Irresistibly Yours
Page 57
Cole thought back to his and Penelope’s first conversation about this Evan guy. It hadn’t just been about the job. She’d had feelings for him.
Back then, he’d barely known her, and hadn’t really cared.
But Cole sure as fuck cared now.
“When?” Cole ground out. “When does he get here exactly?”
“Friday,” Lincoln said. “And according to Riley, who talked to Grace, who talked to Julie, she’s freaking out about it.”
“Which is where you come in,” Jake said.
Cole gave them all a wary glance. “Am I going to like this?”
“Well, now, that depends,” Cassidy said, giving a quick study to his cuticles. “Exactly how serious were you when you said Penelope isn’t your girlfriend?”
Chapter 22
Other than meetings where they’d both been in attendance, Penelope hadn’t seen Cole all day.
She told herself it was no big deal. That it was the way things were supposed to be.
Colleagues only from Monday through Friday, remember?
But at six o’clock, just as she was loading up her laptop and preparing to head home for a quiet night with takeout and Edgar the goldfish, Cole appeared in her office doorway.
And call her crazy…but her heart flipped over.
Once. Twice. Okay, fine, her heart flipped over and over and over again for Cole Sharpe.
Crap.
But Penelope refused to take full accountability for her fluttery reaction. Cole was at least 80 percent responsible, especially when he had his suit jacket slung over his shoulder all sexy-like, looking at her with a combination of heat and affection.
“Hey!” she said.
His smile was slow and intimate. As though he knew exactly what she was thinking, and that the thoughts weren’t particularly pure. “Hey back.”
“I thought you’d gone for the night.”
He pushed away from the doorjamb, shifting the strap of his briefcase higher on his shoulder. “Thought we could grab a drink.”
She hesitated for only a half second.
What was the harm? Other than the not so tiny fact that her heart could get broken, that is.
“A drink would be great,” she said, unable to stop the happy smile.
He smiled back and Penelope silently scolded her heart for lighting up the way it did.
Cole Sharpe smiles like that for all women, she reminded herself.
But when they stepped out of their building, and he rested his hand lightly—casually—on the small of her back, it didn’t feel like she was just any woman. It felt like she was his woman.
“How do you feel about fancy cocktails?” Cole asked as he led her south.
“Depends. If they have whiskey in them, I feel favorable.”
Cole laid a hand over his heart. “I do believe my ticker just skipped a beat.”
She smiled. “That’s all it takes, huh? A girl who likes bourbon?”
“I’m not shallow, Pen. The girl has to like baseball and bourbon.”
“Well, then, I’m your girl.”
“Yeah, you are,” he said with a quick grin.
Penelope’s heart did some more acrobatics, but before she could dwell on his words, Cole shifted conversation to work stuff, and Penelope marveled at just how easy it all was, transitioning from colleague, to friend, to lover and back again. It was precisely the type of thing that should be complicated, but with Cole, it felt wonderfully simple.
Penelope scrunched her nose in confusion as he led her toward Grand Central. Did their drinks involve getting on a train?
Instead of entering the main terminal, he led her around to a side door and up a handful of steps to a dimly lit bar. A pretty blond hostess in a black cocktail dress and pearls waited with a polite smile; Frank Sinatra played in the background.
“Where are we?” she whispered quietly as the hostess led them up a staircase to the balcony overlooking the main bar. “And what year, nineteen twenty?”
“The Campbell Apartment,” Cole said, “one of my favorite places in the city.”
“I can see why,” Penelope said as they were seated. “It’s gorgeous.”
“Apparently it used to be some guy named Campbell’s office back in the day. Personally, I like it better as a bar.”
Penelope glanced around at the sexy, dim lighting and the well-dressed patrons. “Dang. Some office.”
“You should bring your friend here this weekend,” Cole said, without looking up from the cocktail menu.
“I should,” Penelope said distractedly. “Evan would—”
Wait. Wait a darn minute.
“How did you know I have a friend coming into town?”
Cole grinned and set the menu aside. “Really? You haven’t figured out the delights of being part of the strange Stiletto/Oxford web?”
Penelope could only shake her head in wonder. “Julie. She moves fast.”
A cocktail waitress appeared at their table, wearing the same elegant black dress and pearls as the hostess had, only this one filled out the top part of the dress in an Are those real? kind of way.
Penelope didn’t miss the way the stunning redhead seemed a little more interested in helping Cole pick out his cocktail than hers, but Penelope didn’t hold it against her. Penelope couldn’t blame the woman, really. Especially with his tie just slightly loosened, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his smile doing that slow, panty-melty thing.
Cole opted for a cocktail called the Commodore, while Penelope stuck with a trusty Manhattan.
Back then, he’d barely known her, and hadn’t really cared.
But Cole sure as fuck cared now.
“When?” Cole ground out. “When does he get here exactly?”
“Friday,” Lincoln said. “And according to Riley, who talked to Grace, who talked to Julie, she’s freaking out about it.”
“Which is where you come in,” Jake said.
Cole gave them all a wary glance. “Am I going to like this?”
“Well, now, that depends,” Cassidy said, giving a quick study to his cuticles. “Exactly how serious were you when you said Penelope isn’t your girlfriend?”
Chapter 22
Other than meetings where they’d both been in attendance, Penelope hadn’t seen Cole all day.
She told herself it was no big deal. That it was the way things were supposed to be.
Colleagues only from Monday through Friday, remember?
But at six o’clock, just as she was loading up her laptop and preparing to head home for a quiet night with takeout and Edgar the goldfish, Cole appeared in her office doorway.
And call her crazy…but her heart flipped over.
Once. Twice. Okay, fine, her heart flipped over and over and over again for Cole Sharpe.
Crap.
But Penelope refused to take full accountability for her fluttery reaction. Cole was at least 80 percent responsible, especially when he had his suit jacket slung over his shoulder all sexy-like, looking at her with a combination of heat and affection.
“Hey!” she said.
His smile was slow and intimate. As though he knew exactly what she was thinking, and that the thoughts weren’t particularly pure. “Hey back.”
“I thought you’d gone for the night.”
He pushed away from the doorjamb, shifting the strap of his briefcase higher on his shoulder. “Thought we could grab a drink.”
She hesitated for only a half second.
What was the harm? Other than the not so tiny fact that her heart could get broken, that is.
“A drink would be great,” she said, unable to stop the happy smile.
He smiled back and Penelope silently scolded her heart for lighting up the way it did.
Cole Sharpe smiles like that for all women, she reminded herself.
But when they stepped out of their building, and he rested his hand lightly—casually—on the small of her back, it didn’t feel like she was just any woman. It felt like she was his woman.
“How do you feel about fancy cocktails?” Cole asked as he led her south.
“Depends. If they have whiskey in them, I feel favorable.”
Cole laid a hand over his heart. “I do believe my ticker just skipped a beat.”
She smiled. “That’s all it takes, huh? A girl who likes bourbon?”
“I’m not shallow, Pen. The girl has to like baseball and bourbon.”
“Well, then, I’m your girl.”
“Yeah, you are,” he said with a quick grin.
Penelope’s heart did some more acrobatics, but before she could dwell on his words, Cole shifted conversation to work stuff, and Penelope marveled at just how easy it all was, transitioning from colleague, to friend, to lover and back again. It was precisely the type of thing that should be complicated, but with Cole, it felt wonderfully simple.
Penelope scrunched her nose in confusion as he led her toward Grand Central. Did their drinks involve getting on a train?
Instead of entering the main terminal, he led her around to a side door and up a handful of steps to a dimly lit bar. A pretty blond hostess in a black cocktail dress and pearls waited with a polite smile; Frank Sinatra played in the background.
“Where are we?” she whispered quietly as the hostess led them up a staircase to the balcony overlooking the main bar. “And what year, nineteen twenty?”
“The Campbell Apartment,” Cole said, “one of my favorite places in the city.”
“I can see why,” Penelope said as they were seated. “It’s gorgeous.”
“Apparently it used to be some guy named Campbell’s office back in the day. Personally, I like it better as a bar.”
Penelope glanced around at the sexy, dim lighting and the well-dressed patrons. “Dang. Some office.”
“You should bring your friend here this weekend,” Cole said, without looking up from the cocktail menu.
“I should,” Penelope said distractedly. “Evan would—”
Wait. Wait a darn minute.
“How did you know I have a friend coming into town?”
Cole grinned and set the menu aside. “Really? You haven’t figured out the delights of being part of the strange Stiletto/Oxford web?”
Penelope could only shake her head in wonder. “Julie. She moves fast.”
A cocktail waitress appeared at their table, wearing the same elegant black dress and pearls as the hostess had, only this one filled out the top part of the dress in an Are those real? kind of way.
Penelope didn’t miss the way the stunning redhead seemed a little more interested in helping Cole pick out his cocktail than hers, but Penelope didn’t hold it against her. Penelope couldn’t blame the woman, really. Especially with his tie just slightly loosened, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his smile doing that slow, panty-melty thing.
Cole opted for a cocktail called the Commodore, while Penelope stuck with a trusty Manhattan.
