless chatter and ringing phones outside. She even had a window. Bridget pulled open the blinds and looked out on the Manhattan morning, sunlight streaming between the skyscrapers, illuminating her reflection in the glass.
    Her phone rang, disturbing the tranquility. “Oh, good. You’re in.” She recognized Marcy’s clipped tones. “See me in my office once you’re settled.” The line went dead.
    Bridget groaned. What could it be? She’d always met all her deadlines, and the feedback on her sex toy article had been positive. Still she felt a twinge of anxiety. Why did she always assume the worst?
    She waited a few minutes to not seem desperate, then headed down to Marcy’s office. Her knock was greeted by a curt “Come in.”
    Marcy didn’t look up from her typing right away when Bridget came in. Older, weathered, with a short haircut and a wardrobe that tended toward androgyny, she looked every inch the bulldog executive editor. At last she looked up and smiled, though her smile was brief and tight-lipped. “Have a seat, Bridget.”
    Bridget sat opposite Marcy and smoothed her gray skirt down over her knees, trying to ignore the feeling that she’d been sent to the principal’s office.
    Marcy leaned forward, raptorlike, and folded her hands on the desktop. “Bridget, you’re a very talented writer and a solid editor.”
    “Thank you,” Bridget said, knowing a but was about to follow. What would it be? But we’re letting you go? But we’re moving you to personal ads? But we think you should have sex if you’re going to be writing about it?
    “I think you’re wasting your talents.”
    “Come again?” Bridget raised an eyebrow, wary.
    “These articles you’ve been writing are too mainstream, too Cosmo . Tyesha kept