Love the One You're With (6 page)

Cassidy let out a sigh of frustration “I mean he's not a full-time employee. He's a sportswriter we have on contract from time to time because our Health and Fitness department has more turnover than a rotisserie chicken.”

Jake clicked his pen in triumph as though it had been decided. “See? Sportswriter. Women love that shit. Put
him
on a few fake dates with one of Camille's man-eaters.”

Cassidy sat unmoving, holding Jake's gaze in what they both recognized as a pissing contest.

“Bill told me you want the Travel gig,” Cassidy said, finally breaking the tense silence.

Jake went on high alert. Now they were getting somewhere. “I do.”

“Bill said you'd be great at it.”

“Then why the hell didn't Bill make it official before he left?”

“We talked about it. Decided it would be fair if I had the chance to make that assessment for myself. Given your record.”

Jake felt tingling in the back of this hands—a sure sign his temper was stirring. “What record is that? The one that says that my name is the most recognized of anyone associated with the
Oxford
brand? The record that indicates I've brought in more advertising through a few happy hours than half the people on the sales team?
That
record?”

Cassidy leaned down slightly to pull something out of a side drawer. How much shit did this guy have hiding behind his desk?

His boss slapped a newspaper in front of him, and Jake carefully hid his wince. Oh.
That
record.

“Yeah. That record,” Cassidy said, reading his thoughts loud and clear.

“Does it make a difference if I say that this one isn't true?” Jake asked, sliding the paper back across the desk.

“So Miss New York's fiancé
didn't
chase you out of her apartment with nothing but a half-empty bottle of bourbon to cover your balls?”

“A key detail was missing,” Jake said, pushing the paper back across the desk.

“What detail was that? They got the type of whisky wrong?”

“I didn't know she was engaged,” Jake said quietly. “Didn't even know she was involved with someone.”

Normally he didn't make much of an effort to defend his reputation as a wild bachelor, but this wasn't just about pride. This was about his
job
. And if the crap stories the scandal sheets liked to publish were the only thing standing between him and the Travel spot, he'd be glad to set the record straight.

When Christine Alverson had come on to him in the bar, all shiny red hair and passionate about the nonprofit she was starting for better technology in the schools of rough neighborhoods, he'd been blissfully unaware of the
fiancé
who worked out of San Francisco four days a week.

And when he'd found out, he'd been good and pissed. Just because Jake didn't have any visions of being a husband didn't mean he didn't have plenty of respect for the institution of marriage. His parents were happily married, as was one of his sisters.

The thought of anyone stepping out on someone they'd pledged their life to …

Well, maybe Jake wasn't quite as tolerant as he thought. Not when it came down to things like loyalty and
fucking common decency
.

Cassidy continued to study him. “Is it true that you never turn in your stories before four o'clock on the day they're due?”

“Yes.”

Cassidy winced. “Christ, you didn't think to lie to me on that one?”

“It's also true that I've never missed a deadline. Never.”

“You're still a wild card. With this Travel gig, I'd go months without seeing you. Maybe longer. You'll be on different time zones, bedding women on all continents. You'll have to manage yourself, and frankly, I'm not sure you're up to it.”

“Now hold on just a second,” Jake said, his temper hitching up another notch. “You've been behind that desk for all of a month. I've been doing this for
years
. If anyone should do the proving—”

“Hear me out,” Cassidy interrupted. “I respect Bill's opinion, but I deserve a chance to form one of my own. One that doesn't come from the man who thinks you shit gold, one that doesn't come from the tabloids, and one that doesn't come from the harem of women you've slept with.”

Jake was tempted to give Cassidy the finger and head out the door.

Instead he pictured the stamps in his passport. Imagined what it would feel like to be rid of that itch between his shoulder blades telling him something was off.

This Travel gig was the only way he knew how to get rid of the empty feeling that had settled around him the past couple of years.

So instead he stood, taking a deep breath and walking toward the window. The move was inappropriate considering this wasn't his office, but he needed a minute to pull his shit together and let his temper cool.

Alex Cassidy remained silent and gave Jake his space, which was appreciated. Would have even earned a thank-you if Jake wasn't so annoyed that his new boss had flaunted his tabloid exploits at him.

What kind of crazy city did they live in that a magazine columnist even made it onto the local gossip page? Surely there were Broadway stars to stalk or displaced Hollywood starlets to
follow around?

Jake glanced down at Eighth Avenue. It was busy, but then what street in New York wasn't busy during midmorning?

Oxford
's offices were only on the sixth floor, and Jake was just able to make out the shape of strollers and dog walkers heading to Central Park, even as suits and high heels were heading into office buildings or the nearest Starbucks.

Jake realized that his eyes were lingering on the women. More precisely, the
brunette
women. Subconsciously he was watching for that haughty woman from the cab this morning. She was definitely the most interesting female he'd met in months.

It certainly hadn't been his finest moment, creepily climbing into the taxi with her like that. He hadn't been in that much of a hurry. But then he'd seen her up close, and she'd been snotty, standoffish, and completely gorgeous.

And he'd wanted to get under her skin just to watch the spectacle of it.

The joke had been on him, though, because then she'd told the cab driver the address of her office building.

Which also happened to be
his
office building.

He was a little surprised he'd never noticed her before. Maybe she was new? Then again, the high-rise Ravenna building where they worked took up half a city block. There had to be hundreds—thousands?—of people coming through its doors every morning.

That, and Jake's work schedule wasn't exactly the standard nine-to-five. He was more of a come-in-at-ten, leave-at-four, work-from-home-at-midnight guy.

And from the looks of the sassy brunette, he'd have bet his left testicle she worked for one of the home decor or style magazines. She was too refined to be one of
Stiletto
's society darlings, and too polished to be part of the outdoorsy publications. She'd had
upscale domesticated
written all over her understated manicure.

And it had been that same untouchable “nice girl” look that had stopped him short of asking her out. She'd been the type you take home to Mom and introduce to your boss at Christmas parties.

In other words, not the type of woman that would take kindly to a
wham, bam, thank you ma'am, and by the way, I'm off to China tomorrow
.

“Listen, Jake,” Cassidy said quietly, drawing Jake's attention back to work. “Write this
article with
Stiletto
. Nobody knows women like you do. And I'm not proud to admit this, but you and I both know that I've got something to prove in my early days here at
Oxford
. I need this win. If you beat
Stiletto
and readers acknowledge that we at
Oxford
know more about women than
Stiletto
knows about men … the Travel position is yours. Swear to God.”

Well …

Hell.

Jake let out a long breath as he dropped back into the chair across from his boss. The stupid story idea was still shit. It was contrived and tepid and a damned embarrassment.

But he could write it.

And he could win it.

“I want that vacant office on the south side. Starting tomorrow.”

Cassidy opened his mouth, and Jake knew why. The south offices were for execs only. But Jake kept pushing. “It's only for a couple months, and you can kick me out if I blow the story. But if you want me to
partner
on this story, I'll need an office with an actual door and a place for the
Stiletto
broad to sit so we can talk.”

The two men locked gazes for several seconds before Cassidy slowly extended a hand across the desk. “Thanks, Jake. You've got this in the bag.”

Hell yeah, he did.

Jake couldn't claim to know much about current events. His sports knowledge was iffy at best.

But he knew dating. And he knew women.

Cassidy was right.

Jake had this one in the bag.

Jake Malone liked to think of dating as a bit of a second career.

Not in the man-whore kind of way. He was just good at it.

And as far as hobbies went, it was an enjoyable one. Even the most low-key women tended to put in token extra effort on appearance before a first date, which meant the eye-candy factor was high. And being a social, talkative kind of guy, he even enjoyed the whole getting-to-know you bit. Most of the time.

Then of course there was the end of the date—that's when things got interesting. Jake loved the challenge of it. Not just in ensuring that the women remembered him (they always did), but in trying to figure out their next move. Would they dangle a kiss with a promise of more? Would they fish for the second date? Would they ask
him
for a second date?

Tonight, however, he wasn't even remotely excited about his impending date. Call him old-fashioned, but he liked choosing his women, not having them assigned to him.

He should have asked Alex Cassidy for a raise in addition to the new office. A big one.

Jake glanced at the door of the Lambs Club again before checking his watch. He was early. Not his usual MO, but he hadn't wanted to get off on the wrong foot with this
Stiletto
woman. All it would take is one misstep, and she'd hang him by his proverbial balls for all the
Stiletto
and
Oxford
readers to see.

Tonight he needed to be 100 percent on his game.

Not that he was worried. Hadn't even bothered looking for a picture of Grace Brighton. In today's world of Google and Facebook, he could have had a mental image of her in under thirty seconds.

But he hadn't.

Call it journalistic integrity, but he was here to write about first impressions. So a first impression was what he was going to get.

Jake signaled to the bartender for another drink, making a mental note to slow down. He didn't want to scare her off with whisky breath before she'd had a chance to take the first sip of her chardonnay or cosmopolitan or whatever it was the women from
Stiletto
were imbibing these
days.

A flash of long female leg caught his eye as he set his drink back on the cocktail napkin, and like any heterosexual male, he turned for a better look. If those legs belonged to Grace Brighton, he'd send Alex Cassidy a handwritten thank-you note, because these legs were about as good as legs could get.

His eyes locked on a trim ankle. Shapely calf. Smooth thigh … a
lot
of smooth thigh. Holy hell, this skirt was cut clear up to her—

There was a clearing of throat, and Jake realized he'd been caught, his eyes snapping to her face.

Steady hazel eyes gazed back at him, and Jake temporarily forgot all about his mystery girl from
Stiletto
.

It was
her
.

The woman who lived in Tribeca but commuted uptown was in a midtown bar. As far as coincidences went, it was over the top, and a small warning bell sounded in the back of his head, but he ignored it.

It was tough to focus on anything but that damn dress.

“Here to share a cab again?” he asked. “I'm not sure we're headed to the same place, but I'm sure we could—”

“Save it,” she said in her smooth, upper-crust voice, sliding onto the bar stool across from him. It had been that voice that had intrigued him that day in the cab. Pure class with just a touch of snob.

The best kind of challenge.

And Jake was more than ready for a challenge. And not because of the chase—well, not
just
because of the chase. Because it wasn't Jake's professional life that had felt off lately. His personal life was starting to feel a little hollow too.

Jake knew most of the city assumed he'd slept his way through Manhattan's female population, but the truth was much less tabloid-worthy. He liked women, sure. Liked their softness, their curves, and the click of their heels. And he
definitely
liked their moans when he took them to bed.

But finding women he actually
wanted
to take to bed was more infrequent than anyone would guess.

Sometime after turning thirty, he'd gotten, well … 
picky
.

Which would have been fine if it wasn't also pretty damned lonely.

“Hot date?” he asked, doing what he thought was an admirable job of not staring at the breasts on display. The dress wasn't
quite
indecent. But it was damn close.

He felt a stab of curiosity about who this buttoned-up woman might be getting unbuttoned for. Probably a lawyer. Or a banker. Someone whose wardrobe had an abundance of navy and khaki.

“As a matter of fact, I do have a date,” she said, crossing her legs and lifting a finger to get the bartender's attention.

Jake lifted his eyebrows. “I don't think he'll appreciate coming in and seeing you sitting next to me.”