Irresistibly Yours - Lauren Layne Page 0,14
is—”
“He’s yummy. Isn’t he?” Janie demanded.
“Hot dogs are yummy,” Penelope said. “Not men.”
“Oh, Pen,” her sister sighed. “What I wouldn’t give for you to fall in love. Or at least meet a guy who gives you butterflies.”
There it was again. That pang.
Penelope had never told her sister how she’d felt about Evan, although she sometimes suspected that Janie knew and was too kind to mention it.
Or maybe her sister had just been hoping that silence on the matter would kill Penelope’s silly crush. Her sister had never liked Evan.
“Cole’s…attractive,” Penelope said, forcing her mind away from the past.
“Describe.”
She opened her mouth to try to describe his features to Janie, only to realize that there wasn’t anything particularly distinctive about them, other than that they all went together exceptionally well.
“He has a nice smile,” was what she settled on.
Janie let out a frustrated groan. “You’re hopeless.”
“Well, it doesn’t matter what he looks like,” Penelope grumbled. “He goes from being perfectly nice to being totally grumpy. He couldn’t even respond to my offer of coffee.”
“Sweetie, you’re his main competition for a pretty kick-ass job. Not everyone is as easygoing as you about such things.”
“I know,” Penelope said, running a pinky over the perfect crease of her dress slacks. “It’s just…I don’t really have any friends here. I thought maybe he could be one.”
Janie made a strangled noise. “You’re breaking my heart here. Come back to Chicago. You have a million friends here.”
Penelope squeezed her eyes shut. “I can’t.”
“Why not?” Janie demanded. “New York can’t be that great. And I still can’t believe you moved there before knowing whether or not you got the job. I mean, you’ll get it, of course, but—”
Penelope couldn’t do this right now.
“Janie, I’ve got to run,” Penelope interrupted.
“Why?”
“I forgot that I have the cable guy coming by later. Something’s wrong with the box they installed last week.”
“Oh. Okay. Well…you’ll text me the second you know about the job, right?”
“Definitely,” Penelope promised. “Love you. Tell Josh I say hey.”
Penelope hung up the phone with a long sigh, feeling a stab of guilt.
It hadn’t been a complete lie. The cable guy really was scheduled to come by and figure out why ESPN kept cutting in and out. It was just that he was scheduled to come by tomorrow.
But the alternative to her fib was telling her sister the truth—the whole truth. That the reason she hightailed it out of Chicago was not just because she’d failed to get her dream job but because of a man.
A man who had taken her dream job right out from under her nose.
Penelope stood, tugging her heavy bag over her shoulder as she headed back toward home.
Her apartment on 107th and Amsterdam was too far north to be considered a prime location by most New Yorkers. But in a new-to-her city where she knew nobody, had no favorite restaurants, and didn’t yet know the public transportation system, the cozy one-bedroom suited her just fine.
It was close to the park. Close-ish to the Oxford offices…
If she got the job.
She’d felt pretty damn confident right up until the moment she’d met Cole Sharpe last night.
Granted, until today, she’d only had phone interviews. But in her conversations with Alex Cassidy and a handful of the other Oxford guys who’d vetted her, Penelope had had a sense of rightness.
She’d felt like they liked her. Felt like she belonged.
But Cole Sharpe—he belonged there too.
Something he’d pointedly reminded her when he’d crashed her interview.
Penelope supposed she should be mad about that—it was a crappy move on his part. Immature at best, unscrupulous at worst.
But she’d never been one to waste energy getting mad about the little stuff. Her tolerance for drama was remarkably low, which was part of the reason the world of sports fit her so well.
It was all numbers and scores.
And that was why she’d asked Cole Sharpe to coffee. Someone with whom to talk shop.
At least…that was her story, and she was sticking with it.
It had nothing to do with the fact that he looked every bit as good in a charcoal suit this morning as he had in jeans and T-shirt last night…
But ultimately, the reason didn’t matter, because he’d turned her down.
No, not even turned her down—he’d responded with an uh.
That was so much worse.
Penelope tried to tell herself that it didn’t sting as she unlocked the door of her apartment and dropped her bag by the front door.
She was used to it—rejection in all its forms.
Penelope had no illusions about her place in