Love the One You're With (10 page)

“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
.

Text message from Grace Brighton to Jake Malone:

* * *

“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
?”

“How are you asking me that? It was my brother who got you the earpieces in the first place.”

“Yeah, for me and Emma,” Grace said, giving a bright smile to the confused waiter, who clearly thought she was talking to herself. “You know, the only people actually
in
the restaurant.”

Silence.

Suspicion dawned. “Ri … Emma and I
are
the only ones in the restaurant, aren't we?”

“Well …”

“Come on now, Grace,” said a new voice. “You didn't
really
think we'd miss out on Operation That's What She Said?”

Grace's eyes fluttered closed. Julie was here too. “Oh no.”

“The gang's all here!” Riley said, sounding quite pleased with herself.

A quick scan of the restaurant showed Julie and Riley sitting by the window. Riley was attacking the basket of bread, naturally.

Grace stifled a sigh. Additional distractions weren't ideal, but as long as Emma stayed put at the table adjacent to Grace's, they'd be fine. As she returned to her table, her eyes landed on the tiny clutch containing the tiny camera with an unobstructed view of Grace and Jake.

Everything was in place. Except the guy.

“He's late,” Julie muttered. “If he stands her up, I swear to God …”

“Julie,” Grace said pleasantly, taking a sip of her water, “if you don't shut up,
I
swear to God—”

“Incoming.”

This from Emma, whose expression never wavered from the bored businesswoman-out-for-a-solo-lunch expression she'd been wearing the entire time. Seriously, the woman could have a career in Hollywood
and
with the CIA.

“Grace.”

At the sound of the now familiar voice, she took one long last breath to steady herself.
Show time
.

“Jake.”

She let her voice go low and husky, looking up at him through her lashes.

A little flicker of surprise flashed over his face at her welcoming expression. Really, what had he been expecting? A high five? A kick in the balls?

She tilted her cheek up to him as he leaned down to kiss her, and she hoped the camera didn't miss the way he lingered. She hoped it
did
miss her blush.

And therein lied the weakness in the plan. The camera was intended to capture Jake's interest for the world to see. But it would also capture hers if she wasn't careful.

All the more reason to keep her lady urges tamped down.

Think of Greg. Think of finding Maureen's panties in your bed. Think of the way Jake manipulated you last time
.

“Sorry I'm late,” he said, his eyes searching hers.

“Oh, please,” she said, waving away his apology. “Busy day?”

He ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah. In addition to my full-time role at
Oxford
, I sometimes freelance for one of the nonprofit newsletters discussing the city's social issues—homelessness,
crime, suicide. Today's research was … brutal.”

He looked a little surprised at his own admission, just as Grace was surprised by her impulse to ask him for more information. To ask if he wanted to talk about it.

That wasn't part of the plan.

“So. What are your thoughts on day drinking?” she asked.

Disappointment flashed across his face at her easy dismissal of his freelance work. It had obviously been important to him, and she'd blown it off like he'd mentioned the weather. Grace ignored the stab of remorse that he probably wouldn't be spilling his guts to her anytime soon.

“I could do a little European-style wine with lunch,” he said finally.

The statement was completely innocuous, but the expression on his face made it clear that
wine
could be substituted with something else. Something far more decadent.

Yup, the text message had done its job, all right. Jake Malone had sexy times on the brain.

She demurely glanced down at the wine list, knowing that the camera would capture the blatant invitation on his face, even as it missed the butterflies in her stomach.

Keep it up, Malone
.

The server came over to ramble about the wine list, and Grace settled on overpriced Montepulciano. Camille would likely fuss, but Grace was pretty sure Camille would let her order the entire menu if it meant victory in this stupid little
Stiletto-versus-Oxford
game.

Which Grace was well on the way to achieving.

“So, I have to say, I'm a little surprised you're so okay with everything,” Jake said, after they'd gone through the whole stiff swirl-and-sip routine with the wine. “After the way I portrayed you in the article …”

“Oh, you mean as a needy, heartbroken train wreck?”

He grinned. “More or less.”

Grace gave a little shrug, noting the way his eyes found her breasts. The girls were more covered up this time, but the sleeveless top was stretched just a tiny bit too tight across the chest. Not enough to be considered an open invitation, but definitely enough to call his attention to all the right places.

She took a tiny sip of wine. “Well, as you read in
my
article, it was more than a little embarrassing to learn that our last meeting was nothing but a sham. But that was last month, so …”

“Grace—”

He reached a hand across the table, but she jerked hers back before he could make contact. At her rejection, he rapped the table lightly with his knuckles in frustration before leaning back.

“It wasn't like that,” he said quietly.

She pursed her lips and pretended to be attempting to recall his article. As though it weren't totally ingrained in her mind already. “It
wasn't
like that? Really? Because I seem to remember reading something along the lines of, ‘Grace Brighton may have been determined not to like me, but like most women, all it took was one impeccably timed compliment and she was eating out of my hand.' ”

His eyes went regretful. “My phrasing was for the sake of the story. You know that.”

“So when you said that the date was better than most—that wasn't just a line?”

Jake's eyes flicked briefly to the basket full of warm bread.
Guilty
.

She'd known it was coming, but it stung all the same. Still, they had an audience. Not exactly the time to confess that his ploy had stung a lot more than her pride.

They were both saved by the waiter, and after ordering their lunch, Jake leaned forward slightly, his easy smile back in place.

“Can we talk about that text you sent?” he asked, voice huskier than it had been before.

Grace let her eyes fall demurely to the table. “The one where I mentioned that I had a dream about you?”

She heard the sound of Julie's stunned laughter in her ear, followed by a horrified, “Oh, Grace.”