It wasn’t that he’d turned unfriendly upon learning that she was his main opposition. After Alex Cassidy had introduced them last night, Cole had stuck around long enough to be polite, making small talk.

But the teasing—dare she say flirting—Cole had vanished.

She didn’t blame him. If he wanted this job half as badly as she did, he had every reason to think of her as the enemy.

Which was a shame. She liked him. Not just because he was pretty to look at, but oh my goodness, was he pretty to look at. And exactly her type. He had the lean athleticism of a shortstop. Sandy blond hair long enough to run hands through. Dark brown eyes that promised a good time.

And that smile…Cole Sharpe’s smile was a hell of a thing, slow and sexy, and she was pretty sure it had robbed more than one woman of her ability to think about anything other than getting him naked.

But looks aside, he also seemed like the type of guy she’d like to grab a beer with. Someone with whom she could talk shop and joke.

Cole Sharpe was out of her league—way out of her league—on the relationship front, but as a friend? Instinct told her he’d make a good one if he weren’t currently giving her the side-eye like she was standing between him and a juicy prize.

Which, of course, she was.

Just like he was standing in her way.

It was an uncomfortable sensation. Despite her love of all things sports, Penelope herself wasn’t particularly competitive. Not that she was a total pushover, she just never got off on winning for winning’s sake.

But she wanted to win this Oxford position.

No, needed to win it, not only for the fresh start it represented but to remind her that there were more important things to win than Evan Barstow’s fickle heart.

The thought of Evan caused a pang, like it always did, and Penelope straightened her shoulders, coffee stain be damned.

“Good luck with your interview, Mr. Sharpe,” she said, giving him a friendly smile despite her unfriendly thoughts.

He nodded. “You too.”

She nodded, hoping she looked more sophisticated than she felt. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to get to the ladies’ room. I’ve had a bit of a…” She waved her hand in the general vicinity of her chest. “Wardrobe malfunction.”

His eyes flitted downward again, but he merely nodded.

Penelope turned away, wishing she was coordinated enough in stilettos to sexily pivot on her heel.

Instead she moved slowly, keeping her head held high even as tears stung at the corners of her eyes. This was not how this day was supposed to go. She was supposed to look polished and confident, and…

“Hey, Penelope.”

She paused, cringing as she realized that he’d followed her.

“Yeah?” She turned around.

Standing just a few feet away, Cole shifted the strap of his laptop bag higher on his shoulder. His eyes drifted down to the stain, then back up to her eyes, seeming to take in her burning cheeks and the fact that her chin was very close to wobbling.

Then he swore softly and ran a hand through his hair. “Come on.”

She blinked. “Sorry?”

He jerked his chin in the direction of the reception desk. “Come with me.”

She was too confused to do anything other than follow him, although she continued to move slowly, coffee held carefully out in front of her to avoid yet another misstep.

He glanced over his shoulder and saw that she wasn’t matching his pace. He stopped, marched toward her, and without warning, plucked the coffee out of her hand.

“Hey—”

“Speed up, Tiny,” he said.

“I don’t even know where we’re going.”

He didn’t respond as he approached the security guards, saying something to them before turning around and snapping his fingers at her. “Photo ID.”

Penelope handed it 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.