Asher and Alexander are alike in last name only. I would have never guessed they were brothers. Asher is lean and gangly with striking features that sort of take your breath away. Alexander is… shorter and muscly in a way that suggests he takes arm day a little too seriously. He’s not unattractive. The McGowans are pretty fortunate on the genetic spectrum, but it’s clear that Asher hit the DNA lottery.

At least where his face is concerned.

His attitude could use an adjustment.

“Olivia.” Alexander steps out of the elevator and smiles. “Good, you’re still here. I need you to order dinner. That sushi place on West 55th. The usual order.”

“It’s almost nine o’clock,” I say. “You’re never here this late.”

What I want to say is: “You’re here this late and you didn’t come to movie night?”

Not that Alexander is the McGowan I’d want to cozy up with under a heating lamp.

“Roman Rafferty was arrested in Australia.”

“The minister that runs that big church in Tennessee?”

“Apparently prostitution is not a sin in God’s eyes,” he says. “The Australian government, however, are not as forgiving.”

“Yikes.”

“So sushi?” he says. “Enough for six. My team is on their way in.”

“Of course.”

“And I’ll need you to stay and work on some press releases.” He pauses for a moment to glance down at my exposed legs and knee-length socks. “You do know how to write them, right?”

“I do.”

“Good, I was worried all you do is run around the city getting Asher’s muffins.”

“Bagels,” I say.

“What?”

“Asher doesn’t eat muffins,” I say. “He eats bagels.”

“Right,” he says. “Sushi?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever ordered him sushi,” I say. “But judging by his cream cheese consumption, he probably likes a Philadelphia roll.”

“My sushi, Olivia.”

“Oh, right,” I laugh. “I’ll get on it.”

Alexander turns into a conference room, leaving me alone to order two hundred dollars worth of sushi. At nine o’clock at night. When I want to be ordering a seven dollar Uber to go home. So I can eat stale cereal on my couch.

I order myself three spicy tuna rolls and a slice of cheesecake (with extra strawberries) from the deli next door.

Alexander’s team arrives after I drop all my things off at my desk. While I’m normally comfortable in my own skin, there’s something about being in a room with six guys while I’m in my pajamas that makes me feel like hired help. Their sly smiles and wandering eyes don’t help matters. I’m going to get whatever work they want me to do and lock myself in Asher’s office.

“Do you have a media list for me?” I ask.

“It should be in your email,” Rajiv, a junior associate, tells me.