“No, too showy,” Jake said. “He likes the smart ones.”

“Geek smart, or street smart?” Lincoln asked. “Because there’s this cute girl I used to date over in IT at—”

“Sophisticated smart,” Cole said. “His girlfriend was an attorney or some shit.”

Alex began to click his pen in earnest. “I can find my own women.”

Lincoln gave him a condescending look. “That must be hard. Seeing as you never leave this damn office.”

“Women come into this office,” Alex shot back.

“Yeah, but they all work for you, and something tells me you frown on that sort of thing.”

He did. He definitely did. Hitting on employees was not an option. Ever.

And as much as he hated to admit it, these three interfering buffoons were right about one thing. Alex had been feeling restless lately. And he was spending way too much time in this office, staring at his computer screen, alternating between reading about glittery eye shadow (Stiletto) and the correct way to do pull-ups (Oxford).

A distraction would be welcome. A female distraction would be incredibly welcome. But not like this.

“I’m not taking one of your leftovers,” Alex growled at Lincoln.

Lincoln looked up. “What about one that I haven’t slept with yet?”

“Nope.”

“I’m serious. I haven’t even dated this one woman who would be great for you. I hit on her friend, but then I got her phone number as well since she’s an accountant and I was looking for one.”

“No,” Alex said, voice bored.

Lincoln handed his phone over. It was the woman’s Facebook page. She had small, almost elfish features, wavy brown hair, a friendly smile, and intelligent green eyes.

She looked…normal. Like someone he could talk to.

“Her name’s Alisha. I swear to God she’s not a weirdo,” Lincoln said.

Alex hesitated for only a second before handing the phone back. “Nope.”

He reached for his pen. Clicked.

Lincoln shrugged as though it was no matter to him, and pushed off the desk, ambling toward the door. “Suit yourself.”

Cole and Jake stood as well, turning their backs on him.

“Cross,” Jake mused, loud enough for Alex to hear. “The man is cross.”

“Peevish,” Cole one-upped him.

“Hey, did you text Emma back about Friday?” Jake asked Cole. “She told Grace that she liked Italian, so Babbo’s a safe bet, but you should probably confirm with her. Women like when you talk to them directly.”

Alex clicked the pen faster.

“I know what you’re doing,” he called after them. “It won’t work.”

Neither man turned around, and Alex swore softly.

Cole wouldn’t really go on a date with Emma.

Would he?

Cole was a friend, and it violated every sort of bro code. Except…Alex had been going out of his way for years to show that his and Emma’s past was only in the past, so could he blame Cole for thinking she was fair game?

Yes. Yes, he could absolutely blame Cole.

And yet…there was absolutely nothing he could do about it. Nothing he should want to do about it.

Emma wasn’t his. Not anymore.

And if the thought of Cole touching her made him want to jab his pen into his femoral artery, surely that was completely understandable and normal.

Alex tossed the pen aside. Fuck.

Then he stood, going in search of Lincoln. Maybe he did want this Alisha’s phone number.

Chapter 14

After a wretched afternoon of moving the rest of her stuff out of her old apartment (Riley was right; it did reek of mildew), Emma couldn’t even think about being sociable.

But after a week of having a steady stream of ex-boyfriends coming in and out of Camille’s place, neither could she quite stomach the idea of being cooped up in the apartment.

So Emma did what any self-assured, single woman would do with a free Saturday night in Manhattan. She took herself out to dinner.

“Just one,” she said to the smiling hostess at Cafe Luxembourg, the bustling and ever-popular French bistro on Seventieth and Amsterdam.

“Sure thing,” the hostess said, not missing a beat. “It’ll probably be about thirty minutes for a table without a reservation, but there are a couple of spots open at the bar.”

“Bar is perfect,” Emma said, hanging her coat on the rack by the door.

A minute later, Emma was settling down with the menu and the wine list when her perfect evening skidded to a halt.

On the other end of the bar was Alex Cassidy.

Who was with a woman.

Emma glanced down and seriously considered leaving, although she immediately scolded herself for the thought. Since when had she let Alex Cassidy’s presence interfere with her life?

And since when had she cared that he was seeing someone?

Her eyes flicked back to them again. She could see only Cassidy’s profile, and he was mostly turned away from her, but the woman he was with was mostly facing Emma.

She was pretty, in a wide-eyed, earnest kind of way. Her brown hair was shoulder length and wavy, her eyes round and friendly. She wore an oversized boatneck navy sweater that was both stylish and comfortable-looking. There was nothing bimbo about her. Nothing that Emma could possibly criticize. Heck, she looked like someone that Emma herself would be friends with.

“Good evening,” the bartender said, capturing Emma’s attention. “Sorry for the wait; it’s always crazy on weekends. I’ll get you some water—did you need some more time with the wine list?”