It was easy to avoid him at work. The gala is in four days, so I spend most of my working hours (and sometimes more) at the museum with Billie. But my absence at the office doesn’t mean River has forgotten about me. I had another NDA delivered to my apartment. Joey was home when his assistant dropped it off. She put it through the shredder and sent the scraps back to the office.

Maybe I’ll put my heart through the shredder and mail it to Asher.

Better yet, I’ll serve it to him roasted on a silver platter with a steak knife through it.

“Your wine listing,” his date says, scanning the menu. “Which Cabernet would you recommend?”

“The Beringer private reserve.”

“We’ll take a bottle,” she says.

“Of course,” I say and glance at Asher. “Is there anything else I can get you?”

“Do you have Stella on—”

“No,” I say too quickly. “But we have a craft that’s similar.”

He swallows. “Grey Goose and—”

“Soda with lime. Perfect, I’ll be right back.”

I should have let Celeste take the tables and dealt with the repercussions from Ivan. If I had time, I would have gone into the kitchen to cry, but I don’t, so I walk over to the table of twelve with my head held high and greet them with the biggest smile I can muster up.

“Good evening, I’m Olivia. I’ll be your server tonight,” I say. “Can I start you off with some drinks?”

They spew off their orders with wild eyes and cheeky grins. I do my best to ignore the fact that they’re all sizing me up, nudging each other when I have to lean down to hear them over the noise. They’re all middle-aged and wearing fancy suits. Half of them have rings on their fingers.

Their poor wives.

I take the orders over to the bar, where Maritza is backed up and looking flustered.

“Breathe,” I tell her. “You’re doing fine.”

She smiles quickly at me and I coach her through some of the drinks. She knows what she’s doing, but I’ll take any excuse I can to prolong my journey back to Christmas party hell.

“Olivia.” Asher’s voice hits me like a car, knocking the air out of my lungs.

I ignore him and tell Maritza to hand me the bottle opener.

“Olivia, we need to talk.”

“I’m working.”

“I can see that,” he says. “Why didn’t you tell me you have another job?”

“I checked with HR before I started my internship. They said it wasn’t an issue.”

“That’s not—why didn’t you tell me?”

“Does it matter?”

“I mean, no, it doesn’t—”

“So why would I tell you? You’re my boss, Asher. What I do outside of Loveridge & McGowan really isn’t any of your business.”

“Right.”