“Time is money, Olivia.” Asher clicks his pen and tucks it behind his ear. “And while you were making a fool out of yourself with one client, another just gave birth to Nashville’s next little country starlet. Ava Mae Rutland. Born at 4:45 a.m. on November twenty-seventh at Vanderbilt University Medical Center. Nine pounds. Six ounces. Twenty-one inches long. Mother and daughter are both happy and healthy. Dad and big sister, Maisie Lane, are smitten with the family’s latest addition—why aren’t you taking notes?”

“Oh, you want me to write this press release?”

“Yes, Olivia. I’m a busy man. You think you can pull yourself away from the North Pole long enough to get some actual work done?”

I take a deep breath and count to three again. “You’ll never get off the Naughty List with that attitude.”

“That’s not really my top priority.”

“Well, it should be,” I say before grabbing a stack of manilla folders from his desk, and then I leave him alone to eat his normally toasted bagel in brooding silence.

* * *

Darius throws back a nip of tequila and chases it with a gingerbread cookie. He smiles at me and shrugs, “’tis the season!”

The break space at Loveridge & McGowan International is shaking to the beat of a Mariah Carey song. I want to start belting out the lyrics, but I bite my tongue. It’s too early in the evening for a choreographed performance. I need everyone to be significantly less sober. Not that I’m shy, or anything, but for the sake of my coworkers, my dramatic rendition of Christmas (Baby Please Come Home) must be viewed with vodka-colored glasses. They would thank me later.

“Olivia, you’ve put together such a lovely evening.” Ana Loveridge-Herrera is standing next to me and she’s glowing like a Christmas tree that’s fitted with thousands of tiny, bright white lights. If I hadn’t walked into the bathroom at the same time her pregnancy test returned a faint positive sign, I would assume her glow was holiday related. Turns out she likes Christmas a normal amount and is just hyped up on all those blissful baby pheromones.

“Thank you for humoring me,” I say, replenishing a tray of peppermint hot chocolate cupcakes. “I know it’s a lot, but I just really love this time of year.”

“You don’t need to thank me,” she laughs. “It’s about time someone got this office into the holiday spirit. Keep up this enthusiasm and after your internship is over, we might have ourselves a permanent holiday coordinator.”

“Really?”

“Really,” she says. “I’ll have my assistant email you about getting involved with the winter gala. I think you deserve a spot on that team.”