I wait until Ana walks away before I squeal. It’s not every day that you practically get a job offer from the most badass publicist in New York City. She once stormed onto a set of a live morning talk show because the host asked a question they weren’t supposed to. It was the most streamed video on YouTube for three months.

“Are you having a seizure? Should I call an ambulance?”

Asher blinks at me before his eyes shift into a glare. He lives in a perpetual bad mood, which I think is a shame. Life is too short to be unhappy all the time. And he’s too cute for frown lines.

Also, he has a penthouse apartment in SoHo and his girlfriend is a freaking Rockette. He hit the life lottery.

“Of course I’m not having a seizure,” I say. “And I would hope you’d have a bit more urgency if I was.”

“There’s fifty other people here,” he says. “I’m sure someone knows how to dial 911.”

“Wow, you’re definitely the person I’d want to be around during an emergency.”

“Speaking of,” he says as he reaches for a cupcake. He takes a bite and puckers his face in disgust. I’m offended. “I need you to moderate a book signing tomorrow in Union Square.”

“You consider that an emergency?”

“Not really, but I was tired of the small talk and it was the reason I came over here, so… be at Barnes & Noble at four o’clock. It’s for Emmy Raynard. Her book is about nail polish, so it’ll be a bunch of tween girls asking for makeup tips. You’ll fit right in.”

“I’m sorry, Asher, but I can’t.”

“You can’t?” Now he looks offended, like I just insulted his very expensive Gucci boots or ran over his grandmother’s dog.

“When I got the internship, I told HR that I couldn’t do late nights on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Fridays. They said it wouldn’t be an issue.”

“Of course it’s an issue,” he huffs and takes another bite of a peppermint hot chocolate cupcake. His face puckers again. “Because if you don’t do it, then I have to do it, and I would much rather get my wisdom teeth extracted without anesthesia than moderate a reading about nail polish.”

“I’m really sorry.”

“You don’t sound really sorry,” he says. “What could you be doing that’s more important than this? Are you singing Christmas carols to homeless people in Central Park?”

“No, that’s not until December tenth.”

“Of course.” He rolls his eyes. “I’m very upset.”

“You look very upset. Especially with all that chocolate all over your mouth.”

His face turns a funny shade of red as he reaches for a napkin to wipe his mouth.