“I still can’t believe Brit thinks she needs help getting a guy,” Lincoln Mathis said, slurping a pink foamy drink through a green Starbucks straw.

The guys had opted for a caffeine break following their lunch at a nearby tavern. At least, most of the guys had. Lincoln had opted for something that looked like blended cotton candy.

You had to marvel at a guy who looked a bit like Superman and yet had no qualms about ordering something marketed mainly to tween girls, with the addition of “extra sprinkles.”

“I’m with Lincoln,” Cole Sharpe said, finishing off the last of his coffee and chucking the cup into a nearby trash can. “Brit’s great. Anyone who can’t see that isn’t worth her time.”

“It’s nice that we all think she’s great,” Nick Ballantine added, “but maybe that’s sort of Brit’s point. We think she’s great, and we don’t have romantic interest in her.”

“Well, we’re all married or close to it,” Cole argued. “Except for Hunter, and he’s practically her brother.”

“Yeah, but we weren’t always married,” Nick argued back. “We’ve all been single at some point during our friendship with Brit, right? From her perspective, maybe she wonders why we never saw her in a romantic light.”

Hunter shot Nick a quick glare. Of all the Oxford guys, he was closest to Nick, even though the latter was a freelancer rather than a full-time employee. But right now, his friend was starting to piss him off with his cool logic.

“I only told you about Brit’s request because I wanted you guys’ advice,” Hunter said, still feeling a little guilty that he’d confided in the guys at all. But, damn, after she’d left on Saturday night, it’d been all he’d thought about. By Monday morning he’d been desperate.

He’d needed help. Specifically, reassurance that he’d done the right thing by turning down her request. So he’d asked some of the Oxford guys to lunch, on him.

And though they had all agreed her request was ballsy, he’d gotten the impression that none quite understood why he’d been so reluctant. As Lincoln had pointed out, she was single, he was single. They were friends. What was the harm?

What was the harm? Hunter wondered for the hundredth time. He knew that something was holding him back but couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

“Look,” Nick said, matching his stride to Hunter’s as Lincoln and Cole fell behind, the four of them navigating the lunch-hour traffic on the sidewalk. “All I’m saying is that I know Brit. Not as well as you, but she’s over at our apartment at least once a week to gab with Taylor. She wouldn’t have asked unless she truly wanted help.”

“She wants me to help her seduce other dudes,” Hunter said. “It’s weird.”

“I don’t think that’s exactly what she was asking. She just wants a little help in understanding the male brain.”

“She does know the male brain. It’s why we all like her so much! We don’t have to explain stuff to her, she’s never melodramatic, she’s just—”

“Hold up,” Nick interrupted. “Maybe that’s her point. She’s just. Not really a word any of us want applied to us, right?”

Hunter gave him an annoyed look. “Just because you’re a writer doesn’t mean you always have to go all deep and shit.”

Nick was not only a part-time writer for Oxford, filling in wherever there was a need, but he wrote fiction as well.

“Can’t help it,” Nick said with a grin, tapping his temple with one finger. “Big brain.”

“Big ego too,” Lincoln added from behind them.

“Hey, hey, speaking of the devil,” Cole chimed in as they approached their building.

Hunter glanced over his shoulder to see who Cole was referring to, and his friend jerked his chin up ahead to the right.

They all turned, scanning the endless wave of people leaving and entering the office building where Oxford was headquartered, until Hunter’s gaze landed on its target.

He’d figured it would be Brit, given Cole’s speak-of-the-devil reference, and he had figured she wouldn’t be alone. Brit, Ms. Popularity herself, rarely was.

However, he wasn’t quite prepared for the fact that she’d be talking to a man. No, not talking. That would be no big deal. As they’d established, Brit had tons of guy friends.

No, Brit was flirting. With Bradley Calloway.

“God, I hate that guy,” Nick growled from beside him.

Hunter didn’t blame him. Hunter didn’t personally have a beef with Calloway, but Nick definitely did. Nick’s wife, Taylor, had dated Calloway before she and Nick got together. In fact, the only reason Nick had moved in with Taylor (platonically to start, and then not so platonic) in the first place was to piss Calloway off.

Bradley Calloway was a VP of advertising, and he and Hunter worked together fairly frequently. Bradley acquired the advertising accounts, and Hunter figured out how to fit that into Oxford’s online advertising calendar.

The guy was good at his job, just sort of a douchebag when it came to women. Okay, a lot of a douchebag.

And yet . . . Hunter watched, eyes narrowed as Brit shifted slightly, revealing her profile and a look on her face he wasn’t used to seeing.

She was smiling, yes, but it wasn’t her usual smile, which lit up her whole face. This smile was slight, borderline shy, and was paired with a strange eye-fluttering business he knew he’d never seen her do before.

Then Brit reached out, ran a hand up Bradley’s arm, laughing outrageously at something Hunter would bet serious money was not that funny.

“Well, well,” Lincoln mused. “Looks like our girl made good on her threat to practice on her own.”

Hunter realized his jaw was clenched and made a conscious effort to unclench it.

It didn’t matter. Brit could do whatever the hell she wanted. She was an adult woman, who had every right to . . .

“And he’s off!” Cole said in a sports-announcer voice. Unsurprising, given Cole’s role as co-editor of Oxford’s sports section.

Hunter belatedly recognized that Cole was referring to him. Without being aware of it, he’d begun moving toward Bradley and Brit just as Bradley stepped closer to her, his gaze predatory.

Oh hell no. Calloway’s personal life was his business, but Brit was Hunter’s business.

“Brit,” Hunter barked when he was within hearing range.

She turned around, blinked once in surprise, and then grinned. “Hey! Don’t suppose that Starbucks is for me?”

It wasn’t, but he didn’t protest when she reached out and pulled his latte out of his hand.

“S’up, Hunter,” Calloway said, flashing his trademark dimples, which Hunter had been told women loved, but he sure as fuck didn’t understand the appeal.

“Hey.” Hunter’s voice was curt, but Bradley didn’t seem to notice.

Brit did. Her eyebrows lifted.

“You got a minute?” he asked her.

She glanced at her watch. “I’ve got a one-o’clock meeting with . . . well, you, I guess.”

“Perfect,” Hunter said, wrapping his fingers around her arm before he realized it wasn’t quite an appropriate boss maneuver.

He nearly released her, but then she turned back and peered over her shoulder at Calloway, doing something flirty and weird with her hair. “Bye, Bradley. I’ll see you around.”

“Oh for God’s sake,” Hunter muttered, all but shoving her through the rotating door and into their elevator lobby.

“What’s wrong with you?” she asked, digging her badge out of her purse and swiping it to get through the security turnstile.

He did the same, ignoring her question.

“You didn’t get vanilla in this,” she said, taking another sip of the coffee.

“Because it wasn’t for you.”

“Mmm,” she acknowledged, taking another sip anyway and then handing it back. He shook his head. Keep it.

“Did you see me working my magic?” she said in an excited whisper as they stepped into the elevator.

“Magic? Is that what you call it?” he muttered, punching the button for Oxford’s floor, and they moved toward the back so others could crowd into the elevator.

“I was thinking that in old movies, the women’s smiles are always sort of mysterious when they talk to men, so I was trying for sort of a Marilyn Monroe vibe. I think it worked. I’ve talked to Bradley a million times, and he’s never looked at me like that.”

She kept her voice low, though nobody was paying them any attention. The office building was a high-rise with thousands of employees. Oxford was only one of Ravenna Corporation’s publications. You could go a month without seeing the same face twice.

Hunter maintained his silence until they stopped at Oxford’s floor. He followed Brit out, mostly ignoring her happy chatter as they headed toward his office.

“Okay,” she said, taking the last sip of his coffee and then dropping it into the trash can in his office as she shut the door. “So, I talked to that new Web design contractor about the mock-ups for the spring—”

“Forget the damn mock-ups,” he snapped, turning back toward her and crossing his arms. “How about you tell me what the hell you were doing fluttering your eyelashes at Bradley Fucking Calloway?”

“Fluttering my eyelashes?” Brit asked, half bemused, half irritated by the unfamiliar note of high-handed anger in her best friend’s tone.

Hunter Cross didn’t really get angry. Irritated, sure. Impatient, absolutely. But this was . . . different.

He ran both hands through his hair, as though he didn’t know what to do with her. “You know. You were all . . . flirty.”

“So what?”

He gave her an incredulous look. “You know his reputation, right? He’s a complete asshole when it comes to women.”

“He wasn’t an asshole to me. It was harmless.”

“This is a workplace. He’s your colleague. When it comes to flirting, there’s no such thing as harmless.”

“Oh, knock it off,” she said, her anger now matching his. “You know as well as I do that this office is a breeding ground for romantic relationships. Ones that last,” she pointed out. “Nick and Taylor. Cole and Penelope. Heck, if you include the girls down in Stiletto, you also have Jake and Grace, Cassidy and Emma. Even Lincoln and Daisy sort of count. The company doesn’t have any policy against office relationships, so . . .”

She lifted her hands as though to confirm harmless.

“Hell, Brit, he dated one of your best friends. Does Taylor know you were just throwing yourself at her ex?”

“It was Taylor’s idea!” Brit exclaimed, a little stung by his disdainful attitude. “I told her that you refused to help me and that I was going to experiment with the whole seduction thing on my own. She suggested Bradley. Said he was a master of flirting and completely safe since I’m too smart to fall for him.”

“Are you?” Hunter challenged. “Too smart to fall for him?”

“What does it matter?” Her hands found her hips as she glared at him. “How is it possibly your business who I date?”

“I’m your friend.”

“Yes, but right now you’re overstepping.”

He flinched.

Brit gentled her tone slightly. “You’ve never cared about who I pursued before. Why is this so different?”

“Because now I know of your . . . plan. And I don’t think Bradley Calloway is right for you.”

“He doesn’t have to be right. I’m not looking to marry the guy. Or even date him. I was just trying my hand at being anything other than good ol’ Brit, you know?”

“I like good ol’ Brit!”

“Well, damn it. I want someone to better than like me, Hunter!” she shouted.

The room seemed to go still, and she wasn’t sure which of them was more surprised by her outburst.

“Brit,” he said quietly.

“Don’t,” she said, her head dropping slightly. “You don’t have to say anything. I just . . . I need to do this. I feel like I’m at a crossroads, not only because guys don’t seem to fall for me, but because I’ve never experienced that thing that other people seem to when in a relationship. I want—”

She broke off, stopping short of telling him that she wanted to know what it was to feel all-consuming lust. To want someone.

It was one thing to tell her girlfriends that over a couple of glasses of wine, but confiding such things to a guy, even her best guy friend, felt a little . . . weird.

“Sorry about my reaction,” he said grumpily, leaning back and resting his palms on his desk, his fingers drumming in a way that she knew meant he was deep in thought. “It’s just . . . Calloway treats women like shit. I can’t stand the thought of him walking on you.”

“He won’t.”

“You say that, but—”

“Look, Hunter,” she said, starting to feel really over this conversation. “I asked you to help; you said no. You don’t get it both ways, ’kay? You can either help me out, or you can stay out of it.”

Hunter’s jaw tensed, his fingers drumming faster. “So, if I agree to help, you practice that weird eye flutter on me instead of other dudes?”

“Well, first of all, it wasn’t weird,” she said defensively. “Maybe only to you because you’re not used to it.”

“It was weird. You looked like you had something in your eye.”

Okay. That was quite enough.

And because his petty dig wasn’t worth a verbal response, she pinned him with a withering glare before pivoting on her heel and turning toward the door.

Hunter caught up with her, touched her arm. “Hey. I’m sorry. That was a dick thing to say.”

“Yup.” She reached for the doorknob without looking at him, and his hand slid from her biceps down to her wrist, closing around it lightly.

She went very still at the contact. She and Hunter touched all the time, casual, whatever, touches that she didn’t even notice.

For some reason she noticed this one. Noticed the emotion behind it.

Apparently he did too, because he dropped her wrist quickly and cleared his throat.

“You’re going about it all wrong,” Hunter said quietly, shoving his hands into his suit pockets and glancing down at the floor before looking up at her again.

“Your disapproval is noted,” she snapped. “You don’t need to beat the proverbial dead horse.”

“No, I mean . . . the overt come-ons will work on guys like Bradley, but he’s not the type you’re after. Right?”

“No,” she said slowly. “He’s a little . . . obvious. And I guess my approach was as well.” Hunter shrugged.

She turned toward him. “So what approach would have been better?”

He blew out a breath and crossed his arms, causing his suit jacket to strain slightly over his upper arms. They were good arms. Great arms, if you cared about that sort of thing.

She looked down.

“Look, Brit, if we do this . . .”

Her head snapped up. “Seriously? You’ll do it?”

“I’m considering it,” he said carefully. “Better me than Bradley as your guide.”

“He wasn’t my guide, just my practice dummy, or whatever.”

“And that’s what I’d be?”

“I was thinking you’d be sort of both. You know, you could show me what to do. I could practice. On you. And then when I’m ready, I could take my skills out in the real world.”

He gave a crooked smile. “You make dating sound like a hobby.”

“Well, for you it sort of is, right? How many dates a week do you go on?”

He shifted awkwardly. “It depends.”

“Two? Seven?”

“Jesus, not every night,” he said with a grimace.

“Still, sometimes you date casually, onetime things. Other times it’s a one-night stand—”

He narrowed his eyes at her.

“Please,” she said. “I’ve been in your orbit long enough to know how you operate. I’m not judging.”

“Okay, before I say yes,” he said slowly, and her heart thumped excitedly. “What exactly is the time frame here? How will we know when we’re . . . done?”

“You’re the teacher,” she said. “I’d imagine you’d get to decide when I passed the class?”

“Shit,” he muttered. “This is weird. Okay, well, what’s your endgame? What’s your goal? If I do this, I need clear objectives.”

She smiled, because it was so him. But it was also her. She and Hunter were on the operations team, after all. They left the subjective, art-form aspect to the writers and the design team and focused on the more concrete elements like time frames and numbers and calendars.

“Okay, well, best case, I’d like to be in a relationship, or on the verge of a relationship with someone . . .”

“Not like Lenny?” he supplied.

“Right.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but that could take a while,” he said. “Not because of you, but . . . well, I don’t know that anyone can control the timing of meeting one’s future spouse, or whatever.”

“I don’t need to meet the One,” she said quickly. “I just want the potential. To make it past date three or four without getting the let’s be friends talk.”

Hunter nodded slowly, as though thinking it over. “All right. All right. How about this: We call off this experiment after you go on three dates with the same guy. He doesn’t break up with you, and you at least sort of like him.”

“That works,” she said. Then she grinned. “So you’ll do it?”

“A few more questions first, so I’m clear. What exactly do you want me to do? Just answer your questions, or—”

“Oh, don’t worry, I have a list!” she said.

He rolled his eyes. “Of course you do. Give me a preview.”

She pursed her lips. “No, I don’t think so.”

“Because you know I’ll reconsider,” he said in a resigned but tolerant tone.

“Let’s just say, if you needed whiskey to hear my initial request, you’ll definitely want it for the specifics.”

“Fantastic,” he muttered. “Can’t wait to start.”

She squeezed his arm excitedly. “Me neither.”

“I was being sarcastic—”

She knew.

“How about my place tonight at seven?”

“My apartment’s less cramped and I have better booze,” he said. “Come over to mine.”

“Yeah, but for my first lesson we have to be at my place.”

“Why?”

“I’ll have beer,” she said, waggling her eyebrows enticingly as she deliberately avoided answering his question. “And pizza,” she said. “Whiskey too.”

Hunter shook his head. “I’m going to regret this, huh?”

“Look on the bright side,” she said cheerfully. “For the next couple weeks, you’ll get to boss me around at work and outside of work.”

“I do like bossing people around,” he admitted. “Speaking of which, can we do some actual work now?”

“Absolutely,” Brit agreed, going to his office guest chair and sitting down, crossing her legs as he went around to his side of the desk and sat across from her.

Ten minutes later, the conversation had shifted to the pros and cons of adding a whole new golf page to the website, versus building a golf feature onto the existing sports page, and though Brit gave the conversation most of her attention, she couldn’t quite give it all.

Because far more interesting than golf was the fantasy of the future love of her life once Hunter taught her how to dodge the friend-zone trap.

Though it was odd. Try as she might, hard as she concentrated, Brit kept trying to visualize her dream guy, but he seemed . . . hidden. As though he wasn’t ready to be revealed.

Oh well.

All in good time.