A few days later, I come in to work to discover Mark looking smug. He’s smirking at me when I reach for the coffee he’s pretending to hold out of my reach. ”What in the hell do you know?” I chide him. ”Spill.”

”Two things,” he says, settling in to the chair opposite my desk and crossing his ankle up onto the opposite knee so I can see his brightly colored socks.

”Mark, we’re not in tech anymore. You can wear ...