Willa Loveridge is standing halfway between my desk and the door that leads to Asher’s office. The grim frown she’s totting suggests she’s not having a very good day. And when she ends her call without a goodbye, my suspicion is confirmed.

“Boys are so needy.” She shoves her phone into the pocket of her coat and crosses her arms.

“That’s the understatement of the year,” I say.

Willa laughs. I’m happy to see her frown waver into a smile.

“How is the mega-famous Ollie Dunbar doing? I haven’t heard Asher screaming at him about his drunken Twitter escapades in a while, which is probably a good thing.”

“Currently accusing me of smuggling his lucky hoodie out of the United Kingdom.”

“Did you smuggle his lucky hoodie out of the United Kingdom?”

“Yes, but that’s beside the point,” she says. “He shouldn’t have left it at my apartment. It’s only lucky now that I washed it with my laundry and he didn’t have to.”

I’ve never had a serious relationship, only semester long flings that lasted as long as my class schedule did. I found it hard to commit to anything that wasn’t maintaining my GPA. I had a scholarship I needed to worry about, romantic entanglements always came second. My fake relationship with Asher is the most committed I’ve ever been to anyone besides Betsy, who I keep in my bedside table for those particularly lonely nights.

“Does Ollie ever send you chocolates?”

“No.”

“Flowers?”

“He writes songs for me,” she says. “Sometimes they’re sweet. Most of them are about how bad my feet smell and the hair I leave in the shower drain.”

“Charming.”

“Yeah, he’s got the romance thing down,” she laughs. “Have you seen my mom?”

“I believe she moved her office to the roof,” I tell her. “Because even with the air-conditioning on, it’s still too hot in here.”

Willa begrudgingly takes the elevator to the roof and I glance down at the clock. It’s after eleven. Sighing, I pick up the phone.

“Hi, this is going to sound like a silly question,” I say when they answer. “But do you use Bolero carrots in your carrot and ginger soup?”

* * *

Levi is in the conference room when I get there with lunch. He has his hands shoved into the pockets of his leather jacket and there’s a pen in his mouth. He’s leaning back in his chair, looking like he wants to be anywhere but here. He’s not paying attention to a word Alexander is saying, but when he sees me, his lips curve into a devilish smile.

I almost drop scalding hot soup onto my feet.

“Jesus Christ.” Asher all but slams his head onto the table. He’s clearly upset that he forgot about Pajama Day.

I reminded him.

Twice.