Chapter 22

Other than meetings where they’d both been in attendance, Penelope hadn’t seen Cole all day.

She told herself it was no big deal. That it was the way things were supposed to be.

Colleagues only from Monday through Friday, remember?

But at six o’clock, just as she was loading up her laptop and preparing to head home for a quiet night with takeout and Edgar the goldfish, Cole appeared in her office doorway.

And call her crazy…but her heart flipped over.

Once. Twice. Okay, fine, her heart flipped over and over and over again for Cole Sharpe.

Crap.

But Penelope refused to take full accountability for her fluttery reaction. Cole was at least 80 percent responsible, especially when he had his suit jacket slung over his shoulder all sexy-like, looking at her with a combination of heat and affection.

“Hey!” she said.

His smile was slow and intimate. As though he knew exactly what she was thinking, and that the thoughts weren’t particularly pure. “Hey back.”

“I thought you’d gone for the night.”

He pushed away from the doorjamb, shifting the strap of his briefcase higher on his shoulder. “Thought we could grab a drink.”

She hesitated for only a half second.

What was the harm? Other than the not so tiny fact that her heart could get broken, that is.

“A drink would be great,” she said, unable to stop the happy smile.

He smiled back and Penelope silently scolded her heart for lighting up the way it did.

Cole Sharpe smiles like that for all women, she reminded herself.

But when they stepped out of their building, and he rested his hand lightly—casually—on the small of her back, it didn’t feel like she was just any woman. It felt like she was his woman.

“How do you feel about fancy cocktails?” Cole asked as he led her south.

“Depends. If they have whiskey in them, I feel favorable.”

Cole laid a hand over his heart. “I do believe my ticker just skipped a beat.”

She smiled. “That’s all it takes, huh? A girl who likes bourbon?”

“I’m not shallow, Pen. The girl has to like baseball and bourbon.”

“Well, then, I’m your girl.”

“Yeah, you are,” he said with a quick grin.

Penelope’s heart did some more acrobatics, but before she could dwell on his words, Cole shifted conversation to work stuff, and Penelope marveled at just how easy it all was, transitioning from colleague, to friend, to lover and back again. It was precisely the type of thing that should be complicated, but with Cole, it felt wonderfully simple.

Penelope scrunched her nose in confusion as he led her toward Grand Central. Did their drinks involve getting on a train?

Instead of entering the main terminal, he led her around to a side door and up a handful of steps to a dimly lit bar. A pretty blond hostess in a black cocktail dress and pearls waited with a polite smile; Frank Sinatra played in the background.

“Where are we?” she whispered quietly as the hostess led them up a staircase to the balcony overlooking the main bar. “And what year, nineteen twenty?”

“The Campbell Apartment,” Cole said, “one of my favorite places in the city.”

“I can see why,” Penelope said as they were seated. “It’s gorgeous.”

“Apparently it used to be some guy named Campbell’s office back in the day. Personally, I like it better as a bar.”

Penelope glanced around at the sexy, dim lighting and the well-dressed patrons. “Dang. Some office.”

“You should bring your friend here this weekend,” Cole said, without looking up from the cocktail menu.

“I should,” Penelope said distractedly. “Evan would—”

Wait. Wait a darn minute.

“How did you know I have a friend coming into town?”

Cole grinned and set the menu aside. “Really? You haven’t figured out the delights of being part of the strange Stiletto/Oxford web?”

Penelope could only shake her head in wonder. “Julie. She moves fast.”

A cocktail waitress appeared at their table, wearing the same elegant black dress and pearls as the hostess had, only this one filled out the top part of the dress in an Are those real? kind of way.

Penelope didn’t miss the way the stunning redhead seemed a little more interested in helping Cole pick out his cocktail than hers, but Penelope didn’t hold it against her. Penelope couldn’t blame the woman, really. Especially with his tie just slightly loosened, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his smile doing that slow, panty-melty thing.

Cole opted for a cocktail called the Commodore, while Penelope stuck with a trusty Manhattan.

“Okay, so, about your friend,” Cole said once Booby Redhead had moved away. “I was thinking…I could tag along?”

Penelope leaned forward with a smile. “It wouldn’t happen that somebody planted that idea in your head, now, would it? Because this seems to be very similar to a plan I hatched with Julie just this afternoon.”

Cole let out a little laugh and held up his hands. “Guilty. But I confess, I was prepared to have to talk you into it.”

“Why? I’m the one who needs the favor.”

“I guess I just thought you’d try to play it like you didn’t need help.”

“Oh, I need help. I so need help.”

Cole’s smile slipped a little at her admission, and his eyes went serious. “So you and this guy…”

“Evan.”

His jaw moved just slightly, and when he spoke again his voice was more gravelly than before. “You and this Evan. What exactly happened between you?”

“I’ve already told you.”

“I know the details of the asshole stealing your job. I want to know the sexy parts.”

“There are no sexy parts,” she grumbled. “That was kind of the problem.”

Cole winced. “I can’t believe I’m actually asking to hear about you and another guy, but…short version. I need the details if I’m going to pull this off this weekend.”

“Short version? I thought I was in love with him. Maybe I actually was, I don’t know. And I was so ready to tell him. I’d just nailed my interview with Sportiva—or so I thought—and I was feeling very confident. I thought it was my time, you know. The moment where my life quit being average. I was going to tell Evan I felt…”

“Did you sprinkle rose petals on the bed?” he asked sympathetically.

She laughed. “Just about. I went over to his place to watch a game, the way we had a hundred times before, and I just…I don’t know, I wanted to be spontaneous, so as soon as he opened the door, I kissed him.”

Cole said nothing and Penelope forced herself to tell the rest of the story. “He didn’t kiss me back. And by the time it all registered, there was this other woman there in the background sort of smirking at me….”

“Ah,” Cole said knowingly.

“Yeah.”

She let out a little groan. “The thing is, I should have seen it coming. Guys like Evan Barstow don’t go for plain girls like Penelope Pope.”

Cole stared at her. “Did you just call yourself plain?”

“Well, you know what I mean. Nonflashy.”

As though proving her point, the stunning waitress came back over to deliver their drinks, and the eyes of every man in the room followed her.

Every man but Cole. He gave her a distracted thank-you without even glancing at the woman’s wares that were so blatantly on display.

Instead he seemed focused only on Penelope.

He leaned forward slightly. “You’re not plain, Pope. And in case I haven’t said it before, you have the most amazing eyes I’ve ever seen.”

She blinked at him. “My eyes?”

He gave a smile that verged on embarrassed. “I know it sounds like a line. But, swear to God, those damn big brown eyes get me every time.”

Penelope had no words to describe how she felt just then. Sometimes happy simply didn’t cut it.

Cole lifted his drink in a toast. “So whaddya say? Let me tag along this weekend? Remind you of all the reasons I’m a far better choice than this Evan asshole?”

She hesitated slightly. “Cole, if we do this, it would only be pretend. I’m still not sure I’m ready for an actual boyfriend.”

Not until I know this can last.

Something flitted across his face, but it was gone before she could identify it.

“I haven’t forgotten the rules,” he said quietly. “No falling in love. Weekends only.”

Penelope smiled. “And yet today is Monday.”

“True, but we’re both fully clothed, so, in theory, this could just be two drinks between co-workers.”

She took a sip of her drink. This didn’t feel like drinks between co-workers. It felt like…more.

“Tiny, do me a favor,” Cole said, watching her with a slight smile.

“Hmm?”

“Quit overthinking everything, would you? For tonight, let’s just be Penelope and Cole. Free of labels. Let’s see how that goes.”

She took a deep breath.

Here was a guy—an insanely good-looking guy—asking her to spend an evening with him. No strings attached. Just fancy cocktails, a sexy bar, and companionship.

“All right,” she said slowly. “No labels.”

“Good girl. Now, there’s something I’ve been waiting to discuss ever since our sales meeting this morning. You did hear that the Adam Bailey issue is likely to be one of our bestselling issues ever?”

Penelope narrowed her eyes and took another sip of her Manhattan. “Mm-hmm. I was there. Saw the numbers.”

He twirled a lock of his hair and batted his eyelashes before pitching his voice into a high, feminine squeak. “I was there, Cole, I saw the numbers, and I just want to take this opportunity to tell you that you were right about Adam Bailey being the right cover choice, and you’re so wise and brilliant—”

Penelope gaped. “Wait. Was that supposed to be me?”

He dropped his hand. “Was it not spot-on?”

“Well, considering I’ve never twirled my hair in my life, don’t know how to bat my eyelashes, and surely my voice doesn’t sound like a cartoon mouse—”

“Details. All details. Just say it, Tiny. Say I was right, and that Adam Bailey was an excellent idea.”

She gave him a slow smile. “You were right. Adam Bailey was an excellent idea.”

He opened his mouth, then narrowed his eyes. “Wait a minute. Wait just a damn minute. I know that tone. When you and Adam Bailey went for drinks after the photo shoot, it was just drinks, right?”

“No labels tonight, Cole. That means you don’t get to ask that. We’re just Penelope and Cole, remember?”

His scowl only deepened. “Well, fine, from unlabeled Cole to unlabeled Penelope…did you hook up with Adam Bailey?”

“I never kiss and tell,” she said, surprising herself by the saucy, confident note in her voice.

Cole frowned and fell uncharacteristically silent, but he let himself be coaxed out of his bad mood. She seriously doubted this man had ever had a bad mood that lasted for more than two minutes. They chatted about anything and everything, until one drink turned into two, and then two drinks turned into stopping for dinner on the way home.

By the time they were on their way back to her place, she was just happy-buzzy enough not to freak out about the fact that he was holding her hand. Or that he occasionally bent to kiss the top of her head.

Or that, if they were to apply labels to the evening, romantic was the first word that came to mind.

Romantic and sweet.

They stopped outside her apartment, and Penelope realized it was the moment of truth. It was Monday, which meant…no sexy time. And yet, they’d already crossed all sorts of other lines today, what with the hand-holding and the flirting…

“Do you know that we were standing in this very spot the first time I kissed you?” he said, pulling her around to face him.

She smiled. “Hard to forget a perfect kiss in the gently falling snow.”

He didn’t smile back. “Perfect kiss, huh? That why you kicked me to the curb after?”

Her stomach twisted. “Cole, I—”

He took a step forward, his hand resting against her cheek. “Let’s forget about the way that one ended. I vote for a do-over.”

His mouth melted against hers, and she sighed.

There was no snow this time, but it didn’t matter. All that mattered was Cole, the warmth of his hand, the heat of his kiss. The way his tongue flicked out to touch hers as though he needed the taste of her.

He pulled back slowly, his thumb rubbing against her cheek as he held her gaze. “Those damn eyes of yours,” he said roughly. “They undo me.”

Penelope made her decision. “Do you want to come up?”

He lifted an eyebrow. “It’s Monday.”

“It is, but, um, do you want to come up?” she repeated.

He tenderly ran a finger along her hairline. “So badly, but—”

“But?”

He grinned wickedly and leaned down to kiss her nose. “You hold back from me more easily than I’d like, Penelope Pope. I want you begging for me. No matter what day of the week.”

“Wait, so you’re walking away?” she asked, unable to keep the glumness from her voice.

“Only for tonight. Gotta give you a chance to see how you feel about that.”

He gave her one last wink before he walked away into the night—whistling, for God’s sake—and Penelope realized that she didn’t need a chance to explore how she felt about his leaving.

She felt horribly, painfully empty.