“Dude, it’s just one dinner,” Cole muttered. “How long are you thinking it’s going to last?”

Cassidy leaned forward, both arms braced on the desk. “Okay, let’s cut the bullshit. I’m offering you the job, Sharpe.”

It took several seconds for that to register. And then…

“What the hell, Cassidy. Why’d you just make me listen to how fucking great Penelope was if I got the job?”

Cassidy didn’t even flinch at Cole’s outburst. “Penelope’s being perfect for this job doesn’t make you any less perfect. You belong in this role, Cole. You know you do.”

Cole swallowed, uncomfortable by the unusual praise. He knew that Cassidy liked his work. His contract wouldn’t get renewed every year if he didn’t. But it was nice to hear it, all the same.

Still, Cole sensed he was missing something….

“I’ve been working with corporate all week to get approval for a second head count,” Cassidy said quietly.

Several moments of silence followed as the editor in chief waited for Cole to put the pieces together.

And then it clicked.

“You’re hiring both of us,” Cole said, annoyed that he hadn’t figured it out before now. “That’s why you’ve been up at corporate every day this week. That’s why you haven’t given either one of us an answer.”

“Yes,” Cassidy said. “I’ve decided to split the position. Two sports editors instead of one, and before you jump down my throat, this isn’t about me being indecisive.”

Cole nearly smiled at that. “Trust me. That wasn’t what I was thinking.”

Alex Cassidy was nothing if not decisive. Ruthless when he needed to be.

“You’ll be equals,” Cassidy explained. “Same titles, same authority. There’s more than enough work for both of you. You know what I want to do with this new sports section. It’s huge. We’re talking nearly a fifth of the magazine devoted to sports.”

Cole sat back in his chair, considering. “What happens when we don’t see eye to eye? If one of us doesn’t have final say—”

Cassidy smiled grimly at that. “Then you’ll have to learn how to work it out. Worst case, you bring it to me. I make the call.”

“That sounds terrible,” Cole muttered.

“It’s the offer that’s on the table,” Cassidy said in his usual no-BS voice. “You can take it or leave it.”

Cole blew out a breath. It wasn’t what he’d envisioned. He’d pictured running the show, hiring a team the way he wanted to, designing the pages the way they were in his head…

The thought of having a partner…chafed.

Then his thoughts shifted to Penelope Pope, about the ridiculous amount of sports knowledge practically bursting out of her brain, about the way she radiated true passion for her career.

Then he thought about the jackass from Chicago—the one who’d stolen a job right out from under her nose just because she was a ridiculously good person and hadn’t seen it coming.

“Okay,” Cole said simply. “I’m in.”

Cassidy breathed out in relief. “Somehow I was expecting it to be a bit harder than that to convince you.”

Cole smiled back. “Don’t worry, boss. I’m sure I can think of a whole slew of other ways to make your life miserable. When do we start?”

“Hold up there, cowboy. There’s one tiny little hurdle to get over first.”

“Who gets the bigger office?” Cole asked.

“More like…how the hell are we going to convince Penelope Pope to share the job with you?”

Cole lifted his eyebrows. “You haven’t told her yet?”

Cassidy shook his head. “I was going to call both of you in tomorrow.”

Cole stood and headed toward the door, already planning to drag Lincoln and Jake out for celebratory beers. “Don’t sweat it. She’ll agree.”

“How do you figure?” Cassidy asked.

Cole shot his boss a grin over his shoulder. “Haven’t you heard? We’re BFFs now.”

Chapter 7

“No. No no no no. Why the heck would we want our first sports cover story to be about a womanizing prick?” Penelope said, hands on her hips as she paced around her office.

Cole leaned back in the chair—her chair—looking entirely unperturbed as he ate an apple. “Because this is a men’s magazine. And men don’t care about another man being, quote, ‘a womanizing prick’ when he can consistently hit his driver over three hundred yards.”

“Adam Bailey is a first-rate turd,” Penelope shot back.

“Probably,” Cole agreed, swiveling around in the chair like a restless third grader. “But he’s a damn good golfer, and you know it.”

Penelope grunted in acknowledgment and paused in her pacing long enough to tap her fingernails against her desk.

Her desk. She had a desk.

It was such a simple thing—a simple joy, really, having one’s own office to decorate however one wanted, although she hadn’t quite gotten to that, having been here all of three days.

But it was still her desk. Her office.

The happy grin spread across her face before she could stop it.

“Oh no,” Cole said.

She glanced at him. “What?”

“That smile,” he said, taking another bite of apple. “It’s dangerous.”