Текст книги "Irresistibly Yours"

Автор книги: Layne Layren

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Текущая страница: 2 (всего у книги 15 страниц)

Chapter 2

It wasn’t that Penelope never wore high heels.

She did. Sometimes.

Say, like…her best friend’s wedding, or her grandmother’s funeral. Oh, and then there’d been that date with the investment banker at one of Chicago’s premier steak houses.

And…well, okay, those three occurrences were just about the only times in recent memory.

The problem: not one of those events had occurred in the past year.

The bigger problem? The lack of practice walking in stilettos had caused just the tiniest stumble, which had in turn caused a not so tiny coffee splotch all over her white blouse.

The biggest problem of all?

The only reason she was wearing a white blouse and the damn high heels in the first place was because she needed to be at the biggest interview of her career in—

Penelope glanced at her watch.

Thirty minutes.

Thirty minutes until she had to convince the editor in chief of Oxford magazine that she was the best possible candidate to take over the new sports section.

Thirty minutes to figure out how she was going to outdo Cole Sharpe on his turf, all with a big coffee stain between her boobs.

Ordinarily, half an hour would have been plenty of buffer for an interview, but it certainly wasn’t enough time to run back home and change her clothes. And seeing as she’d been a resident of New York City for all of two weeks, she didn’t have a single friend to call upon to help bail her out.

“Crud. Crud, crud, crud,” Penelope whispered quietly to herself, glancing around the massive and fancy lobby of the building that housed Oxford magazine.

It didn’t help that the place looked like a palace, at least to someone who’d spent the past two years working from her tiny home office at a wobbly desk on beat-up hardwood floors.

Penelope was suddenly acutely aware that she didn’t belong here. She didn’t fit in with the glamorous women striding across the floor in stilettos far higher than hers without so much as a stumble.

Penelope stubbornly pushed the thought out of her head as she wiped futilely at the stain.

So the Manhattan office building was a touch more glamorous than her Wicker Park apartment. So she had coffee on her shirt. So she would have sold a small part of her soul for a pair of tennis shoes.

None of that was important.

What was important was that Penelope was a darn good sportswriter. What was important was that she could convince Alex Cassidy of it, regardless of the big old stain on her shirt.

What was important was that…

Ah, screw it.

Penelope could absolutely not go into the most important interview of her life with a giant brown stain between her boobs.

She looked up again, her eyes locking on the discreet LADIES’ ROOM sign on the far side of the lobby. She didn’t know what she’d do once she got there, but maybe someone would have a Tide pen. Or twelve.

Penelope began walking—okay, teetering—in that direction when she heard her name.

“Penelope?”

She froze. The masculine voice was familiar. Penelope pivoted slowly.

There, staring down at her with a bemused expression, was one very gorgeous, very well-dressed, very non-coffee-stained Cole Sharpe.

Dear God. Are you freaking kidding me with this?

“Hi Cole!” Penelope kept her voice cheerful even though he was quite possibly the very last person on earth she wanted to see right now.

Why, of all the people to witness her coffee snafu, did it have to be the very man who was standing between Penelope and her dream job?

“Morning,” he said, returning her easy tone.

His eyes dropped to the coffee stain, but she had to give the man credit, because he returned his gaze to hers almost immediately. Of course, that could have been due to the fact that her flat-as-a-board 32A chest was hardly worth a lingering look.

Still, she appreciated that he managed to withhold a smirk, even though he had to be doing a mental victory fist pump at her unfortunate clumsiness.

“It’s nice to see you again,” she said, shifting her weight awkwardly from one foot to the other.

“Here for your interview?” Cole asked.

“It’s in a few minutes,” she replied. “You? Just wrapping up?”

“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 easy 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.”

Lincoln shrugged.

“Well, how’d she look when she came out of the interview?” Cole asked. “Nervous? Stressed? Hopeful?”

Cole had meant to stick around and see the aftermath for himself, but some of the guys from the Fitness department had dragged him to a long lunch, and then he’d gone straight to Starbucks for Jo’s coffee.

“Don’t know,” Lincoln said.

“What do you mean you don’t know? You’re Oxford’s resident relationship expert. You read women for a living.”

It was true too. Cole was good with women, but Lincoln was in a whole other league. Even more annoying than Lincoln’s ability to pick up women with little more than a wink was his ability to let them go without so much as a hurt feeling.

Whereas Cole’s in-box chronically held at least one hate email from a woman he’d dumped, Lincoln had standing lunch dates with at least half of his exes.

Cole had always figured that there had to be a story behind Lincoln’s strange approach with women. He just hadn’t figured it out yet.

“I do read women for a living,” Lincoln replied calmly. “But I have to actually see them first.”

The implication behind Lincoln’s words washed over Cole, and he froze. “Wait. Hold the fuck. Are you telling me you haven’t seen her come out of Cassidy’s office yet?”

Lincoln shrugged. “I’ve been sitting here since she went in. Haven’t seen her leave.”

“Maybe because you’re too busy reading about what to expect at your next gyno appointment,” Cole said, pointing accusingly at the Stiletto magazine in his friend’s hands. “Damn it, Linc, you’re supposed to be paying attention.”

“I can multitask, dude. I’m telling you, your girl hasn’t come out of there yet.”

Before Cole could stop to consider whether it was a good idea (it wasn’t), he was already strolling down the hall toward Cassidy’s office.

“If I were Jo, I’d have to follow you and tell you you can’t go in there!” Lincoln called after him.

Cole didn’t bother to respond. He didn’t have to look to know Lincoln was already back to his magazine.

It had been nearly two hours since the start of Penelope’s interview. What the hell were they talking about?

Cole could maybe understand how Cassidy had to go through the motions of the interview with another candidate—maybe.

But a thirty-minute “tell me about a time that you showed initiative” question-and-answer session should have sufficed.

Anything over an hour?

Bad news for Cole.

Alex Cassidy was a professional. He wouldn’t rush someone out without giving them a fair chance. But neither would he humor someone if he thought they were wasting his time.

If Tiny Brunette was still in there, it meant she was killing it in her interview.

“God damn it,” Cole muttered, when he found Cassidy’s door still closed.

Unfortunately for him, Cassidy’s office wasn’t one of those glass-for-walls affairs. There wasn’t even a peep window on the door for him to walk past accidentally-on-purpose.

He’d either have to wait until it was his turn, or—

His hand was on the door handle, and before he could think better of it, he’d opened the door.

Cassidy’s face was the first one he saw—the editor in chief’s expression went from surprise to pissed in record time—but Cole barely noticed.

His eyes were too busy taking in the small, dark-haired woman across from Cassidy, watching as she turned around at the interruption.

God, those eyes.

They got him every time.

And then she smiled. “Hi, Cole!”

God help them all. She sounded genuinely happy to see him. And not in a flirty, breathy, oh-Cole-ask-me-out kind of way that he was used to.

Just a friendly, I’m-a-nice-person kind of smile.

“Out,” Cassidy growled at Cole.

Cole glanced at his watch, letting his face go slack with fake dismay. “Crap, are you guys still– Sorry. Am I early?”

Cassidy pointed toward the door. “Out. Your interview’s not until two.”

“I know, but Jo wasn’t at the front desk, so I just figured I’d come on back like I always do.”

Cole’s like I always do was a deliberate reminder to Penelope that Cole belonged here. Him. Not her.

But if Penelope picked up on this, it never once registered on her face, and for some reason this annoyed Cole all the more.

For God’s sake woman, fight back. Tell me to get the hell out of your interview.

Instead, her damn smile never wavered and she turned around to Cassidy. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Cassidy. I’ve taken up far too much of your time. I’ll let you go.”

“Please, Ms. Pope, for the last time—call me Alex.”

Cole rolled his eyes behind Penelope’s back.

Most everyone called Cassidy Cassidy.

The whole “Call me Alex” thing was strictly for Cole’s benefit. To let him know that he wasn’t the only show in town.

“Only if you call me Penelope,” Tiny Brunette said, getting to her feet.

“I’d like that,” Cassidy said with a genuine smile as he too rose.

Cole’s smile slipped a little as he realized they were wrapping up their interview.

On the plus side, he’d done what he set out to do—interrupt Penelope Pope’s interview. Maybe spy a little.

On the downside—it felt awful.

Cole knew he could be a cocky son-of-a-bitch sometimes, but he wasn’t an asshole.

And right now he definitely felt like one.

“Ms. Pope, please,” Cole said, holding up a hand. “Sit down. I absolutely should not have come barging in like this, ruining your interview.”

Doing the right thing was such bullshit.

“Oh, it’s okay,” she said brightly, picking up a portfolio from Cassidy’s desk and tucking it into an oversize bag. “You didn’t ruin anything. I’m not worried about this interruption making me look bad.”

Cole was silent for several seconds, and then he couldn’t hold back the bark of laughter.

Penelope Pope might look sweet as a kitten, but damned if he hadn’t just felt the subtlest scratch of her claws. He admired her for it.

“You’re absolutely right,” he said. “This is not a good way to start my interview, is it, Cassidy?”

“You have no idea,” Cassidy muttered. “I’ll see you out, Ms. Pope—Penelope.”

“Oh gosh, don’t worry about it,” Penelope said, moving toward the door. She looked like a kid playing dress-up, in her dark dress slacks, and especially with the short-sleeved black turtleneck that was slightly too big on her tiny frame. “Good luck, Mr. Sharpe.”

“Yeah, thanks. Oh, and Penelope—”

She paused in the doorway and turned back with a questioning smile.

Cole let his smile glow warm. “I’m sure it’s hard to move to a new city with so many new teams and players to learn. If you ever want me to show you where to start—”

“Save it, Sharpe. You have to see this,” Cassidy interrupted, coming to stand beside Cole.

Cassidy turned to focus on Penelope. “Terrence Mason.”

She frowned a little and shuffled her feet.

Cassidy nodded in encouragement to her, before turning his head slightly to Cole and muttering watch this out of the corner of his mouth.

Penelope licked her lips nervously. “Um, okay. Terrence Mason. Starting shortstop for the Mets, three twelve batting average, one-hundred-thirty-three-RBI season average over his six-year career, switch hitter despite missing the outer half of his left pinky due to a high school shop class accident—”

“Joe Carrington,” Cassidy interrupted.

Penelope didn’t even pause to think. “Second-string point guard for the Knicks. Severely underrated, never seems to make the same move twice on the court. Graduated from Duke, took his team to the NCAA championship all four years, was MVP his senior year after scoring—”

“Rick Macornis,” Cassidy said, interrupting again.

“Recently retired Rangers goalie. Probably could have gone a few more years, but he’d started to get slow, likely made a good call quitting while he was ahead. His GA was creeping up every year in a bad way. Had an affair with his left wing’s wife.”

Cole shook his head, feeling a little dazed. “I get it,” he said, all trace of levity gone from his voice. “I should be asking you for stats.”

“Oh, I’d like that!” Penelope said, seemingly missing his mea culpa altogether. “Perhaps we could grab coffee sometime. I’d love to pick your brain about which players like to talk and which need to be coaxed—”

She broke off, glancing between the two men, no doubt taking in Cole and Cassidy’s stunned expressions.

Was this woman for real?

They were neck and neck for a highly paid, highly desirable position with one of the largest magazines in the country and she wanted to have coffee and swap pointers?

“Uh…” was all Cole could manage.

“No pressure,” she rushed to say. “I just thought, well…I’m new to town. Mr. Cassidy has my number if you care to grab a drink sometime. Not a date, just, you know, just– Okay, good luck with your interview.”

Her words got faster and faster so that his brain had to scramble to follow along…and then she was gone.

The door shut with a click behind her, and neither Cassidy nor Cole moved for several seconds.

“Did that just happen?” Cole asked, still staring at the door.

“Apparently,” Cassidy murmured. “You going to call her?”

“Not if she gets my job,” Cole grumbled.

Cassidy didn’t respond, and Cole gave the other man a sharp look as the editor in chief walked around to sit down at his desk.

“Don’t jump to reassure me or anything,” Cole said under his breath.

Cassidy sighed. “Would you just sit down so we can do this damn interview?”

Cole eyed the door. “Do we have to do it now? You seem like you’re in a shitty mood.”