The Trouble with Love (Sex, Love & Stiletto, #4)(16)

“Of course I heard that,” Cole said around a bite of PowerBar.

Alex threw up his hands. “How? How did you hear that? You don’t even work here full-time.”

Despite Alex’s best efforts, Cole Sharpe insisted on maintaining his contractor status. He was Oxford’s best sports columnist by a long shot. He had connections in the NFL, NBA, NHL…college sports, high school sports, you name it.

Alex was dying to get Cole on an exclusive basis, but so far the man had clung hard and fast to his freelancer status. As far as Alex could tell, Cole Sharpe wasn’t the type of man to settle down in any aspect of his life. Tall, broad shouldered, with the slightly scruffy good looks of a Hollywood romantic-comedy hero, he managed his career like he did his women:

Enthusiastically and noncommittally.

Still, Cole’s reputation with women might be exactly what Alex needed.

There was an enormous stack on the corner of Alex desk. He pulled it toward him and rapped the papers with his fist. “You know what this is?”

Cole glanced at the stack. “Your diary?”

“Stiletto articles,” Alex said, thumping the papers again. “Page after page about exfoliants and multiple orgasms and lipstick.”

Cole leaned forward and reached out a hand. “Lemme see the orgasm bit.”

Alex ignored him, pulling a sheet of paper from the top and shaking it. “This one is two thousand words about push-up bras. About the brands, and the way they should fit, and listen to this: ‘The trick with the appeal of push-up bras is to know what kind of guy you’re dealing with. Is he visual? If so, he’s not going to mind that you had a little help to achieve that fantastic cleavage. But if he’s more tactile, you might want to consider skipping all that padding….He wants to feel the real you.’?”

Alex let the paper flutter to the desk in horror. “I just…I can’t even.”

Cole shook his head. “They’ve got it all wrong. We’re visual and tactile. Do you have a red pen? Write that down in the margins.”

Alex ignored him, continuing to shuffle through the papers, reading the headlines. “?‘The Lipstick Trend You’ve Got to Try.’ ‘Runway Accents You Can Actually Wear.’ ‘Is Anal the New Oral?’?”

Cole stopped chewing. “Wait. Let me see that last one. Seriously? They can write that? Why doesn’t Oxford write that?”

“We do write that,” Alex muttered, tugging on his lip as he studied the papers. “Maybe you should read something other than the sports section of your own magazine sometime.”

Cole resumed chewing. “So while I’m dealing with the stench of the Yankees locker room to get my story, some other guy’s research is sex? I demand a job swap.”

“You’ll have to talk to Lincoln Mathis about that,” Alex said, referring to Oxford’s current expert on all things women. “But do it later. I need help.”

“Wondering if you can pull off the latest lipstick trend?” Cole asked, popping the rest of the PowerBar into his mouth.

Alex reached across the desk to snatch up the discarded wrapper and drop it into the trash can. He looked pointedly at the crumbs on the desk, and Cole rolled his eyes and swiped the crumbs onto the ground. “Well, aren’t you fastidious? I’m guessing you’re not into anal or oral. Too messy?”

Alex didn’t dignify that with a response. “How am I supposed to evaluate these articles? How do I know what’s good and what’s not? I don’t give a crap about mascara types or juice cleanses, but if these stories go to press and they’re shit, it’s on me.”

Cole leaned back in his chair. “How many of the Oxford articles do you read?”

“Every single one.”

Cole blanched. “Seriously?”

“That’s what an editor in chief does, Sharpe. We look at the issue in its entirety. Make sure it doesn’t suck.”

“And you’re supposed to do the same with Stiletto?”

“Apparently.”

“Why didn’t Camille find a woman to do this shit?”

“I have no f*cking clue,” Alex said, slumping back in his chair and putting his hands over his face. “It’s like she hates me.”

“Why’d you agree to do it?”

It was a fair question. And one that Alex didn’t have a good answer to.

Ordinarily, he didn’t have trouble saying no to anyone—not even Camille with her drill sergeant persona.

He’d like to say he agreed because Camille’s logic made sense; she’d pointed out that finding someone with editor-in-chief experience on a short-term basis was nearly impossible. True. She’d also pointed out that he already had a relationship with the higher-ups and could go to bat for Stiletto if needed.

But he wasn’t sure any of those were the real reasons Camille had pushed the task on him.

And he definitely wasn’t sure that was the reason he’d accepted.

As though reading his thoughts, Cole smirked. “What’s Emma’s story?”

“Hmm?” Alex asked, carefully keeping his expression blank.

Cole nodded patiently at the stack of Stiletto articles. “Emma Sinclair. What’d she write about?”

Alex was about to shrug, but Cole stopped him with a look. “Don’t even pretend you don’t know.”