This feels like a trick. She just spent twenty minutes on the phone with a florist who was supposed to be bringing samples over to the office tomorrow. She wants me to tell her roses are a good idea. Reassurance. I didn’t realize someone as experienced as she is needed it from me. An intern. Who didn’t realize she was wearing two different boots until she was walking over here.

Lying gets me nowhere.

“I think they’re predictable,” I say. “When we have this type of venue, I think a more minimalist approach is better.”

Billie laughs. “I didn’t expect the word minimalist to come out of the mouth of the woman responsible for the three different types of string lights hanging around the office.”

“Trust me, it leaves a sour taste,” I say.

Billie smiles as she slides her glasses back on. “I agree about the roses.”

“How do you feel about fake snow?”

“Let’s not go overboard, Olivia.”

She dials the florist’s number while I snap picture after picture. Different shots. Different angles. If this whole publicity thing doesn’t work out, I can always try my hand at photography.

“You two look like you’re up to no good.”

I turn around when I hear Ana’s voice. She’s dressed for a spring day. The two feet of snow outside are no match for her hot flashes. Willa, however, is bundled so tightly that I have to wonder if she can breathe.

“Always.” Billie grins. “Olivia and I make a great team.”

“I’m slightly terrified,” Ana says, pushing and pulling the stroller that Lily, her seven-month-old, is in. “But mostly intrigued.”

“As you should be,” I say.

“Can I treat you two event planners to lunch?” Ana asks.

“I have a date with Saks,” Billie says.

“That’s my kind of date,” Ana laughs, shifting her eyes to me. “Olivia?”

“I should really be getting back to the office,” I say. “I probably have a million emails.”

“If Asher can take the rest of the day off, so can you.”

His name makes my heart beat out of rhythm. I haven’t seen him since this morning, and the way we left things was not ideal. I plan to stop by his apartment tonight. If not to finish what we started, then to at least have a conversation about where we go from here, especially when Bree has been unusually quiet.

For lunch, Ana brings us to a tavern by Central Park that makes soft pretzels with a five cheese dipping sauce, which just happen to be two of my favorite food groups. I also order a salad because, well, I need to balance things out.

“Willa, when do you go back to London?” I ask.