by Lauren Layne
“When did she move out?” Grace asked.
“Cleaned out the day before you returned,” Riley said, turning back to her computer. “She must have forgotten the Skittles. They were sort of her comfort food. She ate them by the handful when she was editing.”
“Cool! That’s awesome.” Whoops. She’d used cool twice in under thirty seconds. Which, since this wasn’t 1995, meant that she was definitely not cool.
“Grace …,” Julie said slowly. “Do you not like Emma?”
Yup. They were on to her, all right.
“She seems nice,” she replied. “She’s just sort of a constant reminder that I completely fell apart because of a boy. It’s so … high school.”
Riley helped herself to the bag of Skittles in Grace’s hand. “True. My senior year, I ended up with a C in trig because I was too busy mooning after Sam Compton.”
“Okay, two things,” Julie said. “First, you’re terrible at math, so you would have gotten that C anyway. And second, you’re always mooning after Sam Compton.”
Riley threw a yellow candy at Julie. “I’ll grant you the first one; I hate numbers. But I am not mooning after Sam. Right, Grace?”
Grace fiddled with her earring. “Um …”
The truth was, nobody ever knew what was going on with Riley and Sam. The official version was that he was her older brother’s best friend.
The unofficial version read more like the dictionary definition of “unfulfilled sexual tension.”
“Can we bring this back to me?” Grace asked, hoping to dodge a Riley tantrum. “Do you guys think I’m being unreasonable? About Emma, I mean?”
“Yes,” Julie said. “But I get it. None of us likes the thought of being usurped at Stiletto. I mean, let’s not forget me and Kelli Kearns.”
Well. That put things in perspective. Kelli Kearns was a former intern who’d rather famously stolen Julie’s story idea, slept with her boyfriend, and tried to ruin things with her and Mitchell.
She made Emma look like a saint.
“Good riddance to that one,” Riley muttered. “But Julie’s right. Your wounds are just a little fresh. Emma knows it’s not personal.”
“I don’t dislike her,” Grace grumbled. “She’s just so … perfect.”
She didn’t voice the thought that came immediately after. That no guy would have cheated on a woman like Emma Sinclair.
“Please. That’s what people say about you,” Julie said, exasperated. “You and Emma are practically the same person. Cool, calm, classy …”
“Sarcastic … judgmental … a little prissy,” Riley added.
Grace’s conscience pricked at her as she imagined Emma sitting out there alone in cubicle land. She ignored the guilt, but it only pricked harder. Crap. Finally, she stood, snatching the Skittles bag out of Riley’s hand. “I’ll be right back,” she grumbled.
She found Emma almost immediately, and her guilt doubled when she realized the poor woman was being treated to one of Oliver’s slideshows.
The fashion editor fancied himself an up-and-coming photographer with a “riveting” knack for the everyday. The trouble was, there was rarely anything riveting about Oliver’s day-to-day, which meant that getting a “first look” at his latest shoot involved blurry shots of taxis and “poignant” close-ups of skyscrapers.
Pretty much every New Yorker’s Monday.
“Hey, Emma, you got a sec?”
Emma turned around, her eyes registering surprise for a split second before she gave a polite smile. “Sure, what’s up?”
Oliver gave an annoyed huff before flouncing back to his desk.
“I believe this is yours?” Grace said, plopping the candy bag awkwardly onto Emma’s desk.
“Ha, yeah. Sorry about that. I have so many of these, I don’t even know when one’s missing.”
“Yeah, I do the same with Hershey’s Kisses. Or at least I used to before all of this set up residence.” She patted her increasingly pear-shaped hips.
Emma gave a polite smile. One that Grace recognized, because she had the same May I help you? expression in her own repertoire.
“Look,” Grace said nervously. “I saw the lineup for the next articles, and it looks like you’re doing one on the resurgence of singles events?”
“Yup. Camille’s idea, but I think it’s a good one.”
Grace gave her friendliest smile, which felt a little bit stiff, but hey … she was trying. “Well, seems to me that fits under the Love and Relationships section.”
“Yeah …”
“So? Why aren’t you sitting with us?”
“Sorry?”
“There are four desks in our office,” Grace forged on. “It’ll be a little crowded, but if you don’t mind the fact that Riley is always eating, and Julie reads through her articles out loud when she’s writing her first draft … but of course, you know all that from when I was gone … Which is cool. I mean, thanks for covering for me …”
Uh-oh. Wimpy 1.0 was doing the talking.
Grace 2.0 stomped on babbling Grace 1.0’s toe. Shut up.
“I’d like that,” Emma said, putting an end to Grace’s rambling. “If you’re sure you don’t mind. I know you three have a pretty tight dynamic.”
It was true. The three of them had been, well … just the three of them forever. But she supposed even the best things could use a change once in a while.
“Of course I don’t mind.” Much.
“Well … great. I’ll start moving my stuff over later,” Emma said.
Loud, irritated clacking noises resumed from the other side of the cubicle wall, and Emma and Grace made eye contact as they both carefully avoided laughing. As usual, Oliver was showing his irritation in the most passive-aggressive way possible.
There was a reason nobody sat by him for long.
Grace was almost back to her office, feeling rather self-congratulatory about her maturity, when Camille’s assistant flagged her down.
“Ms. Bishop wants to see you.”
Ugh.
Grace had a pretty good idea what Camille wanted to talk to her about—the very topic that Grace was trying so hard not to think about.
Stifling a sigh, she followed Mandy to her boss’s office, fixing a smile on her face when Camille enthusiastically waved her in.
“Grace, how are things?”
“Good,” she said cautiously.
Camille was a good boss when she wasn’t acting all crazy, but Grace and Camille had never had the easy rapport that Julie and Camille had, or even the butting-heads familiarity of Riley and Camille. Then again, Grace had never really given Camille a reason to seek her out. Grace’s articles had always been the most tame of the Love and Relationships department, and she’d always turned them in on time.
Until now.
Because Grace’s story was late.
“So, I know I owe you a draft,” Grace said, lowering herself into the chair across from Camille’s messy desk.
Her boss ignored this. “Jake Malone’s a doll, isn’t he?”
A doll? No. He was more like … sex. Jake Malone was sex.
“He was nice,” Grace said casually.
Camille studied her closely before letting out a little groan. “Oh no.”
“Oh no what?”
Camille held up a small pile of papers. “Cassidy sent down Jake’s first article for your joint series.”
Grace was pretty sure she deserved a gold medal just then, because somehow she managed not to lunge across the table and make a grab for the papers.
“He’s written it already? Our first date was a week ago.” And why wasn’t he struggling to write it the way she was?
“Perhaps you made an impression on him,” Camille said.
“Oh?”
Camille waggled a finger. “Uh-uh. No hints. Not until you write your own article. The purpose of all this is to see how good a read you have on this guy. And how good a read he has on you. A sneak peek would give you an unfair advantage.”
Grace le
aned back in her chair and resisted the urge to beg.
“Okay … so you brought me in here to …?”
Her boss leaned forward, shaking Jake’s article a little. “This guy is good, Grace. I wasn’t on the date, obviously, but … it’s like he knows you.” Camille lowered her voice to a frantic whisper. “He thinks you have a thing for him. Says he played you perfectly.”
Grace’s eyes narrowed. Did he now? “I thought you weren’t going to tell me what the article said.”
Camille hedged. “Well, I just thought you deserved fair warning. Just in case he’s … that you do have a thing for him.”
“I don’t,” Grace said.
She was pretty sure about that.
Then she remembered the way he’d held her wrist at the end. The way that their date had been better than other dates.
Right before she thought he was going to kiss her.
She’d been preparing for the feel of his lips on hers …
Instead she’d felt his lips against her ear, with one whispered word. Gotcha.
The last thing she’d seen was his very fine ass waltzing out of the bar door.
No, she most certainly did not have a thing for a player like Jake Malone.
“Okay, then,” Camille said cautiously. “I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that while this competition is meant to be all in good fun, losing would be—”
“We won’t lose,” Grace interrupted.
Relief flashed across Camille’s face. “So you have a plan?”
Grace stood, giving her boss a confident smile. “Of course I have a plan.”
Or at least she would.
Just as soon as she thought of one.
Chapter Seven
In the end, it was Emma who came up with the plan. A brilliant one.
Convincing Camille to go along with it had taken some work. And then of course, there’d been that necessary little chat with Stiletto’s legal department …
But all the extra effort and equipment would be worth it when Grace saw the look on Jake’s face.
Or even better, when Jake saw the expression on his own face.
“And you’re sure the restaurant understands we need to be seated in the same section, and that Emma will need to have a clear shot of our table?”
“For the hundredth time, yes,” Riley said, rummaging through the papers on the work table Grace had commandeered from the art department. “What the hell are all these diagrams?”
“Just making sure everything’s in order,” Grace said, protectively pulling the papers toward her.
“Just be glad I talked her out of a whistle,” Emma said from her perch at the head of the table. “She’s about half a power trip away from insisting we call her Coach.”
Okay, so maybe Grace had gone a tiny bit overboard with the plans. But this was the most complicated thing she’d ever done for a story. They were talking about videotaping a date, for God’s sake.
And then, of course, they’d had to buy the domain for a custom website, and figure out the polling situation …
But all of the logistics were finally in place. Except for the primary one.
“Have you called Jake yet?” Julie asked.
“Not yet,” Grace said, keeping her eyes on the paper. “I’ve been dodging his calls. Making him wait.”
“Making him wait? Or … avoiding him?” Emma asked.
That last one, Grace thought.
It was inevitable, of course. She’d have to see him again.
But she’d needed time to regroup.
Knowing how she’d been eating out of his hands in those last few minutes of the date still stung, even though she’d known it hadn’t been personal. Not to him.
It hadn’t been easy, but Grace wrote her version of the date as honestly as she could. She’d confessed to the sexy-dress trick. And yes, even confessed that for a few minutes there on the date, she’d forgotten that it wasn’t for real.
When readers saw it in next month’s issue, round one would go to Jake.
But round two? Round two would be all Grace.
“Isn’t he, um, pivotal to this little plan?” Emma asked.
Grace shot her a glare, but Emma merely shrugged. Emma was like that, Grace was learning. Never really got riled. That used to be Grace’s thing. Cool under pressure. The voice of reason in the group.
And now? Now she couldn’t even call a guy.
“Okay,” she said, muttering under breath. “I’ll call him.”
They all looked at her expectantly.
“Not,” she said, pointing her finger at all of them, “with an audience.”
Camille appeared out of nowhere, helping herself to one of the doughnut holes that Riley had brought in. “You can use my office. I’m about to head out for an advertising meeting. That edible condoms company is still pushing for a two-page spread.”
Gross.
“Thanks, Camille. I appreciate it,” Grace said, smile fixed on her face.
“Uh-huh, your appreciation is palpable,” Riley said, eating her sixth doughnut hole.
The doubt on everyone’s face was bad enough. But Julie’s smile held pity, and that was so much worse. That sort of sympathy was precisely the thing she’d wanted to avoid when she’d come back from the beach with a vow to stay away from men. Without men, there wasn’t any of this self-doubt. None of the games and the butterflies and the wondering.
You’re being ridiculous, Grace 2.0 pep-talked. You’ve met this guy exactly twice. Once wasn’t even a date, it was a hijacked taxi ride. And the second time was a work meeting.
This wasn’t romance.
Or even a crush.
It was business.
Grace didn’t give herself time to think about it. Once in Camille’s office, she scrolled through her phone until she found the number Jake had sent over email for “when she was ready.”
Oh, she was ready, all right. Ready for revenge.
It rang twice. “Malone.”
Grace raised her eyebrows. Not exactly the warm greeting of a guy who knew who was on the other line.
“Brighton,” she barked in response.
There was a beat of silence, and Grace felt her stomach drop.
Dear God. He didn’t know her last name? As if it wasn’t bad enough that he apparently hadn’t added her to his contact list, had he actually forgotten her?
“Grace. Hey.”
“Hey,” she snapped. She didn’t miss the way his tone had shifted from businesslike efficiency to honeyed charm once he’d placed her in his little brain vault of women. Save it, Malone.
“Cassidy passed along your story notes,” he said, ignoring the sharpness of her response. “I guess he and Camille thought it was only fair that we get a heads-up on what to expect before it went to press next week.”
She wandered to the floor-to-ceiling windows of Camille’s corner office. “I’m assuming you gloated? It had to have felt good seeing in writing that I fell for your little trick at the end of the date.”
He hesitated. “I’m not a total dick, Grace.”
“Oooh, now see, we’ll have to differ on that one. You played me. Let me think the date was … something.”
Her hand slapped over her mouth in horror. Had she actually just said that?
Grace 2.0’s outraged howling informed her that yes, she had just let it slip that he’d gotten under her skin.
“I …,” he faltered. “You know, you weren’t exactly a saint either. I mean, come on. That dress? Not giving me any warning that we’d already met …?”
“Let’s put that behind us,” she said smoothly, trying to regain control of the conversation. “Chalk it up to the hazards of the business, and all that.”
“Great,” Jake said, sounding relieved.
She forged ahead. “So, I know September’s article goes to press next week, but what do you think about starting on October’s story?”
“Ambitious. I like that.”
Grace rolled her eyes. �
��You may want to save all that fake flattery for the actual date.”
“Ouch.”
“I was thinking for date number two, we could do a midweek lunch. I know it’s not glamorous—I’m just sort of trying to keep my evenings and weekends open.”
She intentionally added that last part, instinctively knowing that if there was one thing Jake Malone hated, it was the idea that a woman wouldn’t fall all over herself to spend time with him. Telling him he wasn’t worth her time after five o’clock was tantamount to telling him his male bits were ineffectual.
As expected, there was a slight pause. “Right, sure.”
Grace smiled. Was that just the tiniest bit of bruised ego she heard in his tone? “How about this Friday?” she asked. “There’s that great Italian place on Fifty-sixth.”
“Sure. Noon?”
“Let’s make it one. Maybe miss some of the lunch rush.”
“Perfect,” he said, good humor restored. “And I’ve been thinking about the focus of this issue’s article. If the last one was about first impressions, how about if this date focuses on reading physical attraction cues? Figuring out what makes the other person tick, sexually speaking?”
“Sexually speaking, I think that sounds like a perfect plan.”
“You sure? Because last time, it seemed like you got sort of caught up in—”
Her smile slipped. “I’m sure.”
And she meant it.
Because despite what Jake Malone thought, date number two wasn’t about his plan.
It was hers.
Chapter Eight
Text message from Grace Brighton to Jake Malone:
Just wanted to double-check we’re good for lunch today? Looking forward to seeing you. Especially after the dream I had last night. Let’s just say the contents belong in an entirely different sort of magazine ;)
* * *
“Emma, you good? Copy.”
“Copy?” came Emma’s voice, low and incredulous in her ear. “Seriously? We’re doing that?”
“Roger roger. Over. Over and out. Copy that. Copy the copy. Roger over the copy out.”
Grace’s footsteps faltered as she made her way back from the restroom to the table where she’d be waiting for Jake. “Riley? Is that you? How the heck did you get an earpiece? More importantly, why?”