I don’t scream in sheer agony when my feet hit the floor like I do in my apartment when I’m greeted with cold wooden planks. Asher has heated flooring, a ridiculous luxury that I didn’t realize I needed. He’s making it very hard for me to ever leave.

He’s in the kitchen, hunched over his back counter, cursing at an espresso machine that’s not listening. Let’s just say ogling Asher in his boxer briefs doesn’t make for a bad morning.

“It’s rude to stare.” He glares at me over his shoulder.

“Sorry,” I say and slide up onto the stool in front of his computer. “I was just admiring all the hard work you do. The pilates is really paying off.”

“I don’t do pilates,” he says a little too quickly.

“Okay.” I don’t try to conceal my smile, which only makes the wrinkles on his forehead grow. I type in his password. “You should probably use something stronger than your home address. Anyone could guess this.”

“Anyone? Really?”

“Yes, you wouldn’t want this to get into the wrong hands.”

He sets a cup of coffee in front of me and leans forward. His eyes are smoldering. Why won’t he kiss me?

“Who knows what someone could do with access to all of your personal accounts.”

“Perhaps they’d buy me an essential oil diffuser?”

“Jasmine is supposed to be very relaxing,” I tell him. “And ylang-ylang is a known aphrodisiac.”

“I’ll keep a note of that.”

“I’m sure you will.”

Asher holds my stare a second longer. I’m ready to grab his neck and kiss the hell out of him. He doesn’t give me the chance.

“Get to work, Olivia.”

I focus on his computer screen and the background—a stock picture of Yosemite at sunrise. Everything is crisp and clean and perfectly organized. Everything has a place, except for the file in the upper right hand corner of his desktop.

LB Testimonials.

Huh.

Curiosity, as it seems, also kills the Olivia.

“What exactly am I dealing with today?” I ask.

“A pregnant mistress and a Housewife meltdown.”

“Scandalous,” I say. “Are we denying the pregnant mistress?”

Asher looks back at me as he dumps pancake mix into a bowl. “Of course we’re denying the pregnant mistress.”

“And the Minnie Talcott situation?”

He scratches the back of his neck and sighs. While he’s hard on most of his clients, I’ve found that Asher has a soft spot for Minnie Talcott, a model turned designer turned reality show star, who has seven Pomeranians and notoriously only washes her hair with water flown in from Switzerland.

“Minnie is deeply saddened by the events that took place at Monday’s Fashion Institute award ceremony. She struggles daily with anxiety but is seeking treatment and counseling. She hopes that this will shine a light on mental health awareness.”