Asher leans back in his chair and tucks a pen behind his ear. He’s dressed down today, wearing a gray pullover and a pair of fitted jeans, which suggests he doesn’t plan to be at the office much longer. If I had the option, I wouldn’t want to work on my birthday either.

“I feel like if you’re going to ask someone that, it needs to be said with much more urgency,” I say. “Like you’d actually try to get said person help if they were, in fact, having a stroke, which I am not.”

“Well, now that we’ve settled that you’re not having a stroke. Is there something else I can help you with, Ms. Langley?”

“That’s a very professional way to address a woman whose right breast you’re personally acquainted with.”

“Olivia.”

“Yes, Mr. McGowan?”

“Are you done playing games?”

“Never.”

“Right,” he says as he pushes his chair back and stands up. “I’ll be taking the rest of the day off, so I’ve emailed you a list of releases I need written. I would like them forwarded back to me when they’re completed.”

I watch him tuck his phone into his back pocket, his keys jingling in his hand. He’s doing a great job at avoiding the giant elephant in the room. Our weekend together may as well have never happened.

“Is this for me?” He takes the paper bag before I get a chance to answer.

“As a matter of fact…” I grab the bag back from him. “It’s not.”

“Is that so?”

“Yep.”

He probably doesn’t need to be standing as close to me as he is, but our bodies are practically flush and we’re having a glare-off in the middle of his office. There’s a flicker in his eyes that suggests I’m wrong. Maybe he hasn’t forgotten about this weekend. Perhaps he hasn’t stopped thinking about it. About me. About my right boob. We’ve definitely kept him up all night.

“Tell me, Ms. Langley, who else are you buying bagels for?”

“That’s really none of your business, Mr. McGowan.”

“I’d say it is.”

“I wasn’t under the impression that my bagels were exclusively yours.”

His eyes narrow and mine narrow back. He’s not going to win. He knows it, which is why he snatches the bag away from me.

“I need those releases by three o’clock.”

“Right, four o’clock.”

After he leaves, I wait until I hear the elevator ding before I collapse into his chair. I don’t make a habit of going through Asher’s drawers for fun. It’s an activity I save solely for when I need something. Like his credit card. Or gum. Or the expensive chocolate he gets at the European import shop in Union Square.