Irresistibly Yours - Lauren Layne Page 0,10
Ameri-what? It tastes like dirt.”
“I thought you said it tasted like tar.”
“Give me yours instead,” Lincoln said, holding out a hand.
Cole lifted his cup out of the way. “Go get your own coffee. And besides, you wouldn’t like this. It’s an unsweetened cappuccino. Not nearly enough almond or sprinkles, or whatever you put in there.”
Lincoln Mathis looked like the type who’d like his coffee black. But he had a dirty little secret: a serious sweet tooth.
“It’s got to be better than this,” Lincoln grumbled.
Cole lifted a shoulder. “Jo likes things hot and strong.”
“Oh yeah?” A dark eyebrow crept up.
“It’s why she asked me out,” Cole said, grinning evilly.
“She didn’t.”
“Only because Cassidy is uptight about employees dating other employees.”
“But you’re not an employee,” Lincoln pointed out, leaning back in the chair.
“Thanks for the reminder,” Cole said grimly.
Lincoln’s words brought reality crashing down as Cole remembered why he was here.
A motherfucking interview.
A glance at his watch showed he still had nearly an hour until he could get the formality over with. He looked at Lincoln, who’d resumed flipping through a magazine.
“Dude, you’re reading Stiletto?” Cole asked, noting the unmistakable cover of the women’s magazine.
Blue eyes appeared over the top of the magazine. “Tell me you don’t pick it up from time to time for the sex tips.”
“Don’t need ’em. Hey, since you’ve been sitting up here, apparently doing absolutely no work at all, have you seen—”
The phone rang, and Lincoln held up a finger. “Hold please, I have to take this.”
“Seriously?”
Lincoln tucked the phone under his chin as he pulled a pen and paper toward him. “Oxford magazine, Lincoln speaking, how may I direct your call?…Mm-hmm. Of course. Just one moment.”
Lincoln pushed the hold button and squinted at the phone. “Hey, get over here and help me figure out how to transfer this call to Peter.”
“Um, no.”
Lincoln glanced up. “Really? Because I could tell you all about the cute brunette who’s talking to Cassidy right now about your job.”
Cole couldn’t get around the desk fast enough.
Holy shit, that was a lot of buttons.
“Why isn’t there just a simple transfer button?” Lincoln muttered.
“How long have you been sitting here?” Cole asked. “You haven’t figured out how to transfer a call by now?”
Lincoln shrugged. “I managed to convince everyone else to just call back later, or distracted them by asking about their day.”
“Of course you did,” Cole muttered. Cole considered himself charming. But Lincoln had it down to an art form.
The blinking light chirped its reminder that someone was still on hold, and Lincoln swore, picked up the receiver and hit a rapid progression of numbers, and then hung it back up again.
“What just happened?” Cole asked.
“No idea,” Lincoln said, leaning back in the chair. “Okay, so talk to me about this Penelope Pope.”
Cole made his way back to the front of the desk, only to realize that Lincoln had swiped his coffee. Knowing Lincoln, that had probably been his play the entire time.
“She’s—wait, you’re supposed to be giving me the lowdown.”
Lincoln shrugged.
“Well, how’d she look when she came out of the interview?” Cole asked. “Nervous? Stressed? Hopeful?”
Cole had meant to stick around and see the aftermath for himself, but some of the guys from the Fitness department had dragged him to a long lunch, and then he’d gone straight to Starbucks for Jo’s coffee.
“Don’t know,” Lincoln said.
“What do you mean you don’t know? You’re Oxford’s resident relationship expert. You read women for a living.”
It was true too. Cole was good with women, but Lincoln was in a whole other league. Even more annoying than Lincoln’s ability to pick up women with little more than a wink was his ability to let them go without so much as a hurt feeling.
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.