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It’s unintentionally taken up more of my life than I ever thought it would. Dunne Tech is player-centered: we have great benefits and communication with managers. It’s also competitive. Tough. There’s an atmosphere of hard work that can be genuinely invigorating.

But that invigorating atmosphere of friendly competition and drive is exactly the reason I’m still here. Why I focused so much on work that I found myself in a lack-luster engagement without even realizing it.

As I hang a gingerbread garland over the windows, I can’t stop myself from thinking about all the time I’ve poured into this company.

Saturday was Poppy’s baby shower. All day yesterday, I got the decorations ready, stacked the totes by the front door, baked the cookies and goodies I set out in the break room. And I did it all for free—not for a promotion or recognition. I did it just because it makes me happy to celebrate. Because it makes me happy to make other people happy.

My entire weekend was about my friends and work.

How am I going to find a husband? Build a family before it’s too late?

Despite my recent visit to the OB-GYN and the fairly good results for my age, there’s a voice in my head that says it might already be too late. That the timer on my clock might have already gone off a long time ago.

“I have to quit,” I whisper, startled when a coworker—Marcie in marketing—stops by my step stool, tilting her head at me.

“What did you say?”

“Oh!” I cough, blinking hard. I can’t believe I just said that out loud. “I—uh, sorry, nothing. I mean, I’ll have to finish the decorations later.”

“They look great.”

“Thanks, Marcie.”

She smiles at me, and I hurry back to my desk, hands shaking as I pull up an empty document and place my cursor at the very start.

It blinks at me, expectant.

So I start to type. I pull up resignation letter templates. Refer to examples when I’m stuck on how to word something. Read and reread exactly how I can phrase this to make sure they understand it’s not about Dunne. For the most part—really, except the strict decoration rules—I’ve loved working here.

But it’s time for me to focus on what’s important. Living life while I can, before the window of opportunity for what I want passes. I have friends who don’t want kids—who’ve known forever that they don’t. And I respect that.

I’m not like that. For as long as I can remember, I’ve been excited about having little ones of my own. Since working at Dunne, I’ve saved almost every penny outside of my normal expenses, thinking it would be handy for a nursery. For medical expenses on top of insurance. For our first vacation as a family. Children are expensive, so I saved for a baby.

And I’m running out of time to make that happen.

So I finalize my resignation letter and hover over the printer as it chugs along, putting the words to paper for me. I don’t want anyone else to see this before I have a chance to talk to HR. I want to do this as professionally as possible.

I know losing me will be a big hit to the company. I manage all of our largest accounts. I’d never dream of taking them with me, and I’ll help to train a replacement. I’ll make sure everything goes smoothly.

Then I’ll focus on family. Focus on building the future that I really want.

And I’ve just made the decision with the letter on my desk when Mr. Dunne appears in the doorway to his office, scans the room, and says, “Cami, would you please come in here for a chat?”

CHAPTER 5

PATRICK

When I get to the office Monday morning, I’m punched in the face by red, green, and the old-school Christmas music crooning over the radio. A massive Christmas tree is already erect in the corner, though it’s completely bare without decorations or lights.

Biting my tongue, I step over a tote and look pointedly at the calendar.

It’s December first.

“Good morning, Mr. Dunne,” the office manager—Cami—says, flashing a smile in my direction. She’s wearing a velvet red dress I’ve seen on her before. It’s nice, trimmed with white, contrasting with her tanned skin and honey blond hair.

Each year, I remember the way she fought against my no-decorating rule. I can’t lie—as much as I don’t see the point of Christmas, I was impressed by her tenacity. Her willingness to go out and get something she wanted.

“Right,” I say to her, trying not to be bothered by the holiday explosion in this room. I will only need to put up with it for a month. “Good morning.”