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faster. Final y, I asked her to sign the severance agreement.
    “You know what, Bil y?” Alexa said when I’d finished with my spiel.
    “What’s that?”
    She rattled off a string of Spanish words.
    “Excuse me?” I said politely.
    “It’s a Mexican saying.”
    “Wel , however you need to deal with it. Now if you’l sign the agreement.” I pushed it across my desk.
    She ignored the pen I held out. I noticed that my hand shook a little, my body stil humming.
    “Don’t you want to know what it means?” she said.
    If it will get you the hell out of here, I wanted to say, but I remembered the warnings in the personnel manual about how to properly terminate an employee. “Sure.”
    “It means, essential y, what goes around comes around.” She stood, shaking her shoulders back. “And I’m not signing that thing.”

    “Holy shit,” Evan said, sticking his blond head in my office, “I just heard.”
    “What do you think?” I whispered.
    He perched on the edge of my desk. I could smel his cologne, an earthy, sporty fragrance that always made me a little weak. “Impressive,” he said.
    “Is that a good thing or bad?”
    He shrugged. “Lots of people didn’t like her.”
    “What about you?”
    His eyes twinkled. “I think she’s hot as hel .”
    I scoffed. “Any other helpful opinions?”
    Another shrug. “I thought she was pretty good, but you worked with her more. It was a bal sy move, Rendal .”
    “Wel , you know me.”
    He cocked his head. He gave me a sexy, appraising stare with those mint-green eyes. “I’m not so sure. It’s like you’re a different person today.”
    I cleared my throat. “Yeah, I know what you mean.”
    I didn’t want to give Alexa any more opportunities to put Mexican hexes on me, so I told Evan I had a doctor’s appointment and slipped out of the office. I walked down Michigan Avenue, enjoying the sun now peeking from between the clouds. Due to the earlier rain, the air was humid, but because it was suddenly seventy degrees, it felt balmy.
    What to do now? I had time before I had to meet Chris. I thought about going home, but as I crossed the street, I caught a glimpse of myself in a storefront window. Evan might have been impressed today with the trusty old brown pants and the ivory blouse, but I needed something better for a dinner with my husband to celebrate my promotion. I increased my pace and headed straight for Bloomingdale’s. Once inside, I ignored the glittering makeup counters and took the escalator to one of the designer floors, where I never usual y let myself shop. But I’d gotten a raise with my promotion (I’d checked on that with the Human Resources person at the same time I got Alexa’s file) and I could afford a fabulous, celebratory outfit.
    A saleswoman asked if she could help me. Usual y, I turned the salespeople away, afraid of being pressured into a big purchase I didn’t need, but I was in the buying mood, so I said,
    “Yes, please.”
    Soon, I was in the dressing room, trying on A-line skirts and sliplike dresses and spring sweaters the colors of Easter eggs. I decided on a slim marigold dress with velvety straps and a lace-up back. It was much brighter, much more chic than the clothes I usual y wore, and it was perfect.
    “I’l wear it out,” I told the saleswoman.

    Spring, the restaurant where I was to meet Chris, was on North Avenue in a building that had once been a Turkish bath. Outside, it stil had the original stone face and columns. But inside, where it was decorated with Zenlike grasses and smooth wood tables, it was hard to imagine overweight men in towels being bathed and pounded upon by other men.
    I went down the short staircase and saw Chris, sitting at the softly lit bar, a bottle of champagne in a bucket before him.
    He slid off his stool. “You look gorgeous.”
    “Thank you. So do you.” His hair was wet around the ears, and he smel ed like shaving cream. He’d clearly showered at the gym before our date, a