I slide off my stool and catch Asher’s eyes once more before I walk over to where Emanuel is standing near the refreshment table, two chocolate chip cookies in his hand and a few feathers glued to his fingers.

“Was that as painful for you as it was for me to watch?”

“What?”

“You and Asher and your torrid love affair.”

I glance back and watch as Asher helps Valentina spell a word.

“It’s complicated.”

I almost choke on that statement. It’s such a cop out. I’m ashamed of myself.

“Aren’t most things complicated? Easy isn’t really fulfilling.”

“That’s not totally true,” I say. “Refrigerated cookie dough is easy and very fulfilling. Autocorrect. Listening to your favorite song. Taking a walk. Eating an entire pizza. Very easy. Very fulfilling.”

“You’re nuts”

“Probably.”

“Speaking of nuts…”

I place three gingerbread men and sugar cookie on a plate when Emanuel’s voice trails off. I look in the direction he is and turn away quickly when I see Bree.

“Who invited the Grinch?” he asks.

“Everyone was invited.”

“Surely, she should have realized that didn’t include her,” he says. “She’s going to frighten the children. Haven’t they been through enough?”

I stifle a laugh as the familiar florals of Bree’s perfume hit me.

“Bree,” Emanuel says tightly. “You realize this is an event to help children, not eat them, right?”

“Kids love me.”

“Because you lure them to a gingerbread house in the forest built of candy canes and gumdrops?”

“I’m offended that you think I’d step foot in a forest.”

“God forbid you ruin those knock-off Gucci loafers.”

“First of all, they’re not knock-offs, they’re vintage. Chrissy Teigen wore the same pair to the Thanksgiving parade,” she says. “Second of all, I would never wear them outside.”

“Because you’re afraid one of your fashion friends will call you out for wearing knock-off Gucci loafers?”

“You’re an awful person.”

Emanuel bites the head off a gingerbread man. “Sometimes, but mostly I’m just tired of your bullshit. It was funny at first, but honestly, you’re not as untouchable as you think. I don’t care who you’re fucking.”

Bree’s eyes bug out. Emanuel? He just shrugs. Me? I choke on air. This is not the time nor the place to have this kind of conversation. There are children writing letters to Santa. Today is about yuletide cheer. Not checking off Bree’s trysts on her workplace Naughty List.

“Is everything okay over here?” Asher’s voice trickles into my ear. I can feel the heat of his body against my back, but he’s not touching me.

“Everything’s wonderful,” Bree says. “We were just talking about relationships in the office. Asher, what’s your stance on sleeping with interns? What about interns sleeping with clients?”

“Don’t bring them into this,” Emanuel says.