Love the One You're With (13 page)

“You do sound sort of … come-hither,” Julie said reluctantly.

“I didn't even know one could do come-hither in a text message,” Grace said, accepting the handful of emergency Skittles that Emma offered.

“Sure. You can do come-hither anytime,” Julie said in a matter-of-fact tone.

Grace stared at Julie, appalled. “Poor Mitchell. And for the record, I did not intend a come-hither. If Jake the jackass had revealed the
rest
of our text message conversation, it would have shown that I'd said he would have to get in line to ask me out, because the video I posted had made me very popular and I'd gotten several date offers …” Increasingly agitated, Grace pulled out her phone. “Here, I'll show you. I was very clear in my rejection.”

Riley rolled her eyes. “For God's sake, Grace. We're your friends. We believe you. Also, we need to work on your comebacks.”

But Grace wasn't listening to Riley. Or any of them. She had a new text message from Jake. Just to her this time.

Her mind flitted back to that kiss. The way he'd owned her mouth and had her body humming. Ninety-seven percent of readers wouldn't be wrong. But of course
he
didn't need to know that.

“You have a plan, then?”

Grace jumped as she realized Riley was reading over her shoulder, and instinctively she hid her phone like an eighth grader trying to hide her crush from her mother.

Riley's eyebrows rose knowingly. “
Graaaaaacie
 … Is there something you want to share with the class?”

She held up a finger. “No comment. I don't want to hear one comment from any of you. Let me think this through.”

“So no plan, then,” Emma said under her breath.

“She was
flirting
,” Riley said in a scandalized tone. “I saw it.”

“Not helping,” Grace ground out, trying to clear her head.

It took two pieces of chocolate before the answer came to her. “Julie, you keep in touch with that guy from
Oxford
? The sportswriter you had a couple dates with?”

“Cole? I mean, we're not best friends or anything, but we're chatty in the elevator if we run into each other.”

“You have his phone number?”

“I think so.”

“Good. Call him. You need a favor. If you can't charm him, bribe him.”

“Of course I can charm him,” Julie muttered as she dug through her purse for her phone.

“What am I asking him for?”

Grace's eyes fell on the computer screen, which revealed that now
98
percent of people thought she was moping around for Jake Malone's phone call.

He'd expect her to deny it.

She had a better idea.

* * *

Grace had never had reason to go to the
Oxford
offices before. Technically they were only one floor below the
Stiletto
offices, but in the Ravenna building, each floor was like a different world.

The
Oxford
office had a very distinct vibe.

One might call it … testosterone.

On the plus side, there was plenty of male eye candy. Apparently the
Oxford
staff took all of those macho-men workouts and manly diets to heart, because there were plenty of broad shoulders and trim butts.

None quite as nice as Jake's, of course.

Objectively speaking.

Belatedly she remembered to pull her hair out of its usual prim knot before approaching the receptionist desk. Julie had insisted that a subtle sex-kitten look was crucial for this mission, and Grace discreetly undid one of the buttons of her green blouse. Just enough to keep things interesting.

The receptionist had an adorable pixie cut and a megawatt smile. “May I help you?”

“Grace Brighton here to see Jake.”

She intentionally didn't say his last name. Not because she figured there was only one Jake in the
Oxford
office, but because she wanted it to be very clear that this was a personal visit.
Very
personal.

The receptionist's eyes fell on the frozen coffees Grace had in both hands. Whipped cream, chocolate sprinkles, caramel sauce … the works.

There could be no doubt what Grace was up to. She was bringing Jake a frou-frou coffee on a sunny afternoon. This wasn't we-have-work-to-do coffee. It was
date
coffee.

The receptionist wavered for a few seconds, clearly debating going against protocol by not announcing Grace versus not offending Jake Malone's new girlfriend.

Then again, if Jake was right and the damn website had gone viral, the receptionist probably already knew who Grace was and felt a little sorry for her.

That was fine. Grace would take the pity pass. Anything to get her through the door.

“I think I saw him in his office,” the receptionist said with a little thumb jerk over her right shoulder.

“Thanks so much,” Grace said with her best girly smile. She had no idea where Jake's office was, but she hoped that walking in the general direction of where the peppy receptionist had indicated would get her somewhere close.

Although the overall shape of the floor was obviously identical to
Stiletto
's, the layout was completely different. If
Stiletto
was all bright energy and collaborative spaces, this was orderly cubicles and neutral colors.

No free makeup samples on
this
floor, Grace thought. Other than the receptionist, she didn't see a single other female.

“Ms. Brighton.”

A distractingly good-looking blond guy appeared by her side. His eyes were the color of whisky, and his chiseled features weren't unlike those on the male models who smirked from the ad posters on a few of the walls.

“Hi,” she said cautiously.

“Cole Sharpe,” he said under his breath.

“Oh! Hi!”

“He's in the second door on your left,” he said quietly as a pair of laughing guys scooted past them.

“He has one of the exec offices?”

She'd expected to find him in one of the cubicles, or perhaps in one of the shared offices on the far side of the office. But along the left window, there was a line of the big important-people offices. Editors in chief, senior managers, VPs …

And apparently Jake.

“It was part of the deal for him agreeing to do your little group project.”

Grace's footsteps faltered. “Wait, your boss had to bribe him to go on a date with me? And what do you mean,
part
of the deal? He had more than one condition?”

Cole's hand found her elbow as he moved her to the side and out of the way of traffic. A meeting must have just gotten out, because there was a rush of people emerging from the conference room talking about whether or not two articles in one issue about attaining a six-pack was too much.

Grace bit her tongue to stop from suggesting that they might want a female opinion on that, because the answer was definitely
no
. Two articles about six-packs was not too much. The more men who strove to achieve a six-pack, the better.

“Don't judge the guy too harshly,” Cole said quietly. “Besides, you don't exactly seem the type of woman who would have volunteered for this circus without something riding on it.”

Oh, she had something riding on it, all right. Her pride. Her dignity. Her career. And sure, she
supposed
she could see how maybe a hotshot like Jake had been less than thrilled to have to work with a partner. Journalists didn't tend to be team players. But asking for a bigwig's office
wasn't a little conciliatory free lunch. He must have been
really
resistant.

“Thanks again for agreeing to help us with this,” she said after the crowd of
Oxford
staff had passed.

“My pleasure.”

“Why?”

Cole glanced down at her, and normally she would have felt a little jolt at the sheer attractiveness of this man. Instead she couldn't help but notice that his eyes weren't nearly dark enough. And the hair was the wrong color. He was too tall—she didn't like having to crane her neck. And …

Grace 2.0 cleared her throat.
Since when has Jake Malone been the guy to whom all others are compared?

Shit.

“Why what?” Cole was asking.

“Why are you helping us with this? It's my magazine against yours. Isn't this … treason?”

“Ah. Well, actually, I'm a contractor with
Oxford
, not a full-time employee, so
technically
I don't work for them unless they ask for a specific article or want my opinion on something.”

Grace readjusted her grip on the coffees, trying to ignore the condensation that was now starting to drip down her wrist. “So you're not going to get in trouble for this?”

“Nah. Cassidy won't care as long as we sell magazines.”

“I meant with Jake.”

Cole let out a little snicker. “Oh, I'll
definitely
get in trouble with him. Why do you think I'm doing it?”

“You don't like him?”

Cole gave her an exasperated look. “I forget how differently you women operate. Liking has nothing to do with it. It's just … never mind. Are you going to go in there or not?”

“I am,” she said, straightening her shoulders and praying to God this would play out like she hoped.

“You've got the login for the website?” she asked Cole.

“Yup. Ready and willing to go on record stating that Mr.
Oxford
isn't nearly in control of
the situation as he'd like to think.”

“Perfect,” Grace said with false confidence.

Because Ms.
Stiletto
wasn't nearly as in control of the situation as she'd like to think either.

Jake did a double-take at the woman in his doorway, and went on instant alert.

“Grace?”

She gave him a shy little smile and faltered, as though fearing he'd send her right back to the seventh floor where she belonged.

“Can I come in?”

She was wearing a royal blue dress that should have been demure and boring, but did fantastic things to her hair and complexion and …

Pull it together, man
.

Jake stood and rounded his new desk. “Of course. Let me just close the door …”

“Oh, you can leave it open,” she said, looking increasingly nervous. “I'm just here for a second.”

He narrowed his eyes as he scanned her body. “And the hidden camera is …?”

Grace gave a guilty laugh. “I'm not a one-trick pony. The video camera portion of the show has been played out.”

He gave her a wicked smile. “You sure? Because I've found that some women really get off on—”

“Nice digs,” she interrupted, looking around and appearing genuinely impressed. He had to admit, the office did beat the sterile cubicle environment of the rest of the floor. The “bullpen,” as it was affectionately known, was a lot of dull textured walls covered with sports and cologne posters. It was rowdy, often smelled like coffee and Thai takeout, and had more four-letter words flying around than a truck stop.

His new office was a little more fit for … well, grown-ups. He even had a new potted plant from his sisters.

But the truth was? He missed the bullpen. Just a little.

Then again, no woman looking and smelling like Grace Brighton had ever visited when he'd been out there with the boys, so this whole executive vibe clearly had its perks.

She thrust one of the elaborate-looking coffee drinks at his chest. “I brought you this.”

He stared down at the whipped-cream concoction in surprise. “You brought me coffee?”

And then, damn it, he melted just a little, because she looked embarrassed.

“Yeah. I, um, I just …”

“Thanks,” he said, meaning it. Jake was normally a skim latte kind of guy, but he'd take caffeine any way that he could get it.

Although that wasn't what had his insides feeling a little jump. It was
her
. And the fact that she'd thought about him.

“I thought maybe you'd written me off after I posted our text message conversation online,” he said, gesturing for her to sit down.

“Well, I can't say I loved that,” she said. Her lips closed around the green straw of her drink, and Jake's fingers tightened reflexively as he watched her mouth. Damn this woman.

“But,” she continued, “I get that I had it coming.”

His eyes narrowed slightly. “So I get forgiveness and a coffee?”

“You sound suspicious.”

“Sweetheart, men don't make it past the age of twenty without learning to suspect every gesture from a female.”

Grace gave him a warm smile. “It's just coffee, Jake. I was in the mood for something sweet, and I was thinking about you while I was in Starbucks, and somehow I ended up with two drinks.”

He took a small sip. It was sweet, but not cloyingly so. A lot like the woman sitting across from him.

“So about our next date—” He broke off when she looked away and squirmed a little in her seat. “Grace?”

She bit her lip. “It's just, um … I'm not sure, after what happened the other night …”

“When I kissed you?”

This time she definitely squirmed.
Yeah, I know the feeling, lady
. He hadn't been able to think about much else since that night either. He'd done some squirming of his own, of a different variety.