by Lauren Layne
“How do you know?”
“I noticed during the first act.”
“And we’re here because …?”
“So I could do this,” he said, his mouth opening and planting warm kisses along the side of her neck.
She couldn’t help it. She purred. “So is this like the grown-up version of making out at the movies?”
“I hope to do a lot more than making out.”
Julie’s eyes widened at that. Those glasses hid a naughty side.
“So we’re just casually seeing each other, huh?” he asked, still taking soft bites out of her neck.
She froze before continuing her restless stroking of his back. “Well, what would you call it?”
“That sounds about right.”
Julie swallowed around the disappointment. Give him a break, Jules. It’s only been a week.
Still, she couldn’t resist asking. “Evelyn …?”
“What about her?” He pulled back slightly, and Julie wanted to zip her mouth shut and yank his lips back to her neck.
“Never mind,” she said quickly.
But Mitchell leaned back and met her eyes. “There’s nothing between us.”
“Didn’t look that way from where I was standing,” she grumbled.
He shrugged. “She was hoping there might be a chance at a reunion. I told her no.”
Julie’s heart began to thud. “You did? Why?”
He gave a wicked smile and pulled her into the shadowy corner of the box, where they were out of sight. “Because Evelyn doesn’t put out at the Met.”
Julie gave a soft laugh as she ran her hands over his chest. “So you like me because I’m slutty?”
“Exactly.”
The orchestra began its overture, indicating the end of intermission, and the lights dimmed.
“We’re going to miss the show,” she whispered.
“Thank God,” he whispered back.
And then his hand moved over her breast, and Julie bit back a moan.
They didn’t talk for a long, long time, and when the fat lady sang, Julie wanted to sing right along with her.
As she drifted back to earth, her mind flitted to the article. Maybe this was a new element she could add. Sign he wants to take things to the next level: he rejects his rich ex-girlfriend to make you come in the shadows of the Metropolitan Opera House.
On second thought, Stiletto readers wouldn’t be getting that little bit of wisdom. This was one memory she was saving for herself.
She was starting to worry she wanted to save it all for herself.
Chapter Eight
“So let me get this straight. You and Mitchell haven’t gone a single day without seeing each other since that night you picked him up at MoMA?”
“Shh!” Julie hissed. “Do you have to announce it to the world?”
Riley pointedly looked around at the nearly empty hallway. “And by ‘world,’ you mean … Grace?”
“I already knew,” Grace pointed out practically.
“Well, still. I don’t want people to know about it until I figure out how to explain it.”
“What’s there to explain? You have a new boyfriend.”
“Mitchell is not my boyfriend,” Julie said.
“Um, how do you figure? You’re seeing him on weekend days and weeknights. How many times has that happened, Grace?”
“Hmm, let me count … Zero, and never.”
“Exactly,” Riley said as she started to push open the conference room door for their weekly staff meeting.
Julie yanked her back. “You know full well why I’m doing this. It’s not real.”
Grace’s finger hooked into Julie’s collar. “That hickey sure is real.”
Julie’s hand slapped over the right side of her neck. The saleswoman at Bergdorf’s had been such a liar—that concealer could not cover anything up. She wanted her fifty bucks back.
“I still can’t believe you slept with him,” Riley hooted. “That is so geisha of you!”
“It wasn’t like that,” Julie said as she flipped her collar up around her neck. “The other stuff was for the story. The sex part just … happened.”
“What other stuff?” Grace asked, pulling them out of the way so they weren’t blocking the conference room door.
Julie hedged. “You know, just hanging out for the sake of research. We go out to eat, go to the movies, drink wine. Nothing important. We’re just two people who enjoy each other’s company and happen to have sex. I don’t know that there’s a name for it.”
Grace and Riley exchanged a meaningful glance, looking very much like they wanted to burst out laughing.
“What?” Julie snapped.
Grace tried unsuccessfully to wipe the smirk from her face. “Hon, what you described most definitely has a name.”
“Yup,” Riley said, taking a slurp of her macchiato. “It’s called … oh, what’s the word? … a relationship.”
Grace’s smile slipped at Julie’s scowl. “Julie, we’re not trying to be difficult. But you’re a bundle of mixed signals. One second you’re jumping down our throats about how he’s only a story, and the next minute you’re all protective like you actually like him. Which is it?”
I don’t know.
“Let’s talk about it later,” she grumbled. Julie shoved open the door to the conference room before Grace and Riley could continue their assault, and took a seat between Angela and Maria. She couldn’t cope with any more prying questions from her best friends at the moment. Normally she relished the chance to discuss everything involving men, on both the personal and professional levels.
But this thing with Mitchell—and she really didn’t have a name for it—felt far too private. And she was afraid she knew why. She was falling for him. She was falling for the subject of her story.
“Are you all right?” Angela asked. “You’re looking kind of … feverish.”
No, what you’re seeing is guilt. I’m seeing this perfectly great guy, using him for sex, companionship, and my August column.
“Oh, I’m fine,” she replied breezily. “Just a little warm this morning.”
Further conversation was halted by Camille’s arrival. Stiletto’s editor in chief marched into the room with a cellphone attached to her ear. From the look of things, the boss had not been having a good day. Her lipstick had faded to unbecoming flecks on her lips, and her hair was pulled back into a stubby, unattractive ponytail.
Julie and some of the more senior columnists exchanged looks. They all knew what the presence of a disheveled Camille meant. That the meeting would be run with all the gentle sensitivity of a Navy SEAL raid.
Camille didn’t waste any time. “Health and Fitness, where are you?”
Annie Zapelli, the senior editor of the section, took a deep breath and bravely raised her hand. Camille reached into her tote bag and dropped a thick stack of paper in front of Annie.
“Well?” Camille demanded.
“I don’t know what this is,” Annie asked, scanning the papers quickly, trying to catch up.
“This is two hundred and nine letters about your article on the controversial nature of eggs.”
“Two hundred and nine people don’t like eggs?” Annie asked.
“No, two hundred and nine people don’t like that you claimed eggs might increase cholesterol.”
Annie’s lips tightened in frustration. “We never said we personally thought eggs were bad. We merely cited the new studies suggesting egg yolks might be bad. We didn’t fabricate or claim anything.”
“Of course not,” Camille snapped. “If you did, you’d be putting that ugly fern on your desk in a cardboard box and be on the Q train back home. But tackling eggs was a foolish move. The studies on those damned things change every month. The research had switched back the other way before we even made it to print.”
Annie opened her mouth in anger but clamped it shut. Julie shot her a sympathetic look. She knew full well what Annie wanted to say but wouldn’t.
The truth was, Camille read the entire magazine cover to cover before it went to print. If she’d thought eggs were risky business, she’d had plenty of time to say so before the issue hit the racks.
“Enough,” Camille said when one of the new interns bravely tried to suggest they could print a follow-up discussing all the various contradictory studies and encouraging readers to make their own informed decision. “We’ve done far too much talking about dairy for a magazine that sells mostly for its love and sex advice.”
All eyes in the room flicked to Julie, Riley, and Grace. They weren’t always spared Camille’s wrath, but the sheer popularity of their section had resulted in what Julie knew the others perceived as a “teacher’s pet” mentality from Camille.
“Ladies, how about a progress report on August’s articles?”
Julie stiffened. A progress report for August? It was too early. Camille never asked this early. She had nothing prepared.
Her panicked gaze flew to Riley and Grace, but they looked completely unperturbed as they rattled off their initial findings on the growing popularity of threesomes (Riley) and twenty ways to rekindle the fire with your longtime love (Grace).
“Fine,” Camille said with a nod. “Julie?”
She resisted the urge to put a protective hand over her hickey. “Um, things are going well. Still in research mode, but I’ll have more to report next week.”
Julie felt the entire room staring at her in surprise. As far as updates went, this was the equivalent of “the dog ate my homework.” The only one who looked impressed was the intern from Alaska who’d asked for her autograph.
“And what specifically are you working on, Julie?” Kelli asked.
Julie’s eyes narrowed on the devious blonde, who knew full well what the story was.
She kept her face completely devoid of emotion. “Oh, did I not say? It’s about taking the relationship to the next stage.”
A couple of people nodded with mild disinterest and looked ready to move on, but Kelli the pit bull wasn’t done. “Oh, yeah? Had a lot of experience with that, then?”
Julie thought she heard Riley hiss from across the table, and she rushed to prevent a catfight, because Camille, she noted, wasn’t making any move to interfere. Not a good sign. “It’s not my usual area of expertise, but I feel more than equipped to handle the assignment,” Julie said.
“But it’s going to lack that personal touch, isn’t it?” Kelli said with wide-eyed innocence. “You know, I’ve been in a relationship for almost a month now, and I think I’m really in a unique position to tell this story from the inside out,” she added with an innocent glance at Camille.
Julie tilted her head at Kelli’s practiced little monologue. Tell the story from the inside out? What does that even mean? She glanced around the room to see if the others shared her disdain, but they were all nodding in agreement. Even Grace looked conflicted.
“Kelli does have a point, Julie,” Camille said slowly, an intensely speculative look on her face. “You’ve always been Stiletto’s strongest proponent of adding a personal touch to articles. In fact, I’d say that your unique perspective has really helped shape Stiletto over the years. Perhaps Kelli could take this one, and you could cover something different this month. I’m thinking it might be time for another shoes article.”
Julie took the smallest sip of her coffee and tried to calm her panic. Shoes. Shoes? She was the dating girl, not a footwear drone.
“Oh, well, I’d really prefer—”
“Actually, Julie can add the personal touch to this article,” Riley blurted out.
Julie glanced across the table, widening her eyes in warning. Riley, no. If Camille found out about their plan, there’d be no going back. She’d have to see the pseudo-relationship with Mitchell through to a story.
And she was no longer sure she could do it.
But her friend ignored the silent command. “See, Julie knows better than anyone the high standard she’s set with her previous articles. In order to ensure this story is of the same quality, she’s doing a little undercover work so she can speak personally about developing a relationship.”
“Undercover work? In a relationships article? Isn’t that a little … tawdry?” Kelli asked with a sneer.
No more than that tiny skirt that’s one sneeze away from showing your hoo-ha, Julie wanted to snap.
“Julie, is this true?” Camille asked, looking unusually intrigued.
“Well, that was my original plan, but it’s not really panning out, so I was thinking—”
“She’s being coy,” Grace chimed in. “The truth is, this guy is smitten with her. They’ve seen each other almost every day since the first date.”
Grace, nooooooooo!
Her friends knew what they were doing, however. Camille was eating it up, and Kelli looked positively livid.
“But I can provide a real relationship,” Kelli whined. “Julie has to use a guy for a fake one.”
Camille nodded at Julie as though Kelli hadn’t spoken. “I like it. We can call it ‘Undercover Girlfriend.’ Good work, Ms. Greene. I look forward to reading your draft.”
Mitchell’s steady, kind face flashed before her eyes, and she felt sick to her stomach.
“Wait, Camille!” she blurted out. Grace and Riley shot her warning looks, which she ignored. “The undercover-girlfriend aspect isn’t really shaping up like I’d hoped, and I was thinking a new direction, maybe—”
Camille held up a hand. “Your first draft is due in just a couple of weeks. And while I certainly don’t doubt that you can pull something else together, it won’t be as strong as your original idea or what Kelli can offer.”
“But—”
“Either you can go through with your original plan or Kelli can cover your spot in this issue. What’ll it be?”
Julie felt something fierce throb at her temple. She wanted to rage at Camille, who was being completely bullheaded and unreasonable, but that was futile.
Her heart demanded that she step aside. Her career wasn’t worth the pain. Not to herself, and certainly not to Mitchell.
She had opened her mouth to concede when she caught sight of Kelli grinning broadly and already scribbling something in her glittery purple notebook.
“I’ll do it,” she heard herself say. “I’ll finish what I started.”
Camille looked pleased. Kelli looked constipated. Grace and Riley looked worried.
And Julie felt even more ill.
The rest of the meeting passed in a blur, and when it was over, she nearly bolted from the stifling conference room, desperate for fresh air.
Grace and Julie flanked her on either side as they steered her toward the elevator instead of their shared office.
“Sorry,” Grace said quietly. “I didn’t realize how conflicted you were over this until it was too late.”
“Me neither,” Riley said by way of apology. “What are you going to do now?”
Julie gave a mirthless laugh. She had no choice. “Now? Now I pull out the big guns.”
“Threesome?” Riley asked.
“No. Movie night.”
Chapter Nine
“I think I made a mistake.”
Colin halted in the doorway in surprise, his coffee sloshing over the side of his company mug. “Jesus, Forbes, what the hell are you doing in my office?”
Certainly not catching a glimpse of Liberty Island. Colin really did have a shitty view. But Mitchell didn’t spare the ugly office building out Colin’s window a second glance. He barely even registered it.
For the first time in his professional career, he was camped out in a colleague’s office, waiting to get some advice.
“What’s this about a mistake? Did the Fox deal not go as planned?” Colin asked as he grabbed a tissue and dabbed the coffee off his hand.
“Fuck the Fox deal. This is about the bet. You know that ridiculous plan we came up with after one too many shots of Maker’s Mark?”
Colin grinn
ed. “Of course I know the bet. The whole floor knows about the bet. I have a pool going.”
Mitchell ground his teeth. “Tell me you’re joking.”
“Nope. I figured it wouldn’t hurt to plant the seed. That way people won’t be surprised when we switch offices in a few weeks. After you lose.”
But Mitchell wasn’t thinking about winning or losing.
He was thinking about what would happen if news got back to Julie. Having it be between him and Colin was one thing. But the entire office?
“You idiot,” Mitchell growled. “Do you have any idea how fast gossip travels in this town?”
Colin shrugged as he plopped into his swiveling desk chair, immediately beginning to spin and reminding Mitchell of a troublemaking sixth grader. “Don’t worry, dude. They all know the stakes. And everyone’s been cautioned to be careful around Greg Parsons. He’ll turn around and tell Grace, and she’ll babble to her best friend and ruin all the fun.”
Even if Greg didn’t tell Grace, all it would take was one loose-lipped intern, and this shit would be all over the gossip columns.
As if trying to keep Julie at arm’s length when she seemed determined to wriggle under his skin wasn’t stressful enough, now he had the added pressure of having to make sure she didn’t find out about the bet. A bet that had officially gone from being a spontaneous error in judgment to the worst decision of his life. He’d thought it would be a helpful reassurance that he wasn’t a docile, wife-seeking drone.
Instead it was a sad reminder that he was a complete son of a bitch.
And if Julie found out about it … Mitchell’s stomach twisted at the thought.
He wanted to punch the smug expression from Colin’s face, but he knew it would only be a deflection of his own guilt. Colin might have instigated the dumb bet, but Mitchell should have refused outright. Or at least he should have opted out once he realized she wasn’t some fluffy ditz who could be easily set aside when it was over.
Do it now. Call it off now. It was the smart decision. The right decision. But that would mean failure. Not something Mitchell had ever suffered lightly.
And truthfully, underneath the guilt of it all, Mitchell wasn’t ready to let it go.