Love the One You're With
Page 8

“You want food first?” he asked, opening one of the bar menus.
“That’d be great,” she said, realizing she was a little hungry. She’d really thought she’d be on her way home by now. She’d figured they’d tolerate each other for one drink and twenty minutes of small talk before they both headed home to write up their respective story notes while the evening was still fresh.
Or at least she’d planned on going home.
This one had probably planned on cheese-plating some poor girl.
“Calamari?” he asked. “Bruschetta?”
“Either,” she said.
“They do have a cheese plate,” he mused, “but I don’t think we’re there yet. Although with that dress, a guy can never know.”
Grace let out a little laugh. “Trust me, the dress was for first impressions only. It will not be seen again after this night.”
He glanced up. “Why the hell not? It’s a knockout.”
Grace ignored her blush. “It’s just … not me.”
“So why are you wearing it? Just to throw me off?”
Her blush grew deeper. “Guilty. I knew you’d be expecting something a little more bland. I wanted to catch you off guard.”
Jake gave her an approving look. “A good technique. And for the record, if you really want to advise women how to pique the guy’s interest, a dress like that is the way to go. Although they’d need that body to go with it …”
“Don’t start that again,” she said.
“I can’t compliment you?” he asked, looking confused.
Not unless you mean it.
Greg had complimented her all the time. About her new boots. Her makeup when they were going out for the evening. He’d even complimented the dumb stuff, like how she always put just the right amount of cream cheese on his morning bagel.
Once upon a time she’d thought that was sweet.
She’d thought that compliments meant something.
She knew better now. Compliments from men were about as reliable as the relationships on The Bachelor.
And Grace was particularly wary of compliments from a man who occasionally wooed women for a living. So far her mental notes for this story looked a little like this: Don’t trust a word out of Jake Malone’s mouth.
Not exactly the makings of a great article. Then again, it would certainly be a useful article. Because if Grace Brighton could give one bit of tangible advice to women, it would be just that: Don’t trust men. Any of them.
Nodding approvingly was 2.0.
“Uh-oh,” Jake said, his eyes locked on her face.
“What?”
“I know that look. That’s a man-hater look.”
Grace took a sip of her drink. A big one. “I am not a man-hater.”
“Really?” he asked in a coaxing voice. “Not even one man in particular?”
A picture of Greg flashed through her mind. A picture of Greg’s too-innocent face when she’d asked who the panties in their bed belonged to.
A picture of him begging for one more chance.
A picture of her walking out the door for good.
She relented and sighed. “Is it that obvious?”
“The bad breakup? Um, yeah.”
“Wonderful. I’m delighted to hear that I have damaged goods written across my forehead.”
“Want to talk about it?”
“With you?” She didn’t bother to keep the incredulousness out of her tone. The thought of Jake Malone as a confidant was … oddly not as unappealing as it should have been. Huh.
“Have you talked to anyone else about it?” he asked.
“Of course.”
“Any men?”
Grace snorted, 2.0 style. “Yeah, because that’s every scorned woman’s first reaction. To go spill her guts to the same species as the guy that screwed her over.”
“Aha,” he said, giving a little nod. “He cheated.”
She opened her mouth. Wanted to tell him to back off. Wanted to tell him he was the last person she’d discuss this with.
Instead …
“Yeah. He cheated.”
“One-time fling?” he asked, taking a sip of his drink. “Or serial cheater?”
“Somewhere in between,” she said, fishing an olive out of her martini. “As far as I know, it was just one woman. Maureen. But it had been going on for months.”
“I take it you didn’t see it coming?”
Objectively Grace knew he didn’t mean it as a jab, but it felt like a poke in the jugular all the same.
“No,” she said quietly. “I mean, I was aware of Maureen. She was one of his colleagues, and she was just one of those predatory women that had all significant others staying a little closer to their men at company functions, you know?”
“But you didn’t think it would happen to you.”
Again she listened for a sign of judgment. Searched his face for pity. But instead there was simple understanding.
“No,” she said quietly. “I never once imagined he’d cheat.”
Jake leaned back on the bar stool, pursing his lips as though considering a deep philosophical question. “Well, here’s the way I see it …”
“I didn’t ask.”
He ignored her. “This guy … what’s his name?”
“Greg.”
“And you were together how long?”
“Nine years.”
He whistled. “Did you start dating when you were toddlers?”
“College,” she said with a wry smile. “He was my first serious boyfriend.”
Jake nodded. “Well, that right there is your problem.”
“I’m not the one with a problem,” Grace snapped. “He’s the one who couldn’t keep his dick in his pants. And don’t you dare imply that he must have had a reason to step out.”
Jake’s smile disappeared and his fingers wrapped around her wrist. “Don’t think for one moment that I condone cheating in any situation.”
Grace’s heart began to beat a little faster at the intensity on his face. “Okay,” she said, a little breathless. All of a sudden she was much too aware that there was nothing playful and harmless about this version of Jake Malone. Even worse, she was every bit as attracted to this version as the flirty version.
Crap.
“I know what the papers say about me,” he continued. “That I’m a player and a womanizer and whatever else they like to call happily single men these days. But my women have never, ever overlapped. Fidelity’s nonnegotiable in my book.”
Grace searched his face. “Spoken by someone who’s been a victim of infidelity?”
His eyes went cool and he released her wrist. “Spoken by someone who has morals, Brighton.”
Feeling knocked a little off balance by the suddenly serious turn in conversation, Grace looked at her watch. Forget about food. This seemingly harmless date had gotten deep fast. This was territory she didn’t want to go into with anybody.
Least of all a guy who could too easily make her forget all the reasons she was done with men.
“Okay then,” she said perkily. “Think we’ve got enough material to write an article about this ‘date’?”
He rolled his shoulders back slightly, as though willing away the temporary black cloud that seemed to have settled over him. Then his features relaxed and he was back to normal. “I certainly know the tack I’m going to take with my column.”
Grace bit her tongue before she could press him for details, because she was all too aware that she wouldn’t be asking for the right reasons.
She wanted to know what Jake Malone thought of her. But not for the sake of the story.
Still, she couldn’t resist doing a little digging. Technically this was her first “real” date for the better part of a decade.
“So, I’m a little out of practice at this,” she said, keeping her voice light, as though his response wouldn’t make a difference to her one way or the other. “How’d I do?”
He gave her a knowing look, but to his credit, he didn’t mock her. “You’re asking how this first date compares to others?”
She couldn’t bring herself to answer, but simply raised her eyes to his, hoping like hell he didn’t read the neediness there. Saw from the way his own eyes softened that he did.
Grace wasn’t aware that he’d moved, and wasn’t prepared for the light touch of his knuckle against her cheek. The gesture was as sweet as it was unexpected.
“This wasn’t like other first dates,” he said, breaking the silence.
Her heart sank. “Oh,” she said, ignoring the stab of disappointment. Hating that he had to pity her.
His eyes dropped to her mouth. “It was a hell of a lot better.”
Chapter Six
A week later, Grace thought she was doing an admirable job of avoidance. So far she’d used a bobby pin to clean crumbs from her keyboard, organized her hard drive, and emailed her mother.
By ten o’clock she was almost done cleaning out her desk, and had only thought about Jake Malone twice.
Okay, maybe three times.
Ten at the absolute max.
But only for Stiletto purposes. Definitely.
“Why is there a bag of Skittles in my drawer?” Grace asked, staring down at the bright red bag of candy that she’d definitely never seen before.
Riley scooped the rest of her yogurt out of its carton before shooting the empty container across the room and missing the garbage can like she always did. Julie picked it up and placed it in the garbage can just like she always did.
Neither answered her question.
“Hello?”
“Must be Emma’s,” Julie said, pretending fascination with the wristband of her watch.
“Emma Sinclair?”
Riley shook her head. “No, not the Emma that works here. Some other random Emma must have wandered in off the street and left this bag here.”
Grace waited patiently for Julie to stop hiding behind fake ignorance and for Riley to stop covering with lame sarcasm.
Julie caved first. “Emma um … kind of used your desk while you were out. Camille thought it would be easier for her to ramp on the vibe of our section if she hung out with Riley and me.”
“Oh, cool!”
Grace hated that she was jealous. For God’s sake, it wasn’t like it had been personal. It was a rational decision. But the thought of the never-ruffled Emma laughing and joking with her best friends while Grace had been in Florida licking her wounds and eating hot fudge straight from the jar … eeesh.
“When did she move out?” Grace asked.
“Cleaned out the day before you returned,” Riley said, turning back to her computer. “She must have forgotten the Skittles. They were sort of her comfort food. She ate them by the handful when she was editing.”
“Cool! That’s awesome.” Whoops. She’d used cool twice in under thirty seconds. Which, since this wasn’t 1995, meant that she was definitely not cool.
“Grace …,” Julie said slowly. “Do you not like Emma?”
Yup. They were on to her, all right.
“She seems nice,” she replied. “She’s just sort of a constant reminder that I completely fell apart because of a boy. It’s so … high school.”
Riley helped herself to the bag of Skittles in Grace’s hand. “True. My senior year, I ended up with a C in trig because I was too busy mooning after Sam Compton.”
“Okay, two things,” Julie said. “First, you’re terrible at math, so you would have gotten that C anyway. And second, you’re always mooning after Sam Compton.”
Riley threw a yellow candy at Julie. “I’ll grant you the first one; I hate numbers. But I am not mooning after Sam. Right, Grace?”
Grace fiddled with her earring. “Um …”
The truth was, nobody ever knew what was going on with Riley and Sam. The official version was that he was her older brother’s best friend.
The unofficial version read more like the dictionary definition of “unfulfilled sexual tension.”
“Can we bring this back to me?” Grace asked, hoping to dodge a Riley tantrum. “Do you guys think I’m being unreasonable? About Emma, I mean?”
“Yes,” Julie said. “But I get it. None of us likes the thought of being usurped at Stiletto. I mean, let’s not forget me and Kelli Kearns.”
Well. That put things in perspective. Kelli Kearns was a former intern who’d rather famously stolen Julie’s story idea, slept with her boyfriend, and tried to ruin things with her and Mitchell.
She made Emma look like a saint.
“Good riddance to that one,” Riley muttered. “But Julie’s right. Your wounds are just a little fresh. Emma knows it’s not personal.”
“I don’t dislike her,” Grace grumbled. “She’s just so … perfect.”
She didn’t voice the thought that came immediately after. That no guy would have cheated on a woman like Emma Sinclair.
“Please. That’s what people say about you,” Julie said, exasperated. “You and Emma are practically the same person. Cool, calm, classy …”
“Sarcastic … judgmental … a little prissy,” Riley added.
Grace’s conscience pricked at her as she imagined Emma sitting out there alone in cubicle land. She ignored the guilt, but it only pricked harder. Crap. Finally, she stood, snatching the Skittles bag out of Riley’s hand. “I’ll be right back,” she grumbled.