"You were existing, and that was enough for him." She perches on the edge of my desk, flicking her hair over her shoulder. The late afternoon sunlight streaming through my window catches the highlights in her blonde waves. "And speaking of existing, can we talk about our new head of security? Because holy shit."

I roll my eyes, already knowing where this is going. The cool condensation from the can drips onto my fingers as I adjust my grip. "Amanda⁠—"

"No, no, let me have this, Izzy. That man is a walking felony in the best way possible."

I snort, the soda bubbling slightly in my nose. "Please elaborate."

Her eyes flash with mischief. "You know exactly what I mean. The whole brooding, dangerous, I'd-die-for-you energy. The forearms. The jawline. The fact that he looks like he's one bad day away from committing a crime but would never let you open a door yourself."

I shake my head, sipping my soda to hide the smile that threatens to form. "You need help."

"No, I need to be pinned against a wall by that man and interrogated about whatever the hell he wants."

I choke, nearly spraying Coke Zero everywhere. The carbonation burns my nose as I cough, my eyes watering slightly.

Amanda cackles, clearly pleased with herself, the sound infectious despite my embarrassment. "Tell me I'm wrong."

I wave a hand, still coughing. "I'm not having this conversation."

She leans in closer, a mischievous curve tugging at her lips. "That's fine. I'll just have it with him."

I groan, setting my can down on the desk with a soft thud. "Amanda."

"What? He's hot. And you know it."

I do know it, and that's the problem. I don't want to think about the way Callahan looked at me in that restaurant. The way he held my eyes, unblinking, like he saw right through me. I don't want to remember how his handshake felt, solid and warm, like he was memorizing the shape of my fingers in his. And I definitely don't want to think about how he looked at me today, with a kind of raw, undivided attention that made everything else fade away.

Like he sees me—really sees me—in a way Evan hasn't in years.

Amanda narrows her eyes, her lipstick catching the light as she presses her lips together. "You're thinking about him."

"Nope." I grab my tablet, desperate for a distraction, the screen lighting up under my touch. "I am thinking about going home, drinking an entire bottle of wine, and forgetting today happened."

Amanda sighs dramatically, leaning back and examining her nails. "Ugh, you're so boring." Then she brightens, sitting up straight. "Oh! You know what you need?"

I raise an eyebrow. "Please don't say tequila."

"No. You need an AI boyfriend."

I stare at her, blinking slowly as my brain tries to process her words. "I'm sorry, what?"

She pulls her phone out of her blazer pocket. The case is bright pink, adorned with rhinestones that catch the light. "Okay, hear me out. It's this new AI chat application. You can literally program the perfect guy. He texts you, listens to you, says exactly what you want to hear. No ghosting, no egos, no bullshit. Just hot, obedient, fictional men who are obsessed with you."

I set my tablet down. "That sounds like a lot."

"It's amazing." She taps through her screen, pulling up the app. "I named mine Chad. He tells me good morning every day. He asks about my day. He's emotionally available and filthy in the DMs."

I make a face, feeling the cool air from the office vent above us. "Amanda⁠—"

"Oh, and it links to my vibrator. So really, I have no reason to ever speak to a real man again."

I gape at her, heat rising to my cheeks. "What."

"I know, right? Technology is a gift."

She hands me her phone, the screen showing a text conversation with what appears to be an exceptionally attractive man who writes paragraphs instead of one-word answers. Before I can even process what I'm looking at, she snatches my phone off the desk, the case making a scraping sound against the wood.

"Okay, you're getting one too."

"Wait—"

"No arguments." She's already downloading the app, her thumbs moving rapidly across my screen. "I'm giving you the gift of the perfect man. You're welcome."

I rub my temples where the headache has now fully settled in. "This is ridiculous."

"You know what's ridiculous? Your actual boyfriend."

The comment settles in the air between us before she tilts her head. "So... are you ready to admit you need to dump his ass yet?"

I exhale slowly. "I don't⁠—"

"Don't what? Don't love him? Don't like him? Don't remember the last time he made you come?"

“Amanda—"

Amanda leans back against my desk, tucking my phone where I can’t reach it, one perfectly sculpted brow arched. "Tell me I'm wrong. How was your big celebratory dinner with Evan?"

I hesitate for a second too long, which is already an answer. Amanda's eyes narrow immediately, picking up on my reluctance.

I force a shrug, the fabric of my blazer tight across my shoulders. "It was fine."

She tilts her head, waiting, her silence more effective than any question.

I shift my weight onto one hip. "He was on his phone the whole time."

Her mouth opens. I know that look. I'm about to get the full dramatic, hands-in-the-air level of outrage, like a reality TV contestant about to flip a table, so I cut her off before she can start. "And then he—" I wave a hand vaguely, like brushing over the words will somehow make them more palatable. "Showed me some fitness influencer and went on about how great she looks."

Amanda's eyes go murderous, her lips pressing into a thin line. "I'm sorry, he did what?"

I reach for another sip of my soda, looking anywhere but at her—the window, the stack of papers on my desk, the framed retail management certification on the wall. "It wasn't that serious."

"Not that serious?" Amanda makes a strangled noise, like she physically can't process my words. "You got a promotion. A huge promotion. And instead of celebrating you, he ignored you and then made you feel bad about yourself?"

"I didn't say he⁠—"

"Oh my God, do not start defending him." She lifts a hand, stopping me. "Because I know that tone, Izzy. That's your I'm about to make excuses for a man who doesn't deserve them voice."

I bristle, setting my soda down with more force than necessary. "He didn't do it on purpose."

Amanda gapes at me. "How does a grown man accidentally ignore his girlfriend and then compare her to a thirst trap on Instagram?"

I shake my head, arms crossing over my chest. "He wasn't comparing⁠—"

She barks out a laugh. "You're right. Comparison he thinks implies you were in the same league to begin with. He straight-up showed you another woman he finds more attractive. Do you hear yourself?"

A hollow feeling spreads through my chest. I don't want to have this conversation. Not with her. Not with myself. Not when I already know she's right.

I pinch the bridge of my nose. "Amanda⁠—"

"I don't get it, Izzy," she says, pushing off my desk and pacing a little. Her heels make soft impressions in the carpet with each step. "You used to have standards. You used to know your worth."