Grace and Riley exchanged a meaningful glance, looking very much like they wanted to burst out laughing.

“What?” Julie snapped.

Grace tried unsuccessfully to wipe the smirk from her face. “Hon, what you described most definitely has a name.”

“Yup,” Riley said, taking a slurp of her macchiato. “It’s called . . . oh, what’s the word? . . . a relationship.”

Grace’s smile slipped at Julie’s scowl. “Julie, we’re not trying to be difficult. But you’re a bundle of mixed signals. One second you’re jumping down our throats about how he’s only a story, and the next minute you’re all protective like you actually like him. Which is it?”

I don’t know.

“Let’s talk about it later,” she grumbled. Julie shoved open the door to the conference room before Grace and Riley could continue their assault, and took a seat between Angela and Maria. She couldn’t cope with any more prying questions from her best friends at the moment. Normally she relished the chance to discuss everything involving men, on both the personal and professional levels.

But this thing with Mitchell—and she really didn’t have a name for it—felt far too private. And she was afraid she knew why. She was falling for him. She was falling for the subject of her story.

“Are you all right?” Angela asked. “You’re looking kind of . . . feverish.”

No, what you’re seeing is guilt. I’m seeing this perfectly great guy, using him for sex, companionship, and my August column.

“Oh, I’m fine,” she replied breezily. “Just a little warm this morning.”

Further conversation was halted by Camille’s arrival. Stiletto’s editor in chief marched into the room with a cellphone attached to her ear. From the look of things, the boss had not been having a good day. Her lipstick had faded to unbecoming flecks on her lips, and her hair was pulled back into a stubby, unattractive ponytail.

Julie and some of the more senior columnists exchanged looks. They all knew what the presence of a disheveled Camille meant. That the meeting would be run with all the gentle sensitivity of a Navy SEAL raid.

Camille didn’t waste any time. “Health and Fitness, where are you?”

Annie Zapelli, the senior editor of the section, took a deep breath and bravely raised her hand. Camille reached into her tote bag and dropped a thick stack of paper in front of Annie.

“Well?” Camille demanded.

“I don’t know what this is,” Annie asked, scanning the papers quickly, trying to catch up.

“This is two hundred and nine letters about your article on the controversial nature of eggs.”

“Two hundred and nine people don’t like eggs?” Annie asked.

“No, two hundred and nine people don’t like that you claimed eggs might increase cholesterol.”

Annie’s lips tightened in frustration. “We never said we personally thought eggs were bad. We merely cited the new studies suggesting egg yolks might be bad. We didn’t fabricate or claim anything.”

“Of course not,” Camille snapped. “If you did, you’d be putting that ugly fern on your desk in a cardboard box and be on the Q train back home. But tackling eggs was a foolish move. The studies on those damned things change every month. The research had switched back the other way before we even made it to print.”

Annie opened her mouth in anger but clamped it shut. Julie shot her a sympathetic look. She knew full well what Annie wanted to say but wouldn’t.

The truth was, Camille read the entire magazine cover to cover before it went to print. If she’d thought eggs were risky business, she’d had plenty of time to say so before the issue hit the racks.

“Enough,” Camille said when one of the new interns bravely tried to suggest they could print a follow-up discussing all the various contradictory studies and encouraging readers to make their own informed decision. “We’ve done far too much talking about dairy for a magazine that sells mostly for its love and sex advice.”

All eyes in the room flicked to Julie, Riley, and Grace. They weren’t always spared Camille’s wrath, but the sheer popularity of their section had resulted in what Julie knew the others perceived as a “teacher’s pet” mentality from Camille.

“Ladies, how about a progress report on August’s articles?”

Julie stiffened. A progress report for August? It was too early. Camille never asked this early. She had nothing prepared.

Her panicked gaze flew to Riley and Grace, but they looked completely unperturbed as they rattled off their initial findings on the growing popularity of threesomes (Riley) and twenty ways to rekindle the fire with your longtime love (Grace).

“Fine,” Camille said with a nod. “Julie?”

She resisted the urge to put a protective hand over her hickey. “Um, things are going well. Still in research mode, but I’ll have more to report next week.”

Julie felt the entire room staring at her in surprise. As far as updates went, this was the equivalent of “the dog ate my homework.” The only one who looked impressed was the intern from Alaska who’d asked for her autograph.

“And what specifically are you working on, Julie?” Kelli asked.

Julie’s eyes narrowed on the devious blonde, who knew full well what the story was.

She kept her face completely devoid of emotion. “Oh, did I not say? It’s about taking the relationship to the next stage.”

A couple of people nodded with mild disinterest and looked ready to move on, but Kelli the pit bull wasn’t done. “Oh, yeah? Had a lot of experience with that, then?”

Julie thought she heard Riley hiss from across the table, and she rushed to prevent a catfight, because Camille, she noted, wasn’t making any move to interfere. Not a good sign. “It’s not my usual area of expertise, but I feel more than equipped to handle the assignment,” Julie said.

“But it’s going to lack that personal touch, isn’t it?” Kelli said with wide-eyed innocence. “You know, I’ve been in a relationship for almost a month now, and I think I’m really in a unique position to tell this story from the inside out,” she added with an innocent glance at Camille.

Julie tilted her head at Kelli’s practiced little monologue. Tell the story from the inside out? What does that even mean? She glanced around the room to see if the others shared her disdain, but they were all nodding in agreement. Even Grace looked conflicted.

“Kelli does have a point, Julie,” Camille said slowly, an intensely speculative look on her face. “You’ve always been Stiletto’s strongest proponent of adding a personal touch to articles. In fact, I’d say that your unique perspective has really helped shape Stiletto over the years. Perhaps Kelli could take this one, and you could cover something different this month. I’m thinking it might be time for another shoes article.”

Julie took the smallest sip of her coffee and tried to calm her panic. Shoes. Shoes? She was the dating girl, not a footwear drone.

“Oh, well, I’d really prefer—”

“Actually, Julie can add the personal touch to this article,” Riley blurted out.

Julie glanced across the table, widening her eyes in warning. Riley, no. If Camille found out about their plan, there’d be no going back. She’d have to see the pseudo-relationship with Mitchell through to a story.

And she was no longer sure she could do it.

But her friend ignored the silent command. “See, Julie knows better than anyone the high standard she’s set with her previous articles. In order to ensure this story is of the same quality, she’s doing a little undercover work so she can speak personally about developing a relationship.”

“Undercover work? In a relationships article? Isn’t that a little . . . tawdry?” Kelli asked with a sneer.

No more than that tiny skirt that’s one sneeze away from showing your hoo-ha, Julie wanted to snap.

“Julie, is this true?” Camille asked, looking unusually intrigued.

“Well, that was my original plan, but it’s not really panning out, so I was thinking—”

“She’s being coy,” Grace chimed in. “The truth is, this guy is smitten with her. They’ve seen each other almost every day since the first date.”