Whereas Cole’s in-box chronically held at least one hate email from a woman he’d dumped, Lincoln had standing lunch dates with at least half of his exes.

Cole had always figured that there had to be a story behind Lincoln’s strange approach with women. He just hadn’t figured it out yet.

“I do read women for a living,” Lincoln replied calmly. “But I have to actually see them first.”

The implication behind Lincoln’s words washed over Cole, and he froze. “Wait. Hold the fuck. Are you telling me you haven’t seen her come out of Cassidy’s office yet?”

Lincoln shrugged. “I’ve been sitting here since she went in. Haven’t seen her leave.”

“Maybe because you’re too busy reading about what to expect at your next gyno appointment,” Cole said, pointing accusingly at the Stiletto magazine in his friend’s hands. “Damn it, Linc, you’re supposed to be paying attention.”

“I can multitask, dude. I’m telling you, your girl hasn’t come out of there yet.”

Before Cole could stop to consider whether it was a good idea (it wasn’t), he was already strolling down the hall toward Cassidy’s office.

“If I were Jo, I’d have to follow you and tell you you can’t go in there!” Lincoln called after him.

Cole didn’t bother to respond. He didn’t have to look to know Lincoln was already back to his magazine.

It had been nearly two hours since the start of Penelope’s interview. What the hell were they talking about?

Cole could maybe understand how Cassidy had to go through the motions of the interview with another candidate—maybe.

But a thirty-minute “tell me about a time that you showed initiative” question-and-answer session should have sufficed.

Anything over an hour?

Bad news for Cole.

Alex Cassidy was a professional. He wouldn’t rush someone out without giving them a fair chance. But neither would he humor someone if he thought they were wasting his time.

If Tiny Brunette was still in there, it meant she was killing it in her interview.

“God damn it,” Cole muttered, when he found Cassidy’s door still closed.

Unfortunately for him, Cassidy’s office wasn’t one of those glass-for-walls affairs. There wasn’t even a peep window on the door for him to walk past accidentally-on-purpose.

He’d either have to wait until it was his turn, or—

His hand was on the door handle, and before he could think better of it, he’d opened the door.

Cassidy’s face was the first one he saw—the editor in chief’s expression went from surprise to pissed in record time—but Cole barely noticed.

His eyes were too busy taking in the small, dark-haired woman across from Cassidy, watching as she turned around at the interruption.

God, those eyes.

They got him every time.

And then she smiled. “Hi, Cole!”

God help them all. She sounded genuinely happy to see him. And not in a flirty, breathy, oh-Cole-ask-me-out kind of way that he was used to.

Just a friendly, I’m-a-nice-person kind of smile.

“Out,” Cassidy growled at Cole.

Cole glanced at his watch, letting his face go slack with fake dismay. “Crap, are you guys still— Sorry. Am I early?”

Cassidy pointed toward the door. “Out. Your interview’s not until two.”

“I know, but Jo wasn’t at the front desk, so I just figured I’d come on back like I always do.”

Cole’s like I always do was a deliberate reminder to Penelope that Cole belonged here. Him. Not her.

But if Penelope picked up on this, it never once registered on her face, and for some reason this annoyed Cole all the more.

For God’s sake woman, fight back. Tell me to get the hell out of your interview.

Instead, her damn smile never wavered and she turned around to Cassidy. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Cassidy. I’ve taken up far too much of your time. I’ll let you go.”

“Please, Ms. Pope, for the last time—call me Alex.”

Cole rolled his eyes behind Penelope’s back.

Most everyone called Cassidy Cassidy.

The whole “Call me Alex” thing was strictly for Cole’s benefit. To let him know that he wasn’t the only show in town.

“Only if you call me Penelope,” Tiny Brunette said, getting to her feet.

“I’d like that,” Cassidy said with a genuine smile as he too rose.

Cole’s smile slipped a little as he realized they were wrapping up their interview.

On the plus side, he’d done what he set out to do—interrupt Penelope Pope’s interview. Maybe spy a little.

On the downside—it felt awful.

Cole knew he could be a cocky son-of-a-bitch sometimes, but he wasn’t an asshole.

And right now he definitely felt like one.

“Ms. Pope, please,” Cole said, holding up a hand. “Sit down. I absolutely should not have come barging in like this, ruining your interview.”

Doing the right thing was such bullshit.

“Oh, it’s okay,” she said brightly, picking up a portfolio from Cassidy’s desk and tucking it into an oversize bag. “You didn’t ruin anything. I’m not worried about this interruption making me look bad.”

Cole was silent for several seconds, and then he couldn’t hold back the bark of laughter.

Penelope Pope might look sweet as a kitten, but damned if he hadn’t just felt the subtlest scratch of her claws. He admired her for it.

“You’re absolutely right,” he said. “This is not a good way to start my interview, is it, Cassidy?”

“You have no idea,” Cassidy muttered. “I’ll see you out, Ms. Pope—Penelope.”

“Oh gosh, don’t worry about it,” Penelope said, moving toward the door. She looked like a kid playing dress-up, in her dark dress slacks, and especially with the short-sleeved black turtleneck that was slightly too big on her tiny frame. “Good luck, Mr. Sharpe.”

“Yeah, thanks. Oh, and Penelope—”

She paused in the doorway and turned back with a questioning smile.

Cole let his smile glow warm. “I’m sure it’s hard to move to a new city with so many new teams and players to learn. If you ever want me to show you where to start—”

“Save it, Sharpe. You have to see this,” Cassidy interrupted, coming to stand beside Cole.

Cassidy turned to focus on Penelope. “Terrence Mason.”

She frowned a little and shuffled her feet.

Cassidy nodded in encouragement to her, before turning his head slightly to Cole and muttering watch this out of the corner of his mouth.

Penelope licked her lips nervously. “Um, okay. Terrence Mason. Starting shortstop for the Mets, three twelve batting average, one-hundred-thirty-three-RBI season average over his six-year career, switch hitter despite missing the outer half of his left pinky due to a high school shop class accident—”

“Joe Carrington,” Cassidy interrupted.

Penelope didn’t even pause to think. “Second-string point guard for the Knicks. Severely underrated, never seems to make the same move twice on the court. Graduated from Duke, took his team to the NCAA championship all four years, was MVP his senior year after scoring—”

“Rick Macornis,” Cassidy said, interrupting again.

“Recently retired Rangers goalie. Probably could have gone a few more years, but he’d started to get slow, likely made a good call quitting while he was ahead. His GA was creeping up every year in a bad way. Had an affair with his left wing’s wife.”

Cole shook his head, feeling a little dazed. “I get it,” he said, all trace of levity gone from his voice. “I should be asking you for stats.”

“Oh, I’d like that!” Penelope said, seemingly missing his mea culpa altogether. “Perhaps we could grab coffee sometime. I’d love to pick your brain about which players like to talk and which need to be coaxed—”

She broke off, glancing between the two men, no doubt taking in Cole and Cassidy’s stunned expressions.

Was this woman for real?

They were neck and neck for a highly paid, highly desirable position with one of the largest magazines in the country and she wanted to have coffee and swap pointers?