Take Katrina. I was careful with her, waited till our website contract ended. I changed the passwords just as a precautionary measure before I asked her out. She seemed liked a sweetheart, and even my sister liked her. And, hell, it isn’t easy getting the Josie Hammer seal of approval.

Suffice to say, we were all shocked when Katrina went off the rails.

Josie declared it was just my particular brand of bad luck. Besides, everyone has that one friend who dates the crazies. Guess I fill that quota for all my buds. But it’s not like there’s a litmus test for crazy. That’s yet another reason why I need to stay far away from the temptation Natalie brings to work.

Although my assistant looks perfectly delectable on Monday morning, sitting at her desk doing paperwork, I don’t let my mind linger on her bare legs or her long neck. Nor do I cop a peek at those absolutely fantastic tits that she loves having bitten. And I certainly don’t spend another second picturing her hitching her legs over my ass and digging her nails into my flesh.

My mind is clean as a whistle, because I cashed out ahead this weekend in Vegas, getting that annulment filed in the nick of time. I hope it means my bad luck streak is ending, and I’m safe and secure on the other side of trouble. Judging from the bright smile plastered on Natalie’s face, she’s perfectly content to be moving on, too. Like it didn’t even happen.

“Good news. We got a call for an estimate on a kitchen redo on Park Avenue,” she says then rattles off the details and tells me I’m needed there at four.

I fiddle with a box of paperclips on her desk. “Great. Will you do the schematics?”

“Of course. That’s my job.”

As I grab my tools and make my way out, I say good-bye, and she gives a quick wave. I do a double take when I see her left hand. Her fingers are bare. Her ring is gone.

Mine’s still on, and I’m honestly not sure why I didn’t take it off when I returned, or even notice I was still wearing it.

A momentary pang of sadness settles briefly into my chest, but that’s pointless so I shove the feeling away and focus on work for the next several hours.

Later that day, Natalie joins me at the appointment, her laptop case in hand. She’s professional to a T, answers the client’s questions, and makes me look like a rock star.

On the way out of the building, I thank her then ask how she’s doing today. “Everything good with you?”

She taps her wrist. “Everything’s great, but I need to run. Karate class. Bye.”

In a minute, she fades from my sight, turning north onto Park and blending into the sea of New Yorkers. Still ringless.

Back at my apartment, I toy with the band. I run my thumb and forefinger over the metal, but I don’t yet take it off.

As I whip up an omelet for dinner, I wonder how Natalie prefers her eggs, whether she’d like my omelets. As I sit down and dig in, I slide the ring off and spin it absently in circles on the kitchen table.

When I’m done eating, I pop an Oreo in my mouth and click open my e-reader to my latest book of fascinating facts. As I read, I let the ring fall from one finger to the next, back and forth, back and forth. I set down my e-reader and wander into my bedroom, picking up the cardboard-framed photo of the two of us on the top of the rollercoaster. But looking at it makes me long for what I can’t have, so I set it down.

Later, I hold the wedding band under the bathroom light then drop it in the medicine cabinet, wondering what Natalie did with hers.

But it doesn’t matter, because a week later when I call Easy Out Divorce, the garrulous guy tells me, “It’s all in process. The paperwork was filed. You’ll be a free man in no time.”

“Great,” I say.

And it is great. It’s truly great how quickly you can undo a massive mistake. I tell Natalie when I stop by the office on the way home from the new job we booked last week.

Her cool smile, along with a quick “great news,” is her only answer. She gathers her purse, shoves it on her shoulder, and takes off.

That’s how we continue for the next two weeks. We go out on estimates; we plan new projects. I build; she manages. We book a few new jobs, including one for a friend of Lila’s. Her name is Violet, and she tells us she was so inspired by Lila’s new kitchen that she wants a similar look and feel. I give Natalie a big thumbs-up when she shows me the contract for that gig, since it’ll put us back on the expansion path.

“We’ll start on it in a few more weeks. We have an opening then to fit this in,” Natalie says in a professional voice. “And Lila seemed happy to connect us with Violet. She said when she came to my self-defense class again how awful she felt about the Vegas job falling through.”

“She went to one of your classes?”

Natalie nods. “Yes. Funny thing. I was so used to seeing her in the context of working with you, and then all of a sudden there she was. She said she wants to learn self-defense.”

“That’s pretty cool.”

“She’s a quick learner. And I’m thrilled she told a friend about you. This pretty much gets us back on track after the Vegas debacle.”

At first I’m not sure which debacle she’s referring to—the marriage or the job cancellation—but then I realize she means the business. And that’s fine with me, since we’re showing how well we work together as soon-to-be annulees. We’re all professional, all cool, unruffled feathers. As if we’re proving with every goddamn interaction how completely unaffected we are by that night in Vegas.