It’s a constant loop. Francesca gets a drink. She giggles and laughs with her friends. Even Asher is contributing to the conversation. I melt into the background, which is unusual. I’ve never melted into the background a day in my life. I thrive on attention.

But tonight I make myself scarce. I slip away from the group unnoticed and make my way to the upstairs gallery. I haven’t seen many people up there. I’m hoping to be alone.

The walls are lined with photos of New York City on New Year’s Eve. The ball dropping. Couples kissing. Confetti. The aftermath of trash on the ground. An eerily quiet Brooklyn Bridge. A sad woman in an empty subway car. A different story for the same night.

I walk over to a wide arched window that gives a full view of the cobblestone street. A woman walks by pushing a stroller. A couple gets into an argument. A man struggles to parallel park his car.

Like really struggles.

Like really really struggles.

“Olivia?”

For the second time tonight, Asher’s voice startles me. When I turn around, he holds out a glass to me.

“It’s eggnog,” he says.

I take it. “Thank you.”

I turn back to the window and take a sip. It’s spiked heavily with brandy.

“How long has he been trying to park?” Asher asks.

“About ten minutes,” I say. “I almost want to go down and help him.”

“That would be a blow to his ego.”

“Kind of makes me want to do it more.”

We shrink back into silence. It’s not uncomfortable, but the underlying tension is still there. It’s strange to feel this way with him. Our tension has always been sexual.

“I should have answered my phone,” Asher says. “I’m so sorry, Olivia. It should have never gone as far as it did—”

“Asher—”

“He’ll never touch you again.”

“I know that,” I say. “It’s not me I’m worried about.”

“Olivia.” He pushes his fingers through his hair. “It’s complicated.”

“It doesn’t seem very complicated to me.”

Asher licks his lips. “I promise it’s being dealt with, but—”

“There shouldn’t be any buts, Asher,” I tell him. “There’s no gray area. It’s black and white. Right and wrong.”

“I know—”

“Do you? Because when I decided to go into publicity, I didn’t realize this was the kind of industry I was getting myself into. And it’s definitely not one I want to be a part of. I cannot sit back and watch him get away with this.”

“He’s not going to.”

“And why should I believe you?”

Asher pauses. His lips part as if he’s about to give me a hundred and one different reasons why I should believe him. Pleading his case with every last breath.

But he doesn’t.

His eyes fall to the floor.