The next few days are uneventful. I go out to brunch with Harriet. I get my cell phone fixed. I go to work. And little by little, I manage to put Mason Robichaud out of my head.

Mostly.

I mean, sure, there’s the fact that the next night, my trusty vibrating friend comes back out of his hiding place in my bottom dresser drawer. And I may have had a steamy dream about him at some point. But mostly, I don’t think about him all that much. I keep busy with work, and follow up on a human interest lead my boss Ethan finally gives me about a high school all-star girls’ basketball forward. It’s a start, I guess.

But that’s about it. Now, it’s almost a week later, and I still haven’t heard any breaking story about Mason getting signed to the Rockets. I can’t help but wonder if something’s fallen through. I hope for his sake that they’ve decided to pick him up. But if it does happen, I’ll have to hear about it in the news, just like everyone else.

Friday afternoon at the station, I’m just about to call it a day. I was up early for my normal three a.m. slot, and I’ve been here for over fourteen hours. I’m starting to lose some serious steam. I’m just checking my email one more time before shutting my laptop when my colleague Mackenzie appears at my desk.

“Hey, Anna!” she says, giving me a wide smile that displays her perfectly even, white teeth. “How did the story with the high school all-star go?” She cocks her head and gives me a little smirk. “I’m the one who suggested to Ethan to give it to you, by the way.”

Mackenzie has been working at the station for just a few months longer than I have, but rumor has it she’s already being considered for one of the supporting slots on our morning show, Sunrise Springville. She’s exactly what you think of when you hear the phrase morning show TV host: perfectly straight blond hair; a golden, sun-kissed tan that I assume comes out of a bottle or a spray tan booth; a wardrobe that must have cost a mint and rides the bleeding edge between professional and sexy.

She’s nice, though. I can’t fault her for playing the part to such perfection. I guess Mackenzie is just more ambitious than I am, or something. Just looking at her, it’s clear that in five years or so she’ll probably be one of the highest-paid talking heads at the station.

And with my luck, I’ll probably still be stuck covering minor high school sports stories, waiting for my break.

“Uh, it was good,” I nod. “Thanks for putting in a good word to me with Ethan.”

“No problem!” she says brightly. “Also, guess what? I have some news!”

She looks like she’s bursting to tell someone. Her expression is so excited that I can almost guess what it is.

“Spill it,” I tell her.

“I got the morning show slot!” She does a tiny little dance in place, with a miniature fist pump at the end. She looks absolutely stoked, and radiant.

It’s a good thing I like her, because otherwise I might hate her just a little bit right now.

“Congratulations!” I say, faking the enthusiasm that I really, really want to feel for her. “That’s just excellent news!”

“Isn’t it?” she gushes. “Oh, my gosh, when Ethan called me into his office earlier I was so nervous! But he didn’t keep me in suspense for very long, luckily. I’m supposed to start in two weeks.”

“You’ll be great,” I say, and I mean it.

“You want to go grab a drink with me?” she asks, glancing at the clock. “TGIF, and all. And I’m in the mood to celebrate.”

Honestly, I really don’t want to do it. I’m tired, and all I really want to do is go home and spend the evening doing laundry or something pathetic like that. But after all, Mackenzie is a good person to have in my corner at work, and she is fun to hang out with. And, she just got a promotion. So instead of turning her down, I fix a bright smile on my face and nod.

“That sounds like fun,” I say. “My treat, as a congratulations. I’m just finishing up here.”

“Great!” she enthuses. “I’ll meet you down in the lobby in ten?”

Half an hour later, we’re sitting across from each other at Six, a trendy local bar a couple of blocks from the TV station. We managed to grab one of the few free high-top tables, and the waitress has just brought us our drinks. Mackenzie holds up her lemon drop martini and announces, “To Friday!”

I pick up my cosmopolitan and clink it against her glass. “To Friday,” I agree, even though in our field, weekends don’t always mean much. “And to your promotion!”

Mackenzie gives me a happy smile and takes a delicate sip of her drink and sets it down. “Oooh, that’s good,” she croons. “So. Do you have any good weekend plans?”

“Not really,” I admit. “Clean the house. Get some research done. Do some laundry. Call my dad.” It sounds pathetic, even to me. Instead of trying to think of something more exciting to add, I pick up my glass. “How about you?”

“Oh, Nathan is supposed to take me to a work party on Saturday. It’s a formal event, at the Plaza.” She shrugs her shoulders as if to say it’s no big deal. “So, I have to go get my hair and makeup done tomorrow afternoon.”

Mackenzie’s boyfriend is a commodities trader, whatever that is. He frequently rubs elbows with the some of the richest people in town, which means that Mackenzie does, too. They’re kind of an up and coming power couple, I suppose. It would be easy to be jealous of her, except that privately I think Nathan is kind of a dick.

“Sounds like fun,” I murmur.

“I suppose so,” she agrees. “It will be pretty dry, of course, listening to all his colleagues and their clients talking about their investments. Still, it’s good to be seen around town. Besides, this is my Year of Yes.”

“Your Year of Yes?” I repeat, cocking my head.

She nods. “You’ve heard of the book, haven’t you? By Shonda Rhimes?” When I shake my head, she laughs and takes another sip of her lemon drop. “I’m saying yes to everything this year. Every invitation, every request. You never know what you’ll learn or what opportunities you’ll have, just by being in the room. After all,” she continues pointedly, looking at me, “no one ever got anywhere in life by sitting around at home on the couch.”

I open my mouth to respond, but I’m stunned into silence. I can’t decide whether to be angry or defensive or nothing at all. Did she really mean to take a jab at me just now? Or am I just feeling inadequate, next to her glamorous weekend plans with her rich boyfriend and his rich friends?

Mackenzie continues talking as though nothing’s happened, and after a minute I start to question whether I’m just imagining things. “Nathan says one of his clients is interested in talking to me about a potential story involving his charity organization. If I can get Ethan interested in running it during Sunrise Springville,” she says with a coy little simper.

“That’s great.” I drain my cosmo, and almost signal to the waitress for another one. But that would mean spending another hour here with Mackenzie. And right now, I’m not in the mood. “Whoops,” I say, glancing at my watch, “I’m so sorry, Mack, but I almost forgot, I told my roommate I’d help her with… something tonight.”

“That’s fine,” Mackenzie says evenly, giving me another flash of her perfect smile. “I need to get home anyway. Nathan’s stopping by later to take me out, and I want to freshen up before he gets there.”

Relieved, I catch the waitress’s eye and asks for the bill. As I slip my credit card into the little pocket of the holder, I’m already imagining how good it’s going to feel to get out of these clothes and into a pair of yoga pants. As much as I might be just a little bit jealous of Mackenzie’s success, I don’t envy her weekend plans of nonstop seeing and being seen.

The two of us walk out of the bar together, say our goodbyes, and head in opposite directions. Just as I’m breathing a sigh of relief, I hear the ring of my cell phone in my bag. I don’t break my stride as I fish it out blindly and hold it up to look at the screen.

It’s a number I don’t recognize. In my line of work it doesn’t pay to blow off a call that might be a lead on a good story. But right now, I’m not in the mood, so I let it go to voicemail. Whoever it is doesn’t leave a message, so I toss it back in my bag.

On the drive home, I unwind by turning up the stereo and singing loudly to a few of my favorite songs, which I’ve put in a special playlist for days like this when I need to let off some steam. I’m feeling much better by the time I turn onto my street — so much so that at first I don’t think anything of the dark SUV that’s parked in my usual spot on in front of my place. I pull in behind it and shut off the car, the silence almost deafening after the loud music I’ve been listening to for the past twenty minutes.

As I’m walking up the front steps toward the house, I hear a car door open and close behind me.

“Anna!” a voice calls.

It’s a familiar voice — male — but I can’t quite place it.

I turn around to see the source.

“Hi, there,” says Mason Robichaud, a familiar, sexy grin on his face. “I was wondering if I could talk to you.”