Irresistibly Yours

by Lauren Layne

  “Mine’s not until two.”

  Penelope glanced at her watch. It was ten to eleven. “Wow. That brings a whole new meaning to showing up early.”

  Cole looked away for the briefest of seconds. “Actually…”

  “Ah,” she said. “You’re not just here for the interview, are you? This is your place. These are your people.”

  “I come in a few days a week. As a freelancer.”

  There wasn’t any gloating in his voice, which she appreciated, but there was a fierce warrior light in his eyes all the same. Penelope slumped, just a little.

  The subtext of his statement was coming through loud and clear: You’re on my turf, sweetheart.

  What she wouldn’t give to go back to the charming man who’d chatted her up at the baseball game. Back before he’d known that she was the competition.

  It wasn’t that he’d turned unfriendly upon learning that she was his main opposition. After Alex Cassidy had introduced them last night, Cole had stuck around long enough to be polite, making small talk.

  But the teasing—dare she say flirting—Cole had vanished.

  She didn’t blame him. If he wanted this job half as badly as she did, he had every reason to think of her as the enemy.

  Which was a shame. She liked him. Not just because he was pretty to look at, but oh my goodness, was he pretty to look at. And exactly her type. He had the lean athleticism of a shortstop. Sandy blond hair long enough to run hands through. Dark brown eyes that promised a good time.

  And that smile…Cole Sharpe’s smile was a hell of a thing, slow and sexy, and she was pretty sure it had robbed more than one woman of her ability to think about anything other than getting him naked.

  But looks aside, he also seemed like the type of guy she’d like to grab a beer with. Someone with whom she could talk shop and joke.

  Cole Sharpe was out of her league—way out of her league—on the relationship front, but as a friend? Instinct told her he’d make a good one if he weren’t currently giving her the side-eye like she was standing between him and a juicy prize.

  Which, of course, she was.

  Just like he was standing in her way.

  It was an uncomfortable sensation. Despite her love of all things sports, Penelope herself wasn’t particularly competitive. Not that she was a total pushover, she just never got off on winning for winning’s sake.

  But she wanted to win this Oxford position.

  No, needed to win it, not only for the fresh start it represented but to remind her that there were more important things to win than Evan Barstow’s fickle heart.

  The thought of Evan caused a pang, like it always did, and Penelope straightened her shoulders, coffee stain be damned.

  “Good luck with your interview, Mr. Sharpe,” she said, giving him a friendly smile despite her unfriendly thoughts.

  He nodded. “You too.”

  She nodded, hoping she looked more sophisticated than she felt. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to get to the ladies’ room. I’ve had a bit of a…” She waved her hand in the general vicinity of her chest. “Wardrobe malfunction.”

  His eyes flitted downward again, but he merely nodded.

  Penelope turned away, wishing she was coordinated enough in stilettos to sexily pivot on her heel.

  Instead she moved slowly, keeping her head held high even as tears stung at the corners of her eyes. This was not how this day was supposed to go. She was supposed to look polished and confident, and…

  “Hey, Penelope.”

  She paused, cringing as she realized that he’d followed her.

  “Yeah?” She turned around.

  Standing just a few feet away, Cole shifted the strap of his laptop bag higher on his shoulder. His eyes drifted down to the stain, then back up to her eyes, seeming to take in her burning cheeks and the fact that her chin was very close to wobbling.

  Then he swore softly and ran a hand through his hair. “Come on.”

  She blinked. “Sorry?”

  He jerked his chin in the direction of the reception desk. “Come with me.”

  She was too confused to do anything other than follow him, although she continued to move slowly, coffee held carefully out in front of her to avoid yet another misstep.

  He glanced over his shoulder and saw that she wasn’t matching his pace. He stopped, marched toward her, and without warning, plucked the coffee out of her hand.

  “Hey—”

  “Speed up, Tiny,” he said.

  “I don’t even know where we’re going.”

  He didn’t respond as he approached the security guards, saying something to them before turning around and snapping his fingers at her. “Photo ID.”

  Penelope handed it over, watching as the brawny men behind the desk tapped something into the computer.

  A minute later, Cole handed her back her ID and a temporary badge before putting his hand on her back and ushering her none too gently through the turnstile and toward the massive elevator lobby.

  “Cole, I can’t meet Cassidy like this,” she said, as they stepped into the elevator. “I need a ladies’ room, see if I can’t blot out some of this coffee stain.”

  He punched the button for the twelfth floor and looked her over. “Tiny, no amount of blotting is going to remove vanilla latte from a white shirt.”

  “How do you know it’s a vanilla latte?”

  He gestured toward the cup he was still holding, where her drink order was plainly scribbled on the side. Then he took a drink.

  “Hey!” She held out her hand to take the coffee back, but he batted it aside just as the elevator doors opened to the floor.

  “After you.” He made a sweeping gesture, and Penelope reluctantly preceded him off the elevator and into…

  “Where are we?” she breathed, skimming to a halt.

  He stopped beside her with a small smile. “Welcome to Stiletto, Tiny.”

  Stiletto.

  As in the biggest women’s magazine in the country and Oxford’s sister publication.

  Penelope wasn’t much of a girl’s girl, but even she had spent many a sunny afternoon with Stiletto’s shiny pages, learning about the right coral lipstick for your skin tone or flipping through “The Good Girl’s Guide to Being Bad.”

  “Everyone seems so happy,” she said, more to herself than to Cole.

  “Maybe you should consider working here, then,” he said, his voice grumpy as he put a hand on the small of her back and all but pushed her down the hallway to wherever he was leading her.

  “Well, maybe I would if they had a sports section,” she shot back.

  “Probably not happening. Not unless you count Pilates. I know, because I’ve tried. Okay, here we are.”

  Cole stopped in front of a shut office door on the outer perimeter of the floor and knocked twice before opening it.

  “What are you—”

  Penelope broke off as the door swung open and Cole stepped aside. “Tiny, meet the queen bees of Stiletto.”

  Four of the most gorgeous women Penelope had ever seen stared back at her.

  “Cole, what delightful creature have you brought us?” asked the tall, black-haired bombshell in the corner. The woman’s stunning good looks were made slightly less intimidating by the fact that her mouth was full of donut. She licked powdered sugar off her thumb and gave Penelope a friendly smile.

  “Penelope?” This from Emma Sinclair. Thank God. A familiar face.

  Penelope had met Emma—Alex Cassidy’s girlfriend—at the Yankees game the night before, and the woman could not have been any nicer. Or any prettier. Slim with long brown hair, warm brown eyes, and crazy-high cheekbones, it was easy to see why Cassidy had fallen for her.

  “Ladies, this is Penelope Pope,” Emma said to the other women.

  “Ah yes, the Chicago darling who’s giving our Cole a run for his money in the Sports department,” said a blond woman. She gave a little finger waggle at Cole, who winked back.

  There was an e
asy familiarity there that gave Penelope an odd stab of something close to jealousy.

  The pretty blonde stood and extended a hand to Penelope. “I’m Julie Greene. That beast stuffing another donut in her face and not gaining a pound is Riley McKenna, the preppy one in the sweater set is Grace Malone, and of course you already know Emma. We’re the Relationships columnists for Stiletto.”

  “Um, hi.” Penelope gave a dorky little wave.

  There was an awkward moment of silence, and then Cole stepped forward.

  “Penelope here has an interview with Cassidy in fifteen minutes.”

  “Ohhhhh,” all four women said at once.

  “Say no more,” the pretty brunette named Grace said, reaching forward to pull Penelope in.

  “We’ll take it from here, Cole, baby,” Julie said, ushering Cole out of the doorway. “It was good of you to bring her to us.”

  Was it? Penelope wondered. She still didn’t know what was going on.

  And then the door was slammed in Cole’s face, and the four women surrounded her.

  Riley walked over—tall enough that she’d tower over Penelope’s five-one even without her mammoth high heels—and, completely unabashed, bent and sniffed in the direction of Penelope’s boobs.

  “Oh, for God’s sake, Ri,” Emma muttered.

  Riley stood back up. “Vanilla latte.”

  “Impressive,” Penelope said.

  Riley tapped her nose and winked. “This baby can identify anything.”

  “Well, anything edible,” Emma amended. “What do you think, girls? Shall we hit up the team over in Style? See if they have something that will fit Penelope?”

  Understanding dawned on Penelope.

  These women were going to help her overcome Coffeegate. Four perfect strangers—well, three strangers plus Emma—were helping her for no reason other than to be kind.

  “It’s been slim pickings over in Style lately,” Grace said, circling Penelope and tapping her lip. “Lots of runway crap. Nothing interview-appropriate.”

  “She can switch shirts with me,” Riley said, her hands already going to the hem of her leopard print V-neck.

  Julie scoffed. “You and your big boobs have no place here, Ri. I’ll trade.”

  Without warning, Julie whipped her black turtleneck over her head and held it out to Penelope.

  Penelope blinked. “I can’t take your shirt.”

  Julie shook it. “Of course you can.”

  “What will you wear?”

  “Your stained monstrosity, of course.”

  Penelope balked. “I can’t let you do that.”

  “It’s not for all day,” Julie said in a soothing voice. “I just need to wear it across town to Bloomingdale’s. Right, girls?”

  “Can we stop and get a burrito?” Riley asked of nobody in particular.

  Cole knocked on the other side of the door. “Twelve minutes, Tiny.”

  “Tiny. You and Cole are at the nickname stage, hmm?” Grace said with raised eyebrows.

  Penelope ignored this, took a deep breath, and awkwardly undid the buttons of her stained shirt. As soon as it was off her shoulders, Julie snatched it and pulled it on.

  Penelope hurriedly pulled Julie’s shirt over her head, before watching guiltily as Julie buttoned up Penelope’s own disaster, the front straining a little across Julie’s more ample breasts, making the coffee stain even more noticeable.

  Penelope groaned. “You can’t wear that.”

  Julie glanced down and then shrugged. “What better way to call attention to the twins?”

  Grace reached out and straightened the turtleneck across Penelope’s shoulders. “A little big, but guys don’t notice these things.”

  “Thank you so much,” Penelope said, glancing around at all four women. “I really don’t…I don’t even know what to say. If there’s anything I can do to repay you…”

  “Actually, there is,” Julie said with a thoughtful look on her face.

  “Anything.”

  Julie gave Penelope a slightly smug look and crossed her arms over her chest. “How about you tell us why Cole Sharpe is helping a woman who’s standing directly in the way of his dream job?”

  Penelope froze as Julie’s question sank in.

  Cole Sharpe could have walked away down in the lobby. Could have let her show up with a big wet spot on her shirt after an unsuccessful attempt to remove the stain.

  He could have ensured that she was off balance and embarrassed for her interview.

  Instead he’d helped her. He’d gone above and beyond, really.

  Penelope could only shake her head at the curious women. “Honestly? I have no freaking idea.”

  Chapter 3

  Nearly two hours after he’d shown Penelope Pope up to the Oxford offices for her interview with Cassidy, Cole still hadn’t figured out what the hell he’d been thinking.

  He’d had the perfect opportunity to get the edge over Penelope Pope in the interview process, and instead he’d played fairy fucking godmother, whisking her away to the ball.

  Or to the Stiletto girls’ office. Same difference.

  It was just…

  She’d looked so damn small. And when she’d blinked up at him with huge brown eyes trying so desperately to hold back tears…

  Ah, hell. He’d been a goner.

  Still, that didn’t mean he wasn’t dying to know if she’d bungled the interview. And he knew just the person to sweet-talk for the inside scoop.

  Joanna Barry was Oxford’s front receptionist, and Alex Cassidy’s right-hand woman. If anyone knew what Cassidy had thought of Tiny Pope, it would be Jo.

  Or at least, Cole sure as hell hoped so, because he’d just waited in line for twenty-five minutes at Starbucks to get his bribe.

  “Hello, sweets. I’ve brought you something— Oh. It’s you.”

  The reception chair at the Oxford front desk swiveled around. Cole had been expecting Joanna but got an altogether more manly visage.

  Lincoln Mathis.

  “Is that for me?” the black-haired man asked, tossing to the side the magazine he’d been reading and holding out an eager hand for one of the cups in Cole’s hand.

  “It’s for Jo,” Cole said, looking around the office and hoping that the receptionist was nearby.

  “Went home sick today,” Lincoln said. He snapped fingers expectantly for the coffee.

  Cole hesitated for about a half second before relenting and handing over the coffee, careful to hide his grin. He took a sip of his own coffee, keeping an innocent expression on his face as Lincoln took a drink from the coffee meant for Joanna.

  Wait for it…

  Lincoln sputtered. “Son of a— What is this, tar?”

  “That, my man, is an Americano,” Cole said.

  “An Ameri-what? It tastes like dirt.”

  “I thought you said it tasted like tar.”

  “Give me yours instead,” Lincoln said, holding out a hand.

  Cole lifted his cup out of the way. “Go get your own coffee. And besides, you wouldn’t like this. It’s an unsweetened cappuccino. Not nearly enough almond or sprinkles, or whatever you put in there.”

  Lincoln Mathis looked like the type who’d like his coffee black. But he had a dirty little secret: a serious sweet tooth.

  “It’s got to be better than this,” Lincoln grumbled.

  Cole lifted a shoulder. “Jo likes things hot and strong.”

  “Oh yeah?” A dark eyebrow crept up.

  “It’s why she asked me out,” Cole said, grinning evilly.

  “She didn’t.”

  “Only because Cassidy is uptight about employees dating other employees.”

  “But you’re not an employee,” Lincoln pointed out, leaning back in the chair.

  “Thanks for the reminder,” Cole said grimly.

  Lincoln’s words brought reality crashing down as Cole remembered why he was here.

  A motherfucking interview.

  A glance at his watch showed he
still had nearly an hour until he could get the formality over with. He looked at Lincoln, who’d resumed flipping through a magazine.

  “Dude, you’re reading Stiletto?” Cole asked, noting the unmistakable cover of the women’s magazine.

  Blue eyes appeared over the top of the magazine. “Tell me you don’t pick it up from time to time for the sex tips.”

  “Don’t need ’em. Hey, since you’ve been sitting up here, apparently doing absolutely no work at all, have you seen—”

  The phone rang, and Lincoln held up a finger. “Hold please, I have to take this.”

  “Seriously?”

  Lincoln tucked the phone under his chin as he pulled a pen and paper toward him. “Oxford magazine, Lincoln speaking, how may I direct your call?…Mm-hmm. Of course. Just one moment.”

  Lincoln pushed the hold button and squinted at the phone. “Hey, get over here and help me figure out how to transfer this call to Peter.”

  “Um, no.”

  Lincoln glanced up. “Really? Because I could tell you all about the cute brunette who’s talking to Cassidy right now about your job.”

  Cole couldn’t get around the desk fast enough.

  Holy shit, that was a lot of buttons.

  “Why isn’t there just a simple transfer button?” Lincoln muttered.

  “How long have you been sitting here?” Cole asked. “You haven’t figured out how to transfer a call by now?”

  Lincoln shrugged. “I managed to convince everyone else to just call back later, or distracted them by asking about their day.”

  “Of course you did,” Cole muttered. Cole considered himself charming. But Lincoln had it down to an art form.

  The blinking light chirped its reminder that someone was still on hold, and Lincoln swore, picked up the receiver and hit a rapid progression of numbers, and then hung it back up again.

  “What just happened?” Cole asked.

  “No idea,” Lincoln said, leaning back in the chair. “Okay, so talk to me about this Penelope Pope.”

  Cole made his way back to the front of the desk, only to realize that Lincoln had swiped his coffee. Knowing Lincoln, that had probably been his play the entire time.

  “She’s—wait, you’re supposed to be giving me the lowdown.”