Love the One You're With
Page 6

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.
Chapter Four
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 br**sts 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.”
“Why?” she asked, not even glancing at him. “Are you wearing dirty underwear again?”
He hid a smile before giving a quick scan of the bar. No sign of his Stiletto date.
“What’s with the Catwoman outfit?” he asked, turning back to the stunning brunette.
“I thought we just established I have a date.”
“With who, Batman?”
She ignored him as she ordered something called a sidecar. She was apparently in no hurry to leave, and Jake felt the first prickle of nervousness. She might not care about being seen with him, but he really didn’t need Ms. Stiletto seeing him with another woman. Not exactly the first impression he was going for.
“Is this your usual after work haunt?” she asked, turning toward him slightly.
Jake shrugged. “Not sure I have any usual places. I tend to let my date or the people I’m interviewing do the picking.”
“Interviewing?”
“I’m a journalist. Which you would know, if you hadn’t been so determined to have the last word upon exiting the cab that day.”
She took a small sip of her drink. “Explain.”
He gave her a slow smile. “Well, see, had you turned around, you would have seen me climbing out of the cab behind you. I work at Ravenna headquarters too.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I want my twenty bucks back.”
Jake gave a small laugh. “How about I use it to buy your drink?” Shit. Where had that come from?
“This is the Lambs Club. I’m not sure twenty bucks will cover the drink, but have at it.”
Jake looked at her curiously. “On second thought, maybe you should let your date pay. Guys like that sort of thing. Particularly when the woman’s wearing a dress that’s too tight to allow for underwear.”
“I believe it’s too soon to give out details on panty status,” she said, running a finger along the stem of her glass. “You work at Oxford, yes?”
“I do,” he said, unsurprised by her assessment. “And you work at Swank.”
She lifted one eyebrow. “Do I?”
Jake’s hand faltered as he lifted his drink to his lips. Didn’t she?
“There are about twenty magazines under the Ravenna brand,” she said. “What made you assume I was with the snotty interior design one?”
“Uh …”
“Care to make another guess?” she said, glancing at him over the rim of her cocktail. “Maybe another female-targeted magazine that I could possibly work for?”
Oh shit.
Jake gave a last panicked glance around the bar. No newly arrived female. Just her.
“You’re a Stiletto woman.” The woman.
“Grace Brighton,” she said, rotating her bar stool to face him completely as she extended her hand. “A pleasure.”
“Such a pleasure,” he grumbled, atypically foolish and off balance. Why had it not occurred to him what was going on when she’d walked into the bar?
He wasn’t usually so dense.
Nor was he often so intrigued.
She gave him a saucy little wink. “Well, this should make a nice start for our article.”
It took his brain a second to catch up. Damn. Too late, he realized that the stupid article had been the last thing on his mind ever since she walked in the door.
He’d been thinking about her, and her legs, and that damned dress. Taking the damned dress off her …
Pull it together, Malone. It was show time.
Chapter Five
It was going even better than she’d imagined.
The dress had been genius. Grace had initially determined to avoid black since she had about a dozen LBDs in her closet already, but in the end, she’d gone with Riley’s judgment.
And this black dress was nothing like any of the conservative sheath-style dresses she had at home. Somehow the dress managed to be subtle and provocative at the same time. The draped cowl neck gave the impression of being demure at first, but the second glance revealed a rather dramatic drop. One that showed off the twins quite nicely, if she did say so herself.
Sure, the poor girls were maybe just a little uncomfortable being shoved up to her collarbone this way, thanks to a push-up bra that had cost almost as much as the dress itself. But it had been worth it for the flash of admiration in Jake Malone’s brown eyes.
And he hadn’t even seen the back of the dress yet.
She felt a bit scandalous. And just the tiiiiiiniest bit slutty.
She was loving it. This was a 2.0 dress.
“So you’re Grace Brighton,” he said, mostly to himself.
Grace pretended to jot her story notes on her hand. “First impression of Jake Malone—super quick on the uptake.”
He leaned back in his chair and breathed out a long breath. “I’m going to need another drink.”
“Have at it. We’ve got all night,” she said in a sultry voice.
His eyes snapped to hers, and Grace felt her belly tighten. What the hell was she doing? Where was this come-hither version of herself coming from?
It wasn’t her usual routine.
This vampy, sex-kitten routine had always belonged to Riley. And the flirty “gotcha” vibe had been Julie’s.
So what had been Grace’s shtick?
Hell, she couldn’t remember.
Had she even had one? Somehow she didn’t think that accidentally dropping your pencil in college and then planning to marry the guy who picked it up just because he had a nice smile counted as a shtick.
It was mostly just pathetic.
“So how do we do this?” Grace asked, tearing her eyes away from Jake’s. “How are we supposed to evaluate the other when we both know the other’s evaluating us?”
“We forget about all that.”
Impossible. “I don’t think so,” she muttered.
“You know, in some ways it’s actually fortuitous that we’ve met before,” he said cheerfully. His brief discomfort over her little surprise was seemingly a thing of the past. “Now we can pretend that this is happening organically. We can just forget that this is business, and think back to that taxi ride. Think about the goose bumps you got when I touched your hand before you went scampering out.”
She pursed her lips. How had he known?
“I did not have goose bumps,” she lied.
He continued as though she hadn’t spoken, slowly reaching out a hand to wrap his fingers around her wrist.