“So you couldn’t do it, huh?” he asked.

“Do what?”

“Couldn’t f**k her and dump her. You had to make a thing out of it, just like you do with every woman who spreads her legs for you.”

Mitchell felt his face go hot, and he took a step toward Colin, feeling uncharacteristically violent. “It’s not like that.”

“Yeah?” Colin said, looking genuinely curious. “What’s it like?”

Mitchell shook his head in annoyance, not the least bit interested in spilling his guts to Colin.

And he certainly wasn’t about to let any of this hurt Julie.

The wounded creature he’d seen crying her eyes out last night would definitely be hurt if she found out about this. Last night as he’d listened to her heartbroken sobs, he finally realized what made Julie Greene tick—what made her draw men to her like toddlers to candy and then dance away before they could see anything but her sweet outer coating.

Beneath all that confident, sassy flash was a lonely orphan whose parents had never come home. It was the oldest story in the book: a woman who didn’t believe in lasting love because she’d never had it.

And Mitchell knew just the man to show her the way.

But she couldn’t learn about his stupid arrangement with Colin. For a woman who thought she wasn’t worthy of long-term love, knowing that he’d sought her out specifically for a fling would kill her.

“It’s none of your business,” Mitchell said finally. “I’ll talk to Suzanne tomorrow about arranging to switch offices.”

Colin’s wary look returned, as though he was waiting for the other shoe to drop. “That’s it? That’s all you came over here for?”

Mitchell looked at him closely. “Is there something I’m missing here? You’re acting as guilty as a kid with frosting on his face before dinner.”

Colin’s eyes went wide and innocent. “No, man, just making sure we’re cool—”

Mitchell held up a hand to halt the babbling. “What is that?”

“What’s what?”

Mitchell tilted his head slightly. “I hear voices.”

Colin gave him an incredulous look. “Well, yeah, it’s my girlfriend’s place. She’s allowed to talk.”

Mitchell held up a hand to silence him. “Who’s she talking to?”

“Jeez, I don’t know, man. Quit being creepy.”

“That’s Julie’s voice,” Mitchell said slowly.

But that didn’t make sense. He’d left Julie with Grace and Riley not long ago.

Colin froze and cocked his head to listen as well. But he didn’t look as confused as Mitchell felt. In fact, if he’d looked wary before, he looked downright hunted now.

Mitchell instantly went on high alert. Something was wrong.

Julie’s voice was raised now, and definitely not happy. Mitchell started toward the arguing women, but Colin grabbed his arm. “Hey, dude, did you read the paper today? The Tribune?”

Mitchell shook his head in confusion. “I haven’t had a chance to read the paper, and I read the Times. Who cares?”

Colin now looked vaguely sick. “You may want to take a look.”

“You want me to read the paper now?” Mitchell asked incredulously.

“Yeah. Now. Just know that Kelli didn’t mean any harm. Well, not to you.”

“Who’s Kelli?” Mitchell asked, now thoroughly confused.

“My girlfriend. She and Julie work together.”

Chapter Sixteen

Julie pounded on the front door of Kelli’s brownstone, not caring whom the hell she woke up. Grace had suggested Julie walk the few blocks to Kelli’s in an effort to cool her temper.

It hadn’t worked.

Hell, Kelli could have lived in Vermont and the walk wouldn’t have been long enough for Julie to cool down.

She deliberately put a finger over the peephole so Kelli couldn’t screen her. Kelli had painted the door since Julie had last seen it. It used to be a nice, classic dark wood. Now it was a bright, obtrusive mustard yellow. Tacky. Just like Kelli.

Other than that, everything looked the same as it had the first and only time Julie had been here before, for Kelli’s long-ago birthday party. Back when they’d been friends of sorts. Back before Kelli had decided she’d hated Julie’s guts and stabbed her in the back.

Back before Kelli had sold her out to freaking Allen Carsons.

The door finally opened and Julie took a deep breath. As usual, Kelli was perfectly made up, not a strand of straight blond hair out of place. Her white skirt and buttercup-yellow twin set were sweet and innocent. What complete bullshit.

They stared at each other wordlessly before Kelli stepped aside to allow Julie inside her home.

“Are you alone?” Julie asked.

Kelli lifted a shoulder. “Alone enough.”

They faced off in the entryway, all but circling each other like a pair of feral cats.

“Did you do it?” Julie asked.

To her credit, Kelli didn’t play dumb. She gave a smile and a tiny shrug as if to say, Oopsie.

“You did,” Julie said, in response to Kelli’s silent admission. “You sold me out. No, you sold Stiletto out.”

Kelli gave an eye roll worthy of a snotty preteen. “Oh, come on, Julie. Even you can’t think you’re so important that the entire magazine would take a hit because their golden girl columnist has the morals of a monkey.”

Julie sucked in a breath at that.

Not because Kelli’s jab hurt.

But because it was true.

Julie’s actions had been less than upstanding. Hell, they’d been downright bottom-feeding. In many ways she was no better than Kelli, or even Allen, and she should absolutely have to pay the price for what she’d done.

But not this way. Not with every reader of the New York Tribune in on her biggest mistake.

“Does Camille know it was you?”

“No,” Kelli said with a smug smile. “And if you tell her, you can’t prove that it was me.”

Julie gave Kelli a scathing look. “Honey, if I was going to sell you out for being a bitch, I would have done it when you stole my story notes after I found you f**king my boyfriend on top of them.”

They both froze at the unexpected verbal attack.

It was the first time Julie had ever referenced what happened between them, and even as the accusation hung in the air like a silent toxin, Julie felt the smallest sense of relief at getting it out in the open. It had been festering for far too long. Some people simply weren’t worth the effort of staying mad at. Julie was realizing Kelli was one of them.

“You can’t prove that either,” Kelli said. But her voice had gone weak. Defeated. Maybe even guilty.

“You know, I always thought that level of malicious back-stabbing existed only in movie villains. And then I met you. We were friends, Kelli. What is your problem with me?” Julie asked, bafflement defusing some of her anger.

“Please,” Kelli said with a prissy sniff as she studied the trendy gold bangles on her wrist. “We were never friends. I was simply your pet project. Someone you were going to groom to be just like you so you could expand your little circle of influence.”

Julie shook her head in protest. “I wanted to help you. I mentored you, sure, but I did so out of friendship, not as a self-gratifying ego boost.”

But Kelli’s words had planted a tiny seed of doubt.

Hadn’t Julie felt so proud every time Kelli had gotten praised in a staff meeting?

Hadn’t she been thrilled every time Kelli had written a particularly good article? Had that pride been for Kelli’s sake?

Or for her own?

“Okay, then why not just talk to me about it or keep your distance? Why’d you have to go all Mean Girls? And Justin? Was he really necessary?”

Kelli had the grace to blush. “Justin was . . . a mistake. He’d come in looking for you that one day after work, and he seemed kind of flirty, and it just . . . happened.”

It was a pathetic excuse. Julie had no tolerance for cheaters, no matter who’d done the initiating. But Justin hadn’t mattered to Julie back then, and he certainly didn’t matter now. Just another playboy passing through her life. He’d also just happened to pass through Kelli’s vagina on the way.