over, watching as the brawny men behind the desk tapped something into the computer.
A minute later, Cole handed her back her ID and a temporary badge before putting his hand on her back and ushering her none too gently through the turnstile and toward the massive elevator lobby.
“Cole, I can’t meet Cassidy like this,” she said, as they stepped into the elevator. “I need a ladies’ room, see if I can’t blot out some of this coffee stain.”
He punched the button for the twelfth floor and looked her over. “Tiny, no amount of blotting is going to remove vanilla latte from a white shirt.”
“How do you know it’s a vanilla latte?”
He gestured toward the cup he was still holding, where her drink order was plainly scribbled on the side. Then he took a drink.
“Hey!” She held out her hand to take the coffee back, but he batted it aside just as the elevator doors opened to the floor.
“After you.” He made a sweeping gesture, and Penelope reluctantly preceded him off the elevator and into…
“Where are we?” she breathed, skimming to a halt.
He stopped beside her with a small smile. “Welcome to Stiletto, Tiny.”
Stiletto.
As in the biggest women’s magazine in the country and Oxford’s sister publication.
Penelope wasn’t much of a girl’s girl, but even she had spent many a sunny afternoon with Stiletto’s shiny pages, learning about the right coral lipstick for your skin tone or flipping through “The Good Girl’s Guide to Being Bad.”
“Everyone seems so happy,” she said, more to herself than to Cole.
“Maybe you should consider working here, then,” he said, his voice grumpy as he put a hand on the small of her back and all but pushed her down the hallway to wherever he was leading her.
“Well, maybe I would if they had a sports section,” she shot back.
“Probably not happening. Not unless you count Pilates. I know, because I’ve tried. Okay, here we are.”
Cole stopped in front of a shut office door on the outer perimeter of the floor and knocked twice before opening it.
“What are you—”
Penelope broke off as the door swung open and Cole stepped aside. “Tiny, meet the queen bees of Stiletto.”
Four of the most gorgeous women Penelope had ever seen stared back at her.
“Cole, what delightful creature have you brought us?” asked the tall, black-haired bombshell in the corner. The woman’s stunning good looks were made slightly less intimidating by the fact that her mouth was full of donut. She licked powdered sugar off her thumb and gave Penelope a friendly smile.
“Penelope?” This from Emma Sinclair. Thank God. A familiar face.
Penelope had met Emma—Alex Cassidy’s girlfriend—at the Yankees game the night before, and the woman could not have been any nicer. Or any prettier. Slim with long brown hair, warm brown eyes, and crazy-high cheekbones, it was easy to see why Cassidy had fallen for her.
“Ladies, this is Penelope Pope,” Emma said to the other women.
“Ah yes, the Chicago darling who’s giving our Cole a run for his money in the Sports department,” said a blond woman. She gave a little finger waggle at Cole, who winked back.
There was an easy familiarity there that gave Penelope an odd stab of something close to jealousy.
The pretty blonde stood and extended a hand to Penelope. “I’m Julie Greene. That beast stuffing another donut in her face and not gaining a pound is Riley McKenna, the preppy one in the sweater set is Grace Malone, and of course you already know Emma. We’re the Relationships columnists for Stiletto.”
“Um, hi.” Penelope gave a dorky little wave.
There was an awkward moment of silence, and then Cole stepped forward.
“Penelope here has an interview with Cassidy in fifteen minutes.”
“Ohhhhh,” all four women said at once.
“Say no more,” the pretty brunette named Grace said, reaching forward to pull Penelope in.
“We’ll take it from here, Cole, baby,” Julie said, ushering Cole out of the doorway. “It was good of you to bring her to us.”
Was it? Penelope wondered. She still didn’t know what was going on.
And then the door was slammed in Cole’s face, and the four women surrounded her.
Riley walked over—tall enough that she’d tower over Penelope’s five-one even without her mammoth high heels—and, completely unabashed, bent and sniffed in the direction of Penelope’s boobs.
“Oh, for God’s sake, Ri,” Emma muttered.
Riley stood back up. “Vanilla latte.”
“Impressive,” Penelope said.
Riley tapped her nose and winked. “This baby can identify anything.”
“Well, anything edible,” Emma amended. “What do you think, girls? Shall we hit up the team over in Style? See if they