“Olivia, why didn’t I receive an invitation to your little pajama soiree?” Levi’s eyes trail all the way up from my cable knit socks to the tips of my antlers. I think he might be undressing me.

My knees buckle.

“I’m very good at pillow fights and pillow talk,” he says. “Imagine all the other fun things we can do with pillows.”

“Like smothering you in your sleep?” Asher says.

“I don’t think there would be a whole lot of sleep happening, Ash.”

“I mean, I don’t think anyone’s opposed to smothering you while you’re awake.”

“Enough, boys,” River says. “We’re here for a reason and Ms. Langley is just delivering lunch.”

“Right,” I say and place the box on the table. I turn to Asher, who is trying to murder Levi with his eyes. “They couldn’t confirm if they use Bolero carrots in their soup, so I got you the roasted tomato because—”

“Do they use—”

“—they could confirm that they use San Marzano,” I say. “They could also confirm that I’m the only person to ever question their carrots. The things I do for you, Asher McGowan.”

“The list of things you don’t do is much longer.”

I resist pinching the miserable look off his face.

“You didn’t happen to get me the corn chowder, did you?”

Levi slides his chair over to me and he’s so close that I can feel the warmth radiating off him.

“Of course I did.”

“That’s my girl,” he says and when I feel his hand slide over my lower back, my mouth goes dry.

I don’t know a girl who wouldn’t want to be in my position—up close and personal with Levi Booker—but the butterflies that typically fill my stomach suddenly sting like bees. I’m hot, but for all the wrong reasons.

There’s a soft thud behind me. It’s Levi’s pen. He’s grinning.

“I’m so clumsy,” he says. “Livi, would you be a doll and pick that up for me?”

“Oh, um, sure—”

“That’s not necessary.” Asher is half out of his chair and leaning over the table. He slams the pen he always keeps behind his ear onto the table. “Use mine.”

Levi laughs under his breath as Asher settles back into his chair.

“You’re ruining all the fun, Ash. Just like old times.”

“That’s my job,” he says. “Olivia, can you please contact Emmy Raynard’s manager and let her know we’re all set for the Good Morning Chicago interview?”

“But I thought—”

“I need it done right now, please.”

“Okay.”

“Oh, and Olivia?” River says and I turn to look at him. “Can you send Bree up to my office?”

“She called out,” I tell him, and in return he glowers at me, like I’m the one that was pouring shots down her throat last night.