The Trouble with Love (Sex, Love & Stiletto, #4)(17)

Alex sighed and rifled through the papers until he came across Emma’s, flinging it across the desk. Cole glanced at it and then looked up.

“?‘The Lost Art of the Blind Date’?” Cole asked. “You have a real chance to get inside your ex’s head, and you let her write about her date with another dude?”

Alex clicked his pen in agitation. “Sharpe, exactly how many people know about my connection with Emma Sinclair?”

“Um, everybody?”

“Damn it. Jake can’t keep his mouth shut,” Alex muttered.

“Yeah, cat’s out of the bag on that one.” Cole put his feet up on the desk and leaned back. “But what remains a mystery is why you two went belly-up.”

Cole cocked an eyebrow. Alex glared.

Cole dropped his feet. “Come on, dude. Someone’s got to know. Jake? Grace?”

Alex maintained his silence.

The one thing he and Emma seemed to silently agree on, other than their mutual dislike, was their continued silence about their past. He hadn’t told a soul about what had gone down between them, and as far as he could tell, she hadn’t, either.

Not even to the Stiletto girls.

He didn’t know if they were protecting the other person or themselves. But whatever their reasons, he knew he didn’t have plans on running his mouth anytime soon. Especially not to Cole Sharpe, who, while admittedly a damn decent guy, was not the soul of discretion.

Cole had apparently given up expecting an explanation from Alex and had turned his attention to Emma’s article.

Cole glanced up. “She’s a good writer.”

Alex grunted. She was a good writer. She’d always been a good writer. Back in college it had been all she’d wanted to do in her spare time, although back then, her passion had been fiction. She’d dreamed of writing a novel.

He wondered what had happened to that dream. Did she still write for pleasure?

“Sounds like her date went well,” Cole said with a smug smile.

Alex leaned forward and snatched the article back out of his hand. “Nothing came of it.”

“How do you know?”

Alex didn’t respond. The last thing he wanted to explain was that he’d run into Emma at the end of this very date.

And that he’d very much wanted to stick around to see if she got the kiss.

He also didn’t admit to Cole that when he’d received the drafts of the Stiletto articles, hers had been the first one he’d reached for.

And, lastly, he absolutely did not admit the stab of relief he’d felt when he read there’d been no first kiss. And no second date.

“Fine, keep your secrets,” Cole said, standing. “But, seriously, do better next time.”

“Do better at what next time?”

“Emma’s assignment,” Cole explained. “Camille’s handed you the mother of all ammunition, making you Emma’s boss like this. Don’t squander this opportunity.”

Alex frowned, and Cole sighed in exasperation. “You’re helpless. Next month give her something interesting to write about.”

“I have no idea what Stiletto readers find interesting,” Alex muttered, his gaze falling on an article called “Mastering the Side Braid.”

“I’m not talking about what’s interesting to readers; I’m talking about what’s interesting to you,” Cole said. “Why not get inside her head? Find out if she has an Alex Cassidy voodoo doll under her mattress.”

“I assure you, I don’t give a f*ck if or how Emma Sinclair thinks of me.”

“So why’d you call me in here?” Cole asked, his expression confused.

“I didn’t!” Alex said, frustration prompting him to raise his voice. “You just entered, uninvited.”

“Oh. My bad,” Cole said, with a cocky grin. “Good luck, boss. Have fun with your lipstick.”

Alex stared at the door as it shut behind Cole. His sports editor’s suggestion had been diabolical. Alex was a professional. Even if he did want to get inside Emma’s head after all this time, he wouldn’t be so underhanded as to use his temporary boss status against her.

Would he?

Then he remembered that night after their rehearsal dinner—remembered her words.

You thought I’d never marry you if I knew the real you? Well, congratulations, Cassidy. You’re absolutely right. I don’t want to marry you.

Remembered the way his chest had felt like it cracked in two.

Alex clicked his pen as his frown deepened.

Maybe he could be that underhanded after all.





Chapter 8


“He wants you to write a story on your ex-boyfriends?” Julie asked. “He can’t be serious.”

Emma pulled a box of Thai food out of her fridge—well, Camille’s fridge—did a quick sniff test, and deemed it edible.

“Trust me,” Emma said, pulling a plate out of the cupboard. “He was serious.”

“But why?” Julie wailed. “You guys have always been so civil about your dirty, dirty past.”

“Sure, if by civil you mean barely speaking,” Emma replied, licking pad Thai off her thumb as she put the leftovers into the microwave.

“So what changed? He just decided to be a jerk all of a sudden?”