by Lauren Layne
“So no plan, then,” Emma said under her breath.
“She was flirting,” Riley said in a scandalized tone. “I saw it.”
“Not helping,” Grace ground out, trying to clear her head.
It took two pieces of chocolate before the answer came to her. “Julie, you keep in touch with that guy from Oxford? The sportswriter you had a couple dates with?”
“Cole? I mean, we’re not best friends or anything, but we’re chatty in the elevator if we run into each other.”
“You have his phone number?”
“I think so.”
“Good. Call him. You need a favor. If you can’t charm him, bribe him.”
“Of course I can charm him,” Julie muttered as she dug through her purse for her phone.
“What am I asking him for?”
Grace’s eyes fell on the computer screen, which revealed that now 98 percent of people thought she was moping around for Jake Malone’s phone call.
He’d expect her to deny it.
She had a better idea.
* * *
Grace had never had reason to go to the Oxford offices before. Technically they were only one floor below the Stiletto offices, but in the Ravenna building, each floor was like a different world.
The Oxford office had a very distinct vibe.
One might call it … testosterone.
On the plus side, there was plenty of male eye candy. Apparently the Oxford staff took all of those macho-men workouts and manly diets to heart, because there were plenty of broad shoulders and trim butts.
None quite as nice as Jake’s, of course.
Objectively speaking.
Belatedly she remembered to pull her hair out of its usual prim knot before approaching the receptionist desk. Julie had insisted that a subtle sex-kitten look was crucial for this mission, and Grace discreetly undid one of the buttons of her green blouse. Just enough to keep things interesting.
The receptionist had an adorable pixie cut and a megawatt smile. “May I help you?”
“Grace Brighton here to see Jake.”
She intentionally didn’t say his last name. Not because she figured there was only one Jake in the Oxford office, but because she wanted it to be very clear that this was a personal visit. Very personal.
The receptionist’s eyes fell on the frozen coffees Grace had in both hands. Whipped cream, chocolate sprinkles, caramel sauce … the works.
There could be no doubt what Grace was up to. She was bringing Jake a frou-frou coffee on a sunny afternoon. This wasn’t we-have-work-to-do coffee. It was date coffee.
The receptionist wavered for a few seconds, clearly debating going against protocol by not announcing Grace versus not offending Jake Malone’s new girlfriend.
Then again, if Jake was right and the damn website had gone viral, the receptionist probably already knew who Grace was and felt a little sorry for her.
That was fine. Grace would take the pity pass. Anything to get her through the door.
“I think I saw him in his office,” the receptionist said with a little thumb jerk over her right shoulder.
“Thanks so much,” Grace said with her best girly smile. She had no idea where Jake’s office was, but she hoped that walking in the general direction of where the peppy receptionist had indicated would get her somewhere close.
Although the overall shape of the floor was obviously identical to Stiletto’s, the layout was completely different. If Stiletto was all bright energy and collaborative spaces, this was orderly cubicles and neutral colors.
No free makeup samples on this floor, Grace thought. Other than the receptionist, she didn’t see a single other female.
“Ms. Brighton.”
A distractingly good-looking blond guy appeared by her side. His eyes were the color of whisky, and his chiseled features weren’t unlike those on the male models who smirked from the ad posters on a few of the walls.
“Hi,” she said cautiously.
“Cole Sharpe,” he said under his breath.
“Oh! Hi!”
“He’s in the second door on your left,” he said quietly as a pair of laughing guys scooted past them.
“He has one of the exec offices?”
She’d expected to find him in one of the cubicles, or perhaps in one of the shared offices on the far side of the office. But along the left window, there was a line of the big important-people offices. Editors in chief, senior managers, VPs …
And apparently Jake.
“It was part of the deal for him agreeing to do your little group project.”
Grace’s footsteps faltered. “Wait, your boss had to bribe him to go on a date with me? And what do you mean, part of the deal? He had more than one condition?”
Cole’s hand found her elbow as he moved her to the side and out of the way of traffic. A meeting must have just gotten out, because there was a rush of people emerging from the conference room talking about whether or not two articles in one issue about attaining a six-pack was too much.
Grace bit her tongue to stop from suggesting that they might want a female opinion on that, because the answer was definitely no. Two articles about six-packs was not too much. The more men who strove to achieve a six-pack, the better.
“Don’t judge the guy too harshly,” Cole said quietly. “Besides, you don’t exactly seem the type of woman who would have volunteered for this circus without something riding on it.”
Oh, she had something riding on it, all right. Her pride. Her dignity. Her career. And sure, she supposed she could see how maybe a hotshot like Jake had been less than thrilled to have to work with a partner. Journalists didn’t tend to be team players. But asking for a bigwig’s office wasn’t a little conciliatory free lunch. He must have been really resistant.
“Thanks again for agreeing to help us with this,” she said after the crowd of Oxford staff had passed.
“My pleasure.”
“Why?”
Cole glanced down at her, and normally she would have felt a little jolt at the sheer attractiveness of this man. Instead she couldn’t help but notice that his eyes weren’t nearly dark enough. And the hair was the wrong color. He was too tall—she didn’t like having to crane her neck. And …
Grace 2.0 cleared her throat. Since when has Jake Malone been the guy to whom all others are compared?
Shit.
“Why what?” Cole was asking.
“Why are you helping us with this? It’s my magazine against yours. Isn’t this … treason?”
“Ah. Well, actually, I’m a contractor with Oxford, not a full-time employee, so technically I don’t work for them unless they ask for a specific article or want my opinion on something.”
Grace readjusted her grip on the coffees, trying to ignore the condensation that was now starting to drip down her wrist. “So you’re not going to get in trouble for this?”
“Nah. Cassidy won’t care as long as we sell magazines.”
“I meant with Jake.”
Cole let out a little snicker. “Oh, I’ll definitely get in trouble with him. Why do you think I’m doing it?”
“You don’t like him?”
Cole gave her an exasperated look. “I forget how differently you women operate. Liking has nothing to do with it. It’s just … never mind. Are you going to go in there or not?”
“I am,” she said, straightening her shoulders and praying to God this would play out like she hoped.
“You’ve got the login for the website?” she asked Cole.
“Yup. Ready and willing to go on record stating that Mr. Oxford isn’t nearly in control of the situation as he’d like to think.”
“Perfect,” Grace said with false confidence.
Because Ms. Stiletto wasn’t nearly as in control of the situation as she’d like to think either.
Chapter Twelve
Jake did a double-take at the woman in his doorway, and went on instant alert.
“Grace?”
She ga
ve him a shy little smile and faltered, as though fearing he’d send her right back to the seventh floor where she belonged.
“Can I come in?”
She was wearing a royal blue dress that should have been demure and boring, but did fantastic things to her hair and complexion and …
Pull it together, man.
Jake stood and rounded his new desk. “Of course. Let me just close the door …”
“Oh, you can leave it open,” she said, looking increasingly nervous. “I’m just here for a second.”
He narrowed his eyes as he scanned her body. “And the hidden camera is …?”
Grace gave a guilty laugh. “I’m not a one-trick pony. The video camera portion of the show has been played out.”
He gave her a wicked smile. “You sure? Because I’ve found that some women really get off on—”
“Nice digs,” she interrupted, looking around and appearing genuinely impressed. He had to admit, the office did beat the sterile cubicle environment of the rest of the floor. The “bullpen,” as it was affectionately known, was a lot of dull textured walls covered with sports and cologne posters. It was rowdy, often smelled like coffee and Thai takeout, and had more four-letter words flying around than a truck stop.
His new office was a little more fit for … well, grown-ups. He even had a new potted plant from his sisters.
But the truth was? He missed the bullpen. Just a little.
Then again, no woman looking and smelling like Grace Brighton had ever visited when he’d been out there with the boys, so this whole executive vibe clearly had its perks.
She thrust one of the elaborate-looking coffee drinks at his chest. “I brought you this.”
He stared down at the whipped-cream concoction in surprise. “You brought me coffee?”
And then, damn it, he melted just a little, because she looked embarrassed.
“Yeah. I, um, I just …”
“Thanks,” he said, meaning it. Jake was normally a skim latte kind of guy, but he’d take caffeine any way that he could get it.
Although that wasn’t what had his insides feeling a little jump. It was her. And the fact that she’d thought about him.
“I thought maybe you’d written me off after I posted our text message conversation online,” he said, gesturing for her to sit down.
“Well, I can’t say I loved that,” she said. Her lips closed around the green straw of her drink, and Jake’s fingers tightened reflexively as he watched her mouth. Damn this woman.
“But,” she continued, “I get that I had it coming.”
His eyes narrowed slightly. “So I get forgiveness and a coffee?”
“You sound suspicious.”
“Sweetheart, men don’t make it past the age of twenty without learning to suspect every gesture from a female.”
Grace gave him a warm smile. “It’s just coffee, Jake. I was in the mood for something sweet, and I was thinking about you while I was in Starbucks, and somehow I ended up with two drinks.”
He took a small sip. It was sweet, but not cloyingly so. A lot like the woman sitting across from him.
“So about our next date—” He broke off when she looked away and squirmed a little in her seat. “Grace?”
She bit her lip. “It’s just, um … I’m not sure, after what happened the other night …”
“When I kissed you?”
This time she definitely squirmed. Yeah, I know the feeling, lady. He hadn’t been able to think about much else since that night either. He’d done some squirming of his own, of a different variety.
“Well, I’m just worried that things might be getting out of hand. I mean, there was that first date when I made the mistake of thinking our connection was real.…”
It was, damn it. It was real.
“And then there was the second date,” she continued, “where everyone knew where your mind was …”
He held up an objecting finger to that. “Because you played me, even though your mind was just as much in the gutter as mine—”
“The point is,” Grace interrupted, “we seem to be doing a lot of playing each other, and it seems to be less about the magazine and more about …”
She stopped short of saying us, but it was written all over her face.
He knew why she was trying to put a stop to it. There shouldn’t be an us beyond the story. And yet that kiss … the chemistry …
“So what are you saying? You think we should stop all this after two dates? Because we agreed to five …”
“Someone else could take over,” she blurted out. “My friend Julie is a pro at this kind of stuff. In fact, up until a few months ago, this sort of dating how-to was her full-time gig.”
“I know Julie,” he said shortly. “And I have absolutely no interest in dating her.”
Her eyes went wide, and he realized what his emphasis had implied.
“For the magazine,” he amended quickly. God, this was fucking messy. “Look, Grace, it’s just three more dates. We can keep them casual.”
Her eyes locked on his, and he saw her gaze go slightly soft. It was then that he registered what was different about her. Her hair was down around her shoulders. He’d only ever seen it pulled back in a no-nonsense style. This version of her was more gentle. More vulnerable.
He wanted to get to know this version.
“Have dinner with me,” he said. “Let’s see this through.”
Their eyes held, neither one daring to question aloud what he meant by this.
“I don’t know, Jake.…”
“Just one dinner, and if I don’t behave myself, I’ll concede the competition. I’ll lie, and declare that I was so smitten by you that I couldn’t think straight.”
Except it might not be a lie.
“So if you do behave yourself and you write the article,” she said, “then what will you say? If date one was about first impressions and date two was about reading each other’s physical attraction, what’s date three going to be?”
He stood and went around to her side of the desk. “Come on. You write for Stiletto’s Relationships section. You must know how important the third date is.”
Doubt flitted across her classic features. “You do remember that I’ve spent the past eight years in a relationship with one guy? The last third date I went on involved a study group in the Cornell library.”
His eyes skimmed her face, feeling absurdly pleased that he wasn’t one in a long string of guys, even though right now he sort of hated the bastard who’d been lucky enough to have her for so long, only to hurt her.
Jake reached out a hand to touch a strand of silky hair.
He wanted to kiss her. Damn it to hell. He wanted to bury his fingers in her hair. Hell, he wanted to lift her on to the desk and bury himself in her.
“I’ve already told you I’m not interested in dating anyone right now,” she said quietly. “And I know this thing between you and me is only for the story, but I’m having a hard time keeping everything sorted—”
“Have dinner with me, Grace.” His voice was husky and he didn’t care. “I want to take you to dinner. Story be damned.”
There was a loud throat clearing from the door, and Jake jumped at the interruption.
He looked up and glared. “How long have you been standing there?”
Cole Sharpe gave him a knowing grin before entering the office and helping himself to Jake’s coffee drink. “Long enough, my friend. Long enough.”
And that was how every single one of Oxford’s and Stiletto’s Twitter followers learned that Jake Malone had begged—begged—Grace Brighton to go to dinner with him. Straight from one of Oxford’s own employees.
Chapter Thirteen
Grace wouldn’t admit it out loud even if someone paid her, but she had no idea what made Jake Malone tick. Like, none.
The man had taken Cole’s public pronouncement that Jake was hot and heavy for Grace with a fair amount of dignity, and Grace thought for sure she had the upper
hand … for all of about two days.
Right up until the moment Jake climbed into the backseat of her cab following Alex Cassidy’s birthday celebration at a trendy West Village gastropub.
She glared at him as he closed the door behind him, although the glare lacked heat. Jake’s presence in her life was becoming both increasingly comfortable, in that they’d developed an easy rapport with each other, sometimes seeming to know what the other person was going to say before it was said.
But at the same time, there was nothing easy between them. Because she couldn’t look at him without her fingers itching to tear at the buttons of his shirt. And from the way he always found ways to touch her when they were in the same room, she didn’t think she was the only one who was finding their platonic “game” to be sexually frustrating.
“This cab-crashing habit of yours is going to get you into trouble. Someday you’re going to jump into a cab with a woman who has pepper spray, and then you’ll be sorry.”
“Where are we going?” he asked, ignoring her threat.
“I’m going to my place. I have no idea where you’re going. But I’m happy to drop you off at the local dive bar. Someplace where I’m sure some classy broad won’t mind you feeling her up uninvited.”
As she spoke, she halfheartedly removed his hand from her knee, when what she really wanted to do was curl into him.
Don’t you dare, 2.0 insisted.
Grace sighed, because 2.0 was becoming a serious, serious pain in her ass.
He didn’t leave your side the entire time at the party, 1.0 shot back. He likes you.
With a roll of her eyes, 2.0 replied, It’s his job to like you. Literally. As in, his boss is paying him to court you and then tell the world about it.
2.0 was right, of course. but 1.0 was also right. Jake hadn’t left her side. And she hadn’t left his as they mingled among mutual friends.
And in the two hours they’d been there, neither one of them had mentioned anything having to do with the website.
Which hadn’t stopped anybody else from mentioning it. There’d been plenty of winks and elbowing and Where’s the hidden camera? But she’d had the strange feeling of camaraderie with Jake all evening. For longer than that, really. As though they were on the same side. The only two on their side.
