I breathe, “But . . . I don’t . . . understand.”

Michael’s father—a man with gunmetal-gray eyes and an imposing air who I’ve interacted with only briefly at holiday parties and the random company picnic—says brusquely, “My father started this company. I’ll be damned if my son is going to end it.”

When the two attorneys shoot him agitated looks, several things dawn on me at once. I think of Maria, the copy editor who left suddenly before her promotion was announced, leaving a spot open for me, and of how Portia has hovered over me for years, watching Michael and me like a hawk, and not because she was in love with him.

And of Sue Wong, youngest associate editor in the history of Maddox Publishing. Pretty, vivacious, ambitious Sue.

“Wait. I’m not the first one he’s done this to, am I?”

Sensing his cue, one of the attorneys stands. “Ms. Bixby, I have some documents we’d like you to sign—”

“Ha!” My barked laugh stops the attorney cold. “Yeah, I bet you do, pal! Good luck with that!”

“Your new position as associate editor has been approved by the board, Joellen,” says Portia calmly. “All you have to do is sign the paperwork.”

I look around the table, and I have to laugh again. “Dudes. I know I’m not the sharpest tool in the shed, but I’m not signing anything without having my attorney review it.” My nonexistent attorney, I fail to add, but this is hardly the time for full disclosure. “And if you don’t want me to sue all your asses to kingdom come”—I make an unnecessarily dramatic gesture, encompassing everyone in the room, the building, and most of the state—“you’re going to leave me alone with Portia now so we can talk.”

I level Portia with the same cold look she’s been giving me for years.

“Unfortunately, that’s not possible,” starts attorney number one, but Portia stops him.

“Give us five minutes, gentlemen.” She sweeps her cool blue gaze around the table. “Ruth. We’ll be fine. Please.”

The way they all shuffle nervously out the door looks like they’re off to the firing squad. When we’re alone and the door has closed behind the last person, Portia and I engage in a staring duel.

Of course I break first. The woman could work for the gestapo.

“Why have you always been such a bitch to me?”

She wasn’t expecting that. I can tell because she says, “I wasn’t expecting that.”

“We’ll get to the Michael stuff in a sec. But it’s always really bothered me that you were so mean to me. I could never figure out why.”

She glances down at her lap, smooths a hand over her perfectly smooth hair, does that prune imitation with her mouth. Then she sighs and meets my gaze. “Because you remind me so much of myself, and I hate it.”

My jaw unhinges and lands on the table. “Me? I remind you of you? Are you nuts? We’re polar opposites!”

She makes a queenly, dismissive gesture with her hand. “How I used to be, before I decided to stop letting life kick me in the teeth and grow some balls.” A ghost of a smile lifts her lips. “So to speak.”

When I just stare at her with my mouth open like a gaping idiot, she looks at the ceiling and shakes her head. “I always hoped one day you’d have enough of me clapping at you and clap back. And you did, eventually. After I’d been through the entire dictionary of names that start with the letter J.”

I’m floored. “Portia, that’s just . . . diabolical.”

She laughs at my horrified face. “I had no idea you’d have so much patience, or I would’ve sat you down ten years ago and told you to stop being so accommodating.” Her smile fades. “Being nice is the worst thing a woman can be. Nice means you have to swallow your own feelings and focus on everyone else’s. Nice means you don’t speak up when you’re wronged. Nice means being a people pleaser and a conciliator and worrying yourself to death over others’ opinions. Nice means never getting what you really want.”

“So we’re all just supposed to walk around being giant bitches?”

She lifts a shoulder. “That’s one way to do it. At least you’ll get respect. But what I really mean is that when you’re focused on being nice, you won’t tell a truth that needs telling, because the worst thing a nice girl could ever do is hurt someone’s feelings. A better thing to focus on is being real.”

“Real,” I repeat doubtfully.

“Authentic. Genuine. Live your truth. Let others live theirs. Don’t kiss anyone’s ass, but don’t be an asshole, either. It’s very simple.”

The air whispering through the vents on the walls seems loud in the following silence. I say, “That was interesting. Also weird. I’m not sure how to respond.”

Portia smiles a big toothy smile like I’ve never seen on her face. “That’s exactly what I mean!”

“Okay, now you’ve totally lost me.”

“Old Joellen would’ve found some nice, nonoffensive reply. Instead, you were real. Congratulations, there’s hope for you yet. I was also impressed by your little speech when you came in. Very real. Strong, angry, impressive. Good for you.”

“I feel like I might be dreaming all this right now? Like I’m in a hospital bed somewhere, dopey on morphine and hooked up to a bunch of tubes?”

Portia does the queenly hand wave again and gets down to business, apparently finished with the life lessons portion of the meeting. “The associate editor position is yours if you want it. You will, however, have to sign a nondisclosure agreement and a document releasing the firm from any future claim of sexual or emotional harassment arising from this incident with Michael.”

She pierces me with her iceberg eyes. “You won’t be able to speak about the incident in the ladies’ room or your personal relationship with Michael, or publicly disparage Maddox Publishing in any way. If you do, you’ll be terminated, and the firm will pursue all available legal remedies against you.”

I blink. “Wow. And here I thought we were bonding.”

More gently, Portia says, “Michael won’t be back to the office, so you won’t have to deal with him again. On a personal note, I’d like to apologize to you.” She clears her throat, looking uncomfortable. “I saw this coming. There have been other incidents. It’s one of the reasons he was removed so quickly. I’m putting myself at legal risk by telling you that, but I think it’s important you know that what happened is in no way your fault.”

I’m actually touched by this confession. Coming from her, it means a lot. “Thank you, Portia. That’s very civil of you.”

Then there’s an awkward silence. It lasts until I finally say, “Okay, I’m going to be real now. This has been a lot to digest. I spent the last ten days thinking I was out of a job, and now I’ve got the promotion I always wanted. I’ve spent the last ten years thinking I was in love with a guy who, it turns out, is a prick. I’ve spent the last month living across the hall from a man who dresses like he’s auditioning for the circus, has an ego the size of the earth’s atmosphere, and screws like a champ.”

I look at her, wide eyed. “Sorry, that last part was probably a little too much reality.”

Her smile is tranquil. “Do go on. I’m enjoying this.”