O shakes her head. “Honestly, I didn’t expect that. Gatsby never brings anyone here. And he should know better. He is the oldest.”

“Oldest of all of you?”

“No, oldest of the guys. I’m the oldest oldest.”

I nod. She must be close to thirty, but she could easily pass for twenty-one. I want to shift the conversation away from me. I tell O my name and ask her why she’s in Montana.

“Charity event for the American Prairie Preserve.”

“I don’t know what that is.”

“Oh, it’s an amazing organization. They are buying up land and letting a herd of buffalo roam around it, in the wild, just like they did a hundred and fifty years ago. Before they were all almost slaughtered to extinction.”

She hands me a pamphlet. The buffalo on the cover looks just like the one I saw outside our window last night. Oh, how I wish that I could go back to that moment. There would be so much that I would do over. So many things that I wouldn’t say or say properly.

After an hour or so of flight time, I start to feel groggy and take a nap. When I wake up, O is asleep. I don’t know much about her, but I really like her anyway. She has a calm demeanor about her, the kind that puts me at ease right away. Her haircut and dark clothes don’t go with her sunny personality. But there must be an explanation for that as well. I hope that we will see each other again. However unlikely.

When we start to descend towards the lights of Los Angeles that span toward the horizon as far as the eyes can see, O grabs my hand and asks to exchange numbers.

“If you ever want to talk, please call. I live in Malibu, but I’ll be right over.”

People in LA always promise to call and text but never do. But something about O makes me believe her.

“I will,” I say. “You too. Call or text whenever you need anything.”

I have no idea how I could help someone who has a bigger monthly spending allowance than I will probably make in a lifetime, but I want to be of use as well.

“I’m serious,” she says. “I know we all say that, but I really mean it.”

“Everyone says that, too,” I laugh.

“Well, I want to stay in touch. I kinda like you, Annabelle. And I don’t like too many people.”

“Why is that?”

“Because you’re not stupid. And I know you’ll make me laugh when you’re not so heartbroken.”

Her words cut right through me, and I gasp.

“How do you know?” I whisper.

“How could I not? Look at you. If you look like this in your every day life, you have some things to answer to.”

I smile. I’m surprised at myself. Only a few hours ago, I didn’t think that I would ever, or could ever, laugh again. Yet, after a flight with O, I was on my way back to being my normal self. Gatsby didn’t take it all out of me. No, I’ve been through a lot. But I’m more resilient than that.

I may have been falling in love with him, but at least it stopped before it actually got that far. I gasp again. Falling in love? Was that what was happening?

“Isn’t life amazing?” O asks. “Just when you think you’re going to be spending the whole evening alone, being bored, you end up meeting a friend.”

She’s talking about herself, but I feel the same way. Yes, life is amazing.

I arrive at work early the following Monday. I set my alarm extra early, take a shower, and spend time picking out my outfit and doing my hair and makeup. I have to look as normal as possible. I don’t want Ms. Greaves to be alarmed. And most of all, I don’t want Gatsby to know that anything is wrong. The best way to deal with all of this and keep my job is to act as professionally as possible. And that means to pretend that nothing is wrong.

Ms. Greaves and her perfectly coiffed hair and impossibly high heels are already there. She must be pushing sixty, and yet she has more energy than I do most mornings. I’ve never seen her drink a cup of coffee. What is powering her? Caffeine pills? ADHD? Coke?

I nod hello and sit down at my desk. We rarely exchange any more pleasantries than that. I tried, but Ms. Greaves thinks that everything is gossip. News, politics, entertainment. Even regular water cooler talk is gossip to her. “And this office has no space for gossip.”

Maggie Mae wasn’t home yesterday, and today, of all days, I really regret that no one else works with me at the office. It would be nice to talk to someone about something to take my mind off things.

“I’ve got good news for you, Ms. York,” Ms. Greaves says, standing over my desk. She moves as quietly as a mouse. How long has she been there? I minimize Facebook and look up.

“You’re moving to your new office today.”

“New office?”

“Close to Mr. Wild.”

“Really?”

After this weekend, I wasn’t even sure if I would still have my job, let alone get the promotion a week early.

“I know. You’re not the only one who’s surprised. Personally, I don’t think you’re ready. But it’s all up to Mr. Wild.” She shakes her head.

“Are you sure?” I ask. I still can’t believe it. How can this be? Perhaps, it’s a request that he put in last week when everything was fine. Yeah, that must be it.

“I wouldn’t be doing this otherwise. Got strict instructions from Mr. Wild this morning. Guess you made an impression.”

I shake my head. This morning! What kind of impression could I have made this weekend? Not a good one, that’s for sure!

My chest grows tight, and my throat closes up. I feel like I’m about to lose my job. Last night, I wasn’t sure. But now I’m certain. What if this is some sort of ruse to humiliate me? What if he wants to fire me but make a big show first? No, that can’t be it, Gatsby wouldn’t do that. Would he?

“You ready?” Ms. Greaves asks.

“For what?”

“To see your new office?”

No, no, no. I get up and follow her through the double doors. Just keep calm. Keep cool. Act professional. Everything will be okay. I say these things to myself over and over without believing a single word.

The elevator doors open. Gatsby walks in. He is wearing an impeccably tailored gray suit that accentuates his narrow waist and wide shoulders. The collar of his white shirt is so starched that it looks like it would stand up to the worst desert heat.

He nods hello. First to Ms. Greaves and then to me. I give him a little nod back. When he grabs the stack of paperwork off Ms. Greaves desk, his cufflinks sparkle like starlight. Each cufflink is a parallelogram made of white gold with a wavy line of diamonds going down the middle.

Gatsby’s perfectly polished Italian shoes squeak right before he goes through the double doors, breaking my concentration. He pauses for a moment as if he’s waiting for something. I don’t know whether I should follow him inside.

“We’ll be right in, Mr. Wild.” Ms. Greaves stands up from her chair. Without a word, he disappears into his office.

“Well, c’mon.” Ms. Greaves waves to me. “Let me show you to your new place.”

“What? Now?” I’m not ready. I can’t.

“Yes, now!”

I take a deep breath and follow her through the double doors.