“Thank you,” I manage to say before Joey can shush me. “It was very nice of you to stop the car for me.”

It’s sleeting out and I’m not wearing tights. It would have been a very cold and wet walk to the subway and then to the office. The three dozen donuts on my lap would have suffered the consequences of an almost New York winter. It would have been a very soggy tragedy.

“We’re going to the same place.” Joey flips the page of her book. “I’m not a complete dickhead.”

“I don’t think you’re a dickhead at all.”

It’s true. I don’t. I wish we had a better relationship and sat up on the couch all night and binge-watched TV shows while eating ice cream straight out of the carton as we cry about our romantic woes and the current state of our government, but I learned a long time ago that life doesn’t always look the way it does in the movies.

“Can I have a donut?” Joey says after a moment. “I figure my money partially pays for them. I think I’m entitled to a strawberry frosted.”

“Go for it,” I say. “I had two before I got out of the shop.”

They were delicious. I can already feel them on my hips. And trust me, my hips have already suffered the consequences of a dozen gingerbread cookies and a container of peppermint bark.

Joey’s a model with much more discipline than me. She does double SoulCycle classes on the weekend and she just killed it at the biggest lingerie fashion show of the year. She deserves all the donuts and a nap.

We get to the office after forty minutes of bumper to bumper traffic. It’s a good thing Asher is used to me being late, which is usually his fault. The donuts, however, were requested by Ana, and I’m not one to deny a pregnant lady what she wants.

“You’re going up to Ana’s office, right?” I ask as we wait for the elevator.

“She is my publicist…”

“Then you won’t mind bringing this box with you.” I nudge a dozen donuts into her hands before she even agrees.

“Are you trying to give her gestational diabetes?”

“I’m sure she’s not going to eat the whole box.”

“You underestimate the power of a dozen donuts.”

We laugh. For the first time ever, Joey and I exchange normal human emotion. It’s a Christmas miracle.

The elevator dings and the doors part and our moment is ruined by something equally miraculous.

Levi Booker looks like a vision straight out of an erotic dream. Black jeans. White t-shirt. Perfectly fitted leather jacket. I want him to destroy me.