I frown, “I was told there are certain steps one must go through to be let on property.”

“Yes, you go through a security gate and show them your ID.”

“That’s it?”

“Yes! It’s a members only club! Not the goddamn Pentagon!”

I’m going to kill Natasha.

Right after I kill Asher.

Who has added some light finger tapping to his current jam session.

* * *

I’m dipping gingerbread cookies into peppermint hot chocolate and living my best life on a couch that overlooks sandy white beaches. I don’t know how long this little facade with Asher is going to last, but I can only hope to be back here in July. On the beach. In a lounge chair. Wearing a bikini. And a floppy hat. With a fruity drink in my hand.

All this luxury is really going to my head.

I’ll get a nice reality check when I’m eating instant noodles and boxed macaroni and cheese for the rest of the year.

“Olivia!”

Francesca falls onto the couch next to me and jostles me enough to make the contents in my stomach shake. I cannot vomit in the lobby of this bougie hotel. Asher will kill me.

I have so many cookies in my mouth that the, “hey,” I mutter doesn’t translate to English.

“Isn’t this place a dream?”

It is. I feel like I stepped inside a snow globe. There are snow covered trees and a grand staircase wrapped in garland. Everything smells like the warmth of gingerbread and cinnamon and molasses. Michael Bublé classics filter the room. People look happy in a way they don’t when they’re shoving me out of their way at the Macy’s in Herald Square.

“I’ve been in fancy hotels in the city, but they don’t compare to this,” I say.

“Just wait until the Fourth of July party.”

I’m pretty sure she can see the fireworks light off in my eyes.

I’m also pretty sure she’s drooling over my plate of cookies. That’s when I realize I should probably offer her some because that sort of thing is polite. Even though I would rather get a pap smear than share my food with anybody, which is clearly evident by all the soft and squishy bits on my body.

“They’re delicious.” I nudge my plate towards her and I feel my heart break a little.

“No, I can’t.”

Thank God.

“I can’t eat dairy until December twenty-fourth at 10:01 p.m.”

“That’s very specific.”

No wonder she dated Asher. They probably did weirdly specific things together at weirdly specific times. Coffee at exactly 7:03 a.m. Double-toasted cinnamon raisin bagels with extra cream cheese at 8:26 a.m. Hot yoga at 10:17 a.m. Avocado toast and arugula salad at 1:34 p.m. Dinner at that vegan place down the street at 7:35 p.m. Sex at 9:48 p.m. Everyone loves a well-planned kink, right?