They sent me home. Take some personal time, my manager said. Take next week off. Rethink things, Evie, before you come back.

It was said like they cared, but I knew what it was—a warning. I was almost-fired. Get your shit together, or don’t come back. That was the message.

They didn’t send Josh home.

Tears burned behind my eyes. I swallowed them. I went home to my apartment, stripped my clothes off, and took a long, hot shower. Then I put on a cami and a pair of boxer shorts and crawled into bed. I lay on my back, staring at the ceiling and thinking.

You fucked it up, Evie. Again.

This was exactly like the first time I’d screwed up my life. The first two times, actually. The first was when I’d crashed and burned in high school, failing so many classes that I had to go to summer school my final two years to barely scrape by. The second time was when my mother had scrimped and saved to send me to college, and I’d promptly flunked out after two semesters. Yeah, that was my stellar past.

I had no college degree, no nothing. After the second flame-out, I’d worked a menial job in a bakery for three years, getting up at four a.m. to bake before the place opened at six. It didn’t matter that I actually liked baking—it wasn’t a career job. It was minimum wage and demeaning. Other people my age were doing things, traveling, getting degrees, finding partners, putting their lives together, and I’d just baked while striking out with boyfriend after boyfriend. Worse, I’d thrown my mother’s hard-earned money down the drain, and I’d probably disappointed my dad from the grave, too. If there was a poster girl for going nowhere fast, I was her.

The bank job had changed that. It had been my big break, when they took a chance on me. Nice people, regular hours, high heels, more money. Possible promotion, even. And then, once I started working there, I’d met Josh, and he’d changed it, too. A good job and a good boyfriend—the new, improved me thought I’d finally been on track.

Now I’d lost both. The boyfriend, for sure, and I wasn’t an idiot. I knew that if I still had my job, it wouldn’t be for long.

My expenses weren’t high, but my savings were meager, and if I was unemployed, they wouldn’t last long. I wouldn’t even be able to afford my shared apartment after a few months. Maybe I could clean up my act, go back to the bank, beg them for forgiveness. But then I’d be back to working with Josh every day.

Maybe I could swallow my pride, my self-worth, and do it. Maybe I should, even though I’d have to see Josh all the time. Maybe even with Gina. Would I see him with Gina?

They weren’t very discreet, Dar had said.

I frowned at the ceiling. That still didn’t sit quite right. I’d worked at the bank for months, and I’d never seen Gina there. How were Josh and Gina not very discreet?

Then, Josh. Don’t say anything at work. And his little freak out. Who told? What did they say?

I’d thought it strange that he was worried about our coworkers knowing about Gina, especially if he wasn’t discreet in the first place.

Unless… it wasn’t Gina he was worried about.

A dark, creeping suspicion made its way up my spine.

Still lying on my back, I picked up my phone and called Dar’s cell phone.

“Hey,” she said, her voice hushed. “Hold on.” I heard shuffling, then the familiar squeak of the women’s room door at the bank. Every woman who needed a private conversation, away from management, used that women’s room. “Okay,” Dar said, her tone more normal now. “Jeez, Evie, I heard what happened. I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”

“I’m all right,” I said, though I didn’t really think I was. “I just lost my temper, you know? It’s for the best that they sent me home for a few days. I don’t think I can work with Josh right now.”

“I totally don’t blame you,” Dar said. “This fucking sucks. If it’s any consolation, I think he’s an idiot to lose you over her.”

“Thanks,” I said. It wasn’t much of a compliment, considering Dar had known Josh was cheating on me for God knew how long, but hadn’t seen fit to tell me. Still, I’d called her for a reason. “Can you just tell me one thing? Then I won’t suck you into my drama anymore.”

“Sure,” she said, though she didn’t sound sure at all.

“Just tell me how they met.”

She sighed. “I think it was around Valentine’s Day. You remember when we had those paper hearts up everywhere, and a cake for all the customers?”

“Yeah,” I said as the air slowly closed off in my throat. “I remember.”

“Well, all I know is that Gail sent Alison to pick up the cake, and Josh went with her. And they were gone for two hours. It was so strange, everyone had started talking about it, but when they came back they acted all casual, even though everyone knew. And after that, it got out through the grapevine that they were seeing each other, so I knew I guessed right.”

Alison. She was talking about Alison Shepard, another teller. She thought Josh was cheating with Alison, not Gina.

Or he was cheating with Alison and Gina.

There were two of them.

Where the hell had I been on Valentine’s Day? I remembered. Sitting in my cubicle, doing my job as always. Oblivious to what was going on around me because I thought it completely innocent that my boyfriend had gone to pick up the cake.

“Okay,” I said. I had that crazy, curiously numb feeling I’d had when I’d walked into Josh’s apartment and seen him with Gina. Like this was happening to someone else. “I guess I just wanted to know how it happened. Thanks for letting me know.”

“If there’s anything I can do—”

I hung up. I wasn’t crying. I wasn’t even hyperventilating. I felt like someone had shot me in the arm with Novocaine. Through the blankness, a thought bubbled up. Something I realized I wanted.

I called Nick Mason.

“Yeah?” he said. He sounded like maybe he’d been sleeping. It was two o’clock in the afternoon. Then again, he usually sounded like that. And I was in bed in my underwear, so I couldn’t throw stones.

“It’s me,” I said.

“I know, redhead. You at work?”

Why did I like it when he called me that? When he didn’t use my name? He knew my name—he’d said it plenty of times. But when he called me redhead, I got chills up my spine. “I’m not at work,” I told him. “They sent me home.”

There was a pause, because even Nick knew that was bad. “What happened?”

“Josh saw your text. He started an argument. I threw a mug of tea at him. So here I am.”

“Fuck,” he said softly. “It wasn’t supposed to happen that way. Jesus, Evie, I’m sorry.”

He was. That was the thing about Nick—deep down, buried below the asshole surface, was an almost-nice guy who took the time to teach me to box and who didn’t want me to get fired.

But I didn’t want that nice guy right now.

“It’s okay,” I said to him. “They gave me a few days off. I’m sort of maybe fired, but now I don’t have to work with Josh every day.”

“What the hell did he say to you?” Now the growly voice was back, and I got another shiver.

“He called me a slut,” I said.

“He fucking called you what?”

More shivers. “Yeah. I got slut-shamed, and I didn’t even get to have sex. Oh, and he’s cheating with a woman at work as well as Gina, so he completely fucked me over. I’m not having a really good day.”

He took a second to acknowledge this. “You want to hit something?” he asked.

“No,” I said. “Not this time. I want something else.”

“Yeah? And what is that?”

I took a breath. “You said something about dirty sex when we first met.”

There was a pause. Barely a heartbeat long, but it was there. “Did I?”

“You did,” I said. I was picturing him in my mind right now. Lying in bed, mostly naked, like the photo. Oh hell, that photo. “You said that I’m nice, and that you’re too dirty for me, and that’s why we can’t fuck.”

Another heartbeat of surprise at my foul language. But Nick, of all people, knew exactly where I was going. “Yeah,” he said. “I said that.”

“I’ve decided I hate being nice,” I told him. “I want to do things your way. I’ve had the world’s shittiest day, and I think some dirty, dirty sex would make it better. And I think you’re the guy to provide it.”

This was it. The moment when he could laugh at me. Make me feel stupid or ugly. Tell me I wasn’t sexy or attractive. Tell me to leave him alone.

Instead, he said, “Right now?”

My heart leapt in my chest. It freaking leapt. “Yes. Right now.”

He made a rumbling, thinking sound, a little like hmmm but mixed with an exhale. “That might be a shitty idea, Evie.”

“It isn’t a shitty idea,” I said, because it wasn’t. It really wasn’t. “It’s a good idea.”

“You’re kind of vulnerable, or something. Emotional or some shit.”

“I am not emotional!” The panic in my voice made that a lie, but I didn’t care. “I’m perfectly sane, and I need some dirty sex!”

“See, that right there,” he said. “That’s emotional. We fuck right now, and we do it dirty, you’ll probably change your mind and regret it.”

“You have got to be kidding me!” I slapped a frustrated hand down on the mattress beside me. “This is a booty call, Nick! A serious one! No strings attached!”

“And I very much fucking appreciate it,” he said. “But you’re all twisted up and turned around. And dirty sex with me is very fucking filthy. That’s a bad combination. It isn’t going to work.”

Why? Why was he being nice now, of all times? I was so done with nice. “You’re serious, aren’t you?” I said. “You’re turning me down.”

He made a pained noise in his throat. “Yeah,” he said. “I have to.”

“Well, thanks for nothing!” I shouted at him, hurt now as well as angry. Had he ever turned Gina down? Who was I kidding? Of course he hadn’t. “Take your chivalry and shove it!” I hung up the phone and threw it on the floor.

I pressed the heels of my hands to my eyes. This was my life right now. I couldn’t even get the world’s dirtiest guy to fuck me, and I’d been in bed with him just this morning. What was wrong with me?

If what you’re doing isn’t working, change it.

The words floated into my mind. Clear and simple. Had I heard them somewhere? Some self-help article? I had no idea, but there they were.

If what you’re doing isn’t working, change it.

Powerful and scary at the same time. Words that took courage.

My life wasn’t working. My career, my love life, my sex life. None of it was working right now. What did I have to lose?

If what you’re doing isn’t working, change it.

It was time to admit that being nice wasn’t working for me. At all.

Maybe it was time to change it.