The Trouble with Love
Page 16
“You’ll have to talk to Lincoln Mathis about that,” Alex said, referring to Oxford’s current expert on all things women. “But do it later. I need help.”
“Wondering if you can pull off the latest lipstick trend?” Cole asked, popping the rest of the PowerBar into his mouth.
Alex reached across the desk to snatch up the discarded wrapper and drop it into the trash can. He looked pointedly at the crumbs on the desk, and Cole rolled his eyes and swiped the crumbs onto the ground. “Well, aren’t you fastidious? I’m guessing you’re not into anal or oral. Too messy?”
Alex didn’t dignify that with a response. “How am I supposed to evaluate these articles? How do I know what’s good and what’s not? I don’t give a crap about mascara types or juice cleanses, but if these stories go to press and they’re shit, it’s on me.”
Cole leaned back in his chair. “How many of the Oxford articles do you read?”
“Every single one.”
Cole blanched. “Seriously?”
“That’s what an editor in chief does, Sharpe. We look at the issue in its entirety. Make sure it doesn’t suck.”
“And you’re supposed to do the same with Stiletto?”
“Apparently.”
“Why didn’t Camille find a woman to do this shit?”
“I have no fucking clue,” Alex said, slumping back in his chair and putting his hands over his face. “It’s like she hates me.”
“Why’d you agree to do it?”
It was a fair question. And one that Alex didn’t have a good answer to.
Ordinarily, he didn’t have trouble saying no to anyone—not even Camille with her drill sergeant persona.
He’d like to say he agreed because Camille’s logic made sense; she’d pointed out that finding someone with editor-in-chief experience on a short-term basis was nearly impossible. True. She’d also pointed out that he already had a relationship with the higher-ups and could go to bat for Stiletto if needed.
But he wasn’t sure any of those were the real reasons Camille had pushed the task on him.
And he definitely wasn’t sure that was the reason he’d accepted.
As though reading his thoughts, Cole smirked. “What’s Emma’s story?”
“Hmm?” Alex asked, carefully keeping his expression blank.
Cole nodded patiently at the stack of Stiletto articles. “Emma Sinclair. What’d she write about?”
Alex was about to shrug, but Cole stopped him with a look. “Don’t even pretend you don’t know.”
Alex sighed and rifled through the papers until he came across Emma’s, flinging it across the desk. Cole glanced at it and then looked up.
“ ‘The Lost Art of the Blind Date’?” Cole asked. “You have a real chance to get inside your ex’s head, and you let her write about her date with another dude?”
Alex clicked his pen in agitation. “Sharpe, exactly how many people know about my connection with Emma Sinclair?”
“Um, everybody?”
“Damn it. Jake can’t keep his mouth shut,” Alex muttered.
“Yeah, cat’s out of the bag on that one.” Cole put his feet up on the desk and leaned back. “But what remains a mystery is why you two went belly-up.”
Cole cocked an eyebrow. Alex glared.
Cole dropped his feet. “Come on, dude. Someone’s got to know. Jake? Grace?”
Alex maintained his silence.
The one thing he and Emma seemed to silently agree on, other than their mutual dislike, was their continued silence about their past. He hadn’t told a soul about what had gone down between them, and as far as he could tell, she hadn’t, either.
Not even to the Stiletto girls.
He didn’t know if they were protecting the other person or themselves. But whatever their reasons, he knew he didn’t have plans on running his mouth anytime soon. Especially not to Cole Sharpe, who, while admittedly a damn decent guy, was not the soul of discretion.
Cole had apparently given up expecting an explanation from Alex and had turned his attention to Emma’s article.
Cole glanced up. “She’s a good writer.”
Alex grunted. She was a good writer. She’d always been a good writer. Back in college it had been all she’d wanted to do in her spare time, although back then, her passion had been fiction. She’d dreamed of writing a novel.
He wondered what had happened to that dream. Did she still write for pleasure?
“Sounds like her date went well,” Cole said with a smug smile.
Alex leaned forward and snatched the article back out of his hand. “Nothing came of it.”
“How do you know?”
Alex didn’t respond. The last thing he wanted to explain was that he’d run into Emma at the end of this very date.
And that he’d very much wanted to stick around to see if she got the kiss.
He also didn’t admit to Cole that when he’d received the drafts of the Stiletto articles, hers had been the first one he’d reached for.
And, lastly, he absolutely did not admit the stab of relief he’d felt when he read there’d been no first kiss. And no second date.
“Fine, keep your secrets,” Cole said, standing. “But, seriously, do better next time.”
“Do better at what next time?”
“Emma’s assignment,” Cole explained. “Camille’s handed you the mother of all ammunition, making you Emma’s boss like this. Don’t squander this opportunity.”
“Wondering if you can pull off the latest lipstick trend?” Cole asked, popping the rest of the PowerBar into his mouth.
Alex reached across the desk to snatch up the discarded wrapper and drop it into the trash can. He looked pointedly at the crumbs on the desk, and Cole rolled his eyes and swiped the crumbs onto the ground. “Well, aren’t you fastidious? I’m guessing you’re not into anal or oral. Too messy?”
Alex didn’t dignify that with a response. “How am I supposed to evaluate these articles? How do I know what’s good and what’s not? I don’t give a crap about mascara types or juice cleanses, but if these stories go to press and they’re shit, it’s on me.”
Cole leaned back in his chair. “How many of the Oxford articles do you read?”
“Every single one.”
Cole blanched. “Seriously?”
“That’s what an editor in chief does, Sharpe. We look at the issue in its entirety. Make sure it doesn’t suck.”
“And you’re supposed to do the same with Stiletto?”
“Apparently.”
“Why didn’t Camille find a woman to do this shit?”
“I have no fucking clue,” Alex said, slumping back in his chair and putting his hands over his face. “It’s like she hates me.”
“Why’d you agree to do it?”
It was a fair question. And one that Alex didn’t have a good answer to.
Ordinarily, he didn’t have trouble saying no to anyone—not even Camille with her drill sergeant persona.
He’d like to say he agreed because Camille’s logic made sense; she’d pointed out that finding someone with editor-in-chief experience on a short-term basis was nearly impossible. True. She’d also pointed out that he already had a relationship with the higher-ups and could go to bat for Stiletto if needed.
But he wasn’t sure any of those were the real reasons Camille had pushed the task on him.
And he definitely wasn’t sure that was the reason he’d accepted.
As though reading his thoughts, Cole smirked. “What’s Emma’s story?”
“Hmm?” Alex asked, carefully keeping his expression blank.
Cole nodded patiently at the stack of Stiletto articles. “Emma Sinclair. What’d she write about?”
Alex was about to shrug, but Cole stopped him with a look. “Don’t even pretend you don’t know.”
Alex sighed and rifled through the papers until he came across Emma’s, flinging it across the desk. Cole glanced at it and then looked up.
“ ‘The Lost Art of the Blind Date’?” Cole asked. “You have a real chance to get inside your ex’s head, and you let her write about her date with another dude?”
Alex clicked his pen in agitation. “Sharpe, exactly how many people know about my connection with Emma Sinclair?”
“Um, everybody?”
“Damn it. Jake can’t keep his mouth shut,” Alex muttered.
“Yeah, cat’s out of the bag on that one.” Cole put his feet up on the desk and leaned back. “But what remains a mystery is why you two went belly-up.”
Cole cocked an eyebrow. Alex glared.
Cole dropped his feet. “Come on, dude. Someone’s got to know. Jake? Grace?”
Alex maintained his silence.
The one thing he and Emma seemed to silently agree on, other than their mutual dislike, was their continued silence about their past. He hadn’t told a soul about what had gone down between them, and as far as he could tell, she hadn’t, either.
Not even to the Stiletto girls.
He didn’t know if they were protecting the other person or themselves. But whatever their reasons, he knew he didn’t have plans on running his mouth anytime soon. Especially not to Cole Sharpe, who, while admittedly a damn decent guy, was not the soul of discretion.
Cole had apparently given up expecting an explanation from Alex and had turned his attention to Emma’s article.
Cole glanced up. “She’s a good writer.”
Alex grunted. She was a good writer. She’d always been a good writer. Back in college it had been all she’d wanted to do in her spare time, although back then, her passion had been fiction. She’d dreamed of writing a novel.
He wondered what had happened to that dream. Did she still write for pleasure?
“Sounds like her date went well,” Cole said with a smug smile.
Alex leaned forward and snatched the article back out of his hand. “Nothing came of it.”
“How do you know?”
Alex didn’t respond. The last thing he wanted to explain was that he’d run into Emma at the end of this very date.
And that he’d very much wanted to stick around to see if she got the kiss.
He also didn’t admit to Cole that when he’d received the drafts of the Stiletto articles, hers had been the first one he’d reached for.
And, lastly, he absolutely did not admit the stab of relief he’d felt when he read there’d been no first kiss. And no second date.
“Fine, keep your secrets,” Cole said, standing. “But, seriously, do better next time.”
“Do better at what next time?”
“Emma’s assignment,” Cole explained. “Camille’s handed you the mother of all ammunition, making you Emma’s boss like this. Don’t squander this opportunity.”
