Regina
It had been more than two weeks. Two and a half, to be exact.
I tried to convince myself that the one-night-stand with my ex-husband was completely inconsequential. Fine, it happened, but I had to put it behind me, and continue on with life. There was no point ruminating over it, picking apart every detail, trying to read meaning into something that had just been a random explosion of pheromones.
“I love my job,” I reminded myself as I opened the door of the remodeled Victorian mansion that now housed the Vermont Branch of Triton Publishing. The building held a dozen offices and a large conference room. It was a far cry from the New York City high rise headquarters where I had started out, crowded in a cubicle on the twenty-second floor.
Through hard work, and quite a bit o
