I feel bad because, well, I always feel bad when I disappoint people, which is why I try very hard not to do it. But I can’t skip a shift at the restaurant. I make more in tips in one night than I make here in a week. I don’t have a trust fund or a wealthy great aunt to fall back on. I have rent and student loans that aren’t going to pay themselves.

“Will it be over by seven?”

“I would hope so,” he says. “How long can teen girls talk about makeup?”

“Hours. Days. Months, really.”

“Then it’ll probably go all night.”

I sigh. “I can stay until seven.”

I’d only be a half hour late for my shift. I could make it up after hours. Staying at the restaurant until one in the morning won’t be fun, especially when I have to get up four hours later to make it here by eight, but I knew this wasn’t going to be easy and I’m prepared to lose sleep in order to achieve my goals.

And there is a light at the end of the tunnel. Ana said that if I continue to do a good job, they’d take me on permanently. It’s probably not in my best interest to blow off this book signing.

“Fine,” he says. “Seven it is. I’m sure her manager can manage after that.”

“Perfect.”

I’m daydreaming about the four crème brûlée lattes I’m going to need to drink tomorrow when the Secret Santa hat comes around to me and Asher. He snarls at it like the Ebenezer Scrooge he is.

“I’m not participating,” he says.

“Yes, you are,” I tell him. “Your name is in there. You have to.”

“I didn’t put it in there.”

“I did.”

“That’s forgery. It’s illegal.”

“As if I could forge your terrible penmanship,” I say. “Please stop trying to ruin the spirit of this. Pick a name and then buy a twenty-five dollar present. But not a gift card! That’s thoughtless and impersonal. And I think everyone deserves a little time and effort and not something that’s bought ten minutes before the party at Duane Reade.”

He glares at me as he shoves his hand into the Santa hat that Alba from HR is holding. When he reads the name written on the tiny piece of folded paper, his face stiffens.

“Wow, someone’s gonna be real happy when they find out you got them.”

He crumples the paper in his hand before he stomps off towards his office. I sigh and pick a name.

Eleanor McMannis.

A copywriter on a visa from Ireland.

She just became the luckiest person in the office.

3

“What’s your second favorite lipstick color?”