Chapter 7

“No. No no no no. Why the heck would we want our first sports cover story to be about a womanizing prick?” Penelope said, hands on her hips as she paced around her office.

Cole leaned back in the chair—her chair—looking entirely unperturbed as he ate an apple. “Because this is a men’s magazine. And men don’t care about another man being, quote, ‘a womanizing prick’ when he can consistently hit his driver over three hundred yards.”

“Adam Bailey is a first-rate turd,” Penelope shot back.

“Probably,” Cole agreed, swiveling around in the chair like a restless third grader. “But he’s a damn good golfer, and you know it.”

Penelope grunted in acknowledgment and paused in her pacing long enough to tap her fingernails against her desk.

Her desk. She had a desk.

It was such a simple thing—a simple joy, really, having one’s own office to decorate however one wanted, although she hadn’t quite gotten to that, having been here all of three days.

But it was still her desk. Her office.

The happy grin spread across her face before she could stop it.

“Oh no,” Cole said.

She glanced at him. “What?”

“That smile,” he said, taking another bite of apple. “It’s dangerous.”

“How can a smile possibly be dangerous?”

He shook his head. “You’re so cute and clueless.”

Since he’d commandeered her chair, Penelope didn’t feel all that bad about stealing his Starbucks cup and taking a healthy sip.

“Careful,” he said. “Didn’t you have a wardrobe malfunction the last time you drank coffee?”

“That was only because I was wearing high heels,” she said. “I’m very coordinated in these.”

She lifted up her leg so he could see her black ballet flat.

“Sensible,” he said, barely glancing at it. “But tell me honestly, Pope. How badly do you wish you were wearing a tennis shoe right now?”

She sighed and dropped into her own guest chair. “So badly.”

He smiled knowingly.

“You, on the other hand, seem to have settled into fancy office attire quite nicely,” she said, her eyes skimming over him.

“Tiny.” He laid a hand over his heart. “You noticed!”

Penelope rolled her eyes. It was hard not to notice just how well Cole Sharpe wore a suit. Today’s was dark blue, paired with a lighter blue tie for a monochromatic look that looked, well…mouthwatering.

He’d risen to the role of senior sports editor nicely.

No. Co–senior sports editor.

Penelope had felt the tiniest stab of disappointment when Alex Cassidy had told her that her new responsibilities would be shared.

She’d wanted to get this job on her own—wanted to prove that she could.

But, if you couldn’t beat ’em, join ’em, right? And if there was anyone she wanted to join with, it was Cole Sharpe.

Well…

Not join with.

Not that way.

Penelope’s eyes traveled over his lean torso. Well, okay. Maybe in that way, just a little bit.

But she’d meant what she’d said about the two of them remaining platonic. It was good to get things out in the open. Penelope knew all too well what kind of heartache happened if two members of the opposite sex weren’t on the same page about where they stood.

One thought they were headed toward a relationship…

The other had had a secret girlfriend the whole damn time.

“Uh-oh,” Cole said, watching her. “Now the smile’s gone. What’s going on in that little head?”

Penelope sat forward and needlessly adjusted her stapler. “Nothing.”

He chewed his apple as he watched her. “For the record, I don’t believe you for one second. But since I know firsthand how annoying prying can be, I’m going to let that go.”

Penelope watched as he shot the apple core across the room toward the garbage can. The quick swoosh followed by a clank indicated that he’d nailed it.

“You know there’s a wastebasket right under my desk, right? That was completely unnecessary.”

“Please. Manly displays of prowess are never unnecessary.” Cole sat forward. “Okay, so what do we do about this Adam Bailey thing? We’ve been sharing this job for three days, and already we’re at an impasse.”

She scratched the tip of her nose as she thought it over. “What about Jackson Burke? You can’t tell me that every guy in America doesn’t secretly want to be him.”

“No argument there. The man’s a living legend. But if your beef with Adam Bailey is his track record with women, how is Jackson Burke any better?”

Penelope scowled and crossed her arms. “I don’t believe those rumors about him.”

“Rumors,” Cole said slowly. “You mean like when his wife accused him of having multiple affairs with women she named by name, and then those same women came forward to back up her claims?”

Penelope glanced at her nails. “I think they made it up.”

Cole leaned forward, a knowing smile on his face. “Tiny. Do you have a crush on Jackson Burke?”

Maybe.

The quarterback of the Texas Redhawks had long been one of Penelope’s idols.

Not only because the man was exceptionally skilled on the football field, although he was. But he’d also funded a dozen charities—quietly, out of the spotlight. He’d adopted a handful of dogs rescued from another football player’s heinous dog-fighting hobby. He’d taken his parents out to dinner after every Super Bowl win….

“Tiny?” Cole prompted.

“Jackson Burke is a good man,” she said stubbornly.

“All right, let’s just say that he hasn’t been having affairs with half the women in Texas,” Cole said slowly. “He’s still not a good choice. Nobody cares about football in April.”

He had a point. They’d be better off saving a Jackson feature for football season, when everyone would be wondering if the rumors about his off-season activities affected his game.

“But golf?” she said, skeptical. “I know it’s growing in popularity, but—”

“It’s growing in popularity because of Adam Bailey,” Cole argued. “The man single-handedly revived the sport when he won four tours in a row and then started dating Hollywood actresses.”

“Exactly, and then he single-handedly tarnished the sport when he started dating more than one Hollywood actress at a time,” Penelope argued. “The man’s a playboy. And unlike Burke, Bailey’s all but admitted to it.”

“We don’t care about his bedroom game, we care about the golf game. And his game’s as good as it ever was. Better.”

“But—”

“You know I’m right on this. If we were the Relationships editors, we’d get flak for going with him, but we’re sports editors.”

“We’ll still get flak,” she grumbled.

“Bad publicity is still publicity. You know that.”

Damn it. Damn it. He was right.

It was just…she hated men who saw one woman while leading another on.

Shake it off, Penelope.

She lifted her hands out to her sides and shook them.

Cole smiled. “Penelope. Are you physically shaking it off right now?”

“Don’t judge, it helps,” she said.

He lifted his arms and mimicked her motions so they were both flapping like birds. “You’re right. It does.”

“What are you shaking off?” she asked.

Cole shrugged. “Nothing. I’m flawless.”

There was throat clearing from the doorway and she turned to see Lincoln Mathis watching them with raised eyebrows.

“Oh, hi, Lincoln!” She let her arms drop to her sides.

“Oh, hi, Lincoln!” Cole mimicked in a breathy voice.

She ignored him, mostly because he had a point. She probably had been a little breathless, but it was 100 hundred percent justified.

Yes, Lincoln Mathis was still the most gorgeous man she’d ever seen.

Dark wavy hair, blue eyes that were both friendly and distant, practically begging a woman to fix him. Same went for the shy yet confident smile, the muscled yet lean body.

Penelope felt a blast of misty water hit her cheek and turned around to see Cole holding a blue squirt bottle. “What are you doing? That’s for misting my plants!”

“You looked hot,” he said with a shrug, setting the bottle aside.

She wiped at her wet face with her sleeve. Forget Lincoln. It was Cole she was going to have to learn to survive.

“What can we help you with, Lincoln?”

The other man strolled into her office, sitting in the chair next to her before tilting his head. “Isn’t something backward here? Or did you switch offices?”

“Nope, you’ve got it about right,” she said. “Sharpe stole my chair.”

“And you let him?”

Penelope shrugged. “Doesn’t bother me where I sit when we argue.”

“Discuss,” Cole said. “We were discussing.”

“Yeah? Who won?” she asked.

“I did. Obviously.”

“Exactly. There’s no winner in a discussion. It was an argument, and I’ll concede this round, but—”

Lincoln held up a hand. “How about you two kids settle this later. I’ve got a crisis on my hands for my section.”

Penelope turned her attention back to Lincoln. “Relationships, right?”

“Ah, sure,” Lincoln said. “We can call it that.”

“Well, what do you call it?” Penelope asked.

He said nothing.

“Come on,” she coaxed, “I’m part of the team.”

Lincoln blew out a breath. “Well, the Table of Contents calls it Sex and Relationships. But around here we mostly call it—”

“Chicks and clits,” Cole said.

“We do not call it that,” Lincoln said, glaring at Cole.

“Sometimes we do,” Cole muttered.

“Anyway, we call it—”

“Hey, how come I didn’t get invited to the party?” Jake Malone strolled into the office without knocking.

“Welcome to my office,” Cole said, spreading his hands wide.

“It’s my office,” Penelope said.

“Well, it should be my office,” Cole said. “It’s bigger.”

Jake leaned down until his mouth was near Penelope’s ear. “Poor guy has to compensate.”

Penelope giggled and Cole shot his friend the finger.

“Guys—and gal—focus,” Lincoln said, snapping his fingers. “Cassidy asked me to do a quick filler story after some boring shit about shoes turned out to be a dud, and I’m stuck.”

“All right, young Lincoln, you may ask us sex gods our opinion,” Jake said.

“Actually, I was looking for Penelope.”

Jake looked crestfallen. “I thought I was your go-to sex advice guy.”

“Uh, I’m his go-to sex advice guy,” Cole said. “Lincoln comes to me when he needs fodder for his stories. You’re an old married fuddy-duddy—”

“Who gets sex every night,” Jake shot back. “Can you say the same?”

Penelope couldn’t help but sneak a glance at Cole. Could he say the same?

Cole narrowed his eyes at Jake, who grinned. “Thought not.”

Penelope smiled, enjoying their easy banter.

This was what she’d wanted when she’d applied for the job. This sort of camaraderie. Granted, she was the only female, but they seemed willing enough to include her.

And God knew they didn’t seem to be holding back on their “guy talk” in her presence. Chicks and clits? Really?

Lincoln was pulling out his notebook. “Okay, Penelope, so my article is on the first kiss of a first date…”

“Kissing?” Cole asked. “That seems tame.”

Lincoln shot him a pointed look. “Have you ever gotten laid without it?”

Cole opened his mouth, then shut it, making a rolling gesture with his hand. “Continue.”

“Okay, so, Ms. Pope,” Lincoln said, putting the tip of his pen to his lip and looking, well, hot. “I’ve always been under the impression that women preferred a good head-holding kiss. You know, our big hands on your little face. Chicks dig it. But, against my better judgment, I decided to do an informal poll of the office, and so far my results are coming up…scattered.”

Silence descended over the room, and Penelope realized that all three men were staring at her. Expectantly.

“Wait, sorry,” Penelope said nervously. “What do you want me to do about this?”

“Weigh in, of course,” Lincoln said. “We men only know what we think we know about women’s preferences.”

Penelope gave a nervous laugh. “Surely I’m not the only woman in the office.”

“No, of course not,” Lincoln said with a small smile. “There are six of you.”

“Six? That’s it? Out of how many employees?”

“A lot,” Jake said.

Penelope licked her lips. “Okay, well…why don’t you ask the other five?”

“I did,” Lincoln said patiently. “But six opinions are better than five, am I right?”

“Of course, it’s just—”

She glanced around the room to see all three of them watching her curiously.

Lincoln’s eyes narrowed slightly although not in a mean way. He leaned forward. “Penelope, darling. You have been kissed?”

“Eh, not appropriate, Mathis,” Jake said, glancing toward the door.

“Shit,” Lincoln said, looking horrified “Shit. Sorry. They make you take these sexual harassment classes, but I’m so used to just saying anything around these guys—”

“No, no, it’s okay!” she rushed to say.

The last thing she wanted to do was establish in her first week that she should be treated differently. “Of course, I’ve been kissed. I’m thirty-one…”

“Really?” Cole interrupted. “Damn, when I first saw you, I thought eighteen.”

“That’s the lack of boobs,” she said unabashedly.

Jake ran a hand over his face with a choked laugh. “Jesus. Maybe we should shut the door before Sandra walks by.”

“Sandra?” Penelope asked as Lincoln stood to shut her office door.

“Sandra Atens,” Cole explained.

“Ah,” Penelope said. “The HR lady who gave me all my paperwork.”

“That’s the one,” Lincoln said. “Look, so, Pen, if you don’t want to answer—”

“No, it’s just…” She started to bite her nail and then remembered that she’d gotten a manicure for her first week on the job and dropped her hands back to her lap. “Eh, it’s been a while. Since the kissing.”

For some reason, Penelope couldn’t bring herself to look at Cole Sharpe when she said it, so she kept her eyes locked on Lincoln, who, God bless him, didn’t look even tempted to laugh.

“Well, what the fuck’s wrong with those Chicago guys, honey?” he asked.

She laughed. “You’re sweet. But I think we know that men aren’t exactly barging down the door to get at all of this.”

She gestured awkwardly over her frame with her hands.

Lincoln looked her over, and Penelope sighed in resignation over what he’d see. She was wearing a skirt today—a slim gray affair, and a pink shirt—pink! But even still, she knew that the effect was hardly femme fatale.

Hell, it was barely feminine.

No matter what she did, no matter what color lipstick, no matter how high the heels, she never quite managed to escape the little-girl-playing-dress-up effect.

“I’m liking what I see,” Lincoln said.

“Oh my God,” someone muttered. Penelope wasn’t sure if it was Cole or Jake.

Still, Lincoln’s voice was more polite than it was enamored or lecherous, so she merely smiled.

Penelope hadn’t been here long, but she’d caught on pretty quick that Cole and Lincoln both had reps as ladies’ men. She could see why. They were both painfully good-looking.

And yet there was something about Lincoln…something about the way he held himself back and treated women with a deferential respect even as he charmed their pants off…

At least, she assumed. Lincoln hadn’t charmed her pants off. He hadn’t tried, really. And she was glad. He was handsome, and yet Lincoln wasn’t the one who sometimes made her heart beat a little too fast.

“How about the last time you were kissed, Tiny?”

Penelope’s head whipped around toward Cole. “What?”

He shrugged. “You said it’s been a while, but surely it hasn’t been so long that you can’t remember how you like to be kissed. So which is it? Do you like when a man holds your head? Your waist? Your back?”

“Cole!” Jake said in exasperation.

“I, um—” Penelope bit her lip, wondering how the hell she could stay relevant in this conversation without betraying the horrible truth that she didn’t really have a favorite, because she’d always found kissing…overrated.

“Okay, that’s it,” Lincoln said, throwing his hands up before tossing his pen and notebook on the desk.

He got to his feet, then gestured for Penelope to do the same.

“Up,” he said.

“What?”

“Stand up.” His voice was calm. Cajoling. “It’s experiment time.”

“No,” Jake said. “No fucking way. This is an office, Lincoln, she’s our colleague. HR or no HR, you can’t just go around kissing her.”

Lincoln frowned. “It’s not a romantic kiss. It’s just like when the guy over in the booze section brings in whiskey to taste-test. We’re experimenting. And she can say no.”

“But—”

“No, it’s okay,” Penelope said, holding out a hand to stop Jake’s objections. “Lincoln’s right. It doesn’t have to be weird.”

What the hell are you doing? This is so not you.

Penelope ignored the voice and stood up.

She was comfortable with who she was—really. But that didn’t mean there wasn’t a tiny part of her that was tired of being one of the guys. And that same part of her was doing cartwheels because a handsome man was offering to kiss her—no, more important, he was looking at her as someone who deserved to be kissed.

No way she was going to turn that down, meaningless or not.

“Okay,” Lincoln said moving closer. “This is good. Here’s option one.”

“You can’t be serious,” Cole said, his voice pissed.

Penelope glanced at him, surprised by the sharpness in his tone. His face matched his tone—incredulous and maybe a little…angry?

“Ignore him,” Lincoln said, drawing her attention back to him. “Ready for this, darling?”

“Um—”

Lincoln’s hand closed over her face, then gently but strongly…and wow, okay…she understood what he’d meant by the head hold. It was nice.

Lincoln’s mouth closed over hers, and Penelope’s eyes fluttered closed, as she assessed.

It was also…nice. Not exactly toe-curling but…nice.

He pulled back.

“No?” he asked. “How about this one?”

His hands moved to her shoulders, tugging her forward again. Penelope’s eyes closed once more, wondering if this one would be a bit more, well, exciting, but his lips never touched hers.

Instead, he released her altogether.

She opened her eyes in confusion.

Cole was leaning across her desk, his hand on Lincoln’s shoulder, having clearly just shoved the other man away from her.

“Get it together,” Cole said. “Jake’s right, you can’t just go around macking on female employees.”

“Macking on,” Jake muttered from behind her. “Really?”

“It’s a fucking lawsuit waiting to happen,” Cole growled.

“Uh-huh,” Lincoln said, crossing his arms. “You’ve been an employee less than a month, and you’re worried about Internal Affairs?”

“Fuck no, I’m worried about her,” Cole said, pointing at Penelope.

She couldn’t help it. A laugh bubbled up then, and Cole gave her an incredulous look.

“Sorry,” she said, trying to keep her face straight, and failing. “It’s just…you look a lot like my dad right now.”

Cole’s mouth dropped open just as Jake let out a muffled laugh and Lincoln put a fist in front of his mouth, blue eyes twinkling in amusement.

“Your dad?” Cole said, sounding horrified.

Lincoln glanced at his watch. “Shit. Malone. We’re late for that meeting.”

“What meeting?” Jake asked.

Lincoln gave him a pointed look as he grabbed his notebook and pen. “Fine, you want to stay here and watch this go down, be my guest—”

“Oh, that meeting?” Jake said. “Right. We’re late.”

“Thanks for the kiss,” Penelope called playfully after Lincoln. “I think head-holding is definitely—”

She broke off when she saw Alex Cassidy standing in the doorway. His expression gave away nothing, but there was no way he hadn’t heard her loudly thanking her colleague for a kiss.

Penelope felt a blush rise to her cheek as their boss looked around at the four of them.

“We were, ah, doing some research,” Lincoln said, scooting by Cassidy.

Jake followed Lincoln, holding up his left hand innocently as he did so. “Didn’t touch her. I’m married.”

Cassidy narrowed his eyes at the two men before shifting his attention back to Penelope, then to Cole.

Then he merely rolled his eyes and walked away.

Penelope blew out a sigh of relief as she slumped back into her chair. “Whew. Do you think it’s always like this around here?”

“Don’t sound so hopeful,” Cole muttered grumpily.

“Oh, come on,” she said. “Like you wouldn’t have done the same in Lincoln’s position. I see the way you flirt with the receptionist every morning.”

“Flirt with is different than make out with,” he said, hands braced on the desk as he loomed over her.

Penelope rolled her eyes. “It was one five-second kiss. Hardly a makeout session.”

“So you didn’t like it?”

“I didn’t say that.”

His eyebrow lifted in challenge.

“Well, you interrupted,” she huffed. “Maybe if he’d gotten to the other methods of kissing, I would have gotten a little more excited.”

Cole looked at her for several seconds before standing up straight. “I don’t think so.”

“Why, because I’m not capable of passion?” she asked, her voice sounding more defensive than she’d intended.

He was in the process of walking by her, but paused at that.

Cole glanced down, his expression thoughtful.

“Nah, I think you’re plenty capable.” He waited until Penelope met his gaze. “I just don’t think Lincoln’s your guy.”

He winked, then strolled out of her office, good humor apparently restored, closing the door behind him.

The second the door clicked shut, she slumped back in her chair, feeling flustered.

Cole was wrong. There was nothing the matter with Lincoln. That kiss would have been exactly the same coming from anyone else. Say, coming from Cole, for example.

She pushed out of her guest chair and moved around the desk to her actual chair.

Penelope was suddenly desperate to lose herself in work. Desperate to ignore that little voice in the back of her head whispering, Liar.