“Please, Ms. Pope, for the last time—call me Alex.”

Cole rolled his eyes behind Penelope’s back.

Most everyone called Cassidy Cassidy.

The whole “Call me Alex” thing was strictly for Cole’s benefit. To let him know that he wasn’t the only show in town.

“Only if you call me Penelope,” Tiny Brunette said, getting to her feet.

“I’d like that,” Cassidy said with a genuine smile as he too rose.

Cole’s smile slipped a little as he realized they were wrapping up their interview.

On the plus side, he’d done what he set out to do—interrupt Penelope Pope’s interview. Maybe spy a little.

On the downside—it felt awful.

Cole knew he could be a cocky son-of-a-bitch sometimes, but he wasn’t an asshole.

And right now he definitely felt like one.

“Ms. Pope, please,” Cole said, holding up a hand. “Sit down. I absolutely should not have come barging in like this, ruining your interview.”

Doing the right thing was such bullshit.

“Oh, it’s okay,” she said brightly, picking up a portfolio from Cassidy’s desk and tucking it into an oversize bag. “You didn’t ruin anything. I’m not worried about this interruption making me look bad.”

Cole was silent for several seconds, and then he couldn’t hold back the bark of laughter.

Penelope Pope might look sweet as a kitten, but damned if he hadn’t just felt the subtlest scratch of her claws. He admired her for it.

“You’re absolutely right,” he said. “This is not a good way to start my interview, is it, Cassidy?”

“You have no idea,” Cassidy muttered. “I’ll see you out, Ms. Pope—Penelope.”

“Oh gosh, don’t worry about it,” Penelope said, moving toward the door. She looked like a kid playing dress-up, in her dark dress slacks, and especially with the short-sleeved black turtleneck that was slightly too big on her tiny frame. “Good luck, Mr. Sharpe.”

“Yeah, thanks. Oh, and Penelope—”

She paused in the doorway and turned back with a questioning smile.

Cole let his smile glow warm. “I’m sure it’s hard to move to a new city with so many new teams and players to learn. If you ever want me to show you where to start—”

“Save it, Sharpe. You have to see this,” Cassidy interrupted, coming to stand beside Cole.

Cassidy turned to focus on Penelope. “Terrence Mason.”

She frowned a little and shuffled her feet.

Cassidy nodded in encouragement to her, before turning his head slightly to Cole and muttering watch this out of the corner of his mouth.

Penelope licked her lips nervously. “Um, okay. Terrence Mason. Starting shortstop for the Mets, three twelve batting average, one-hundred-thirty-three-RBI season average over his six-year career, switch hitter despite missing the outer half of his left pinky due to a high school shop class accident—”

“Joe Carrington,” Cassidy interrupted.

Penelope didn’t even pause to think. “Second-string point guard for the Knicks. Severely underrated, never seems to make the same move twice on the court. Graduated from Duke, took his team to the NCAA championship all four years, was MVP his senior year after scoring—”

“Rick Macornis,” Cassidy said, interrupting again.

“Recently retired Rangers goalie. Probably could have gone a few more years, but he’d started to get slow, likely made a good call quitting while he was ahead. His GA was creeping up every year in a bad way. Had an affair with his left wing’s wife.”

Cole shook his head, feeling a little dazed. “I get it,” he said, all trace of levity gone from his voice. “I should be asking you for stats.”

“Oh, I’d like that!” Penelope said, seemingly missing his mea culpa altogether. “Perhaps we could grab coffee sometime. I’d love to pick your brain about which players like to talk and which need to be coaxed—”

She broke off, glancing between the two men, no doubt taking in Cole and Cassidy’s stunned expressions.

Was this woman for real?

They were neck and neck for a highly paid, highly desirable position with one of the largest magazines in the country and she wanted to have coffee and swap pointers?

“Uh…” was all Cole could manage.

“No pressure,” she rushed to say. “I just thought, well…I’m new to town. Mr. Cassidy has my number if you care to grab a drink sometime. Not a date, just, you know, just— Okay, good luck with your interview.”

Her words got faster and faster so that his brain had to scramble to follow along…and then she was gone.

The door shut with a click behind her, and neither Cassidy nor Cole moved for several seconds.

“Did that just happen?” Cole asked, still staring at the door.

“Apparently,” Cassidy murmured. “You going to call her?”

“Not if she gets my job,” Cole grumbled.

Cassidy didn’t respond, and Cole gave the other man a sharp look as the editor in chief walked around to sit down at his desk.

“Don’t jump to reassure me or anything,” Cole said under his breath.

Cassidy sighed. “Would you just sit down so we can do this damn interview?”

Cole eyed the door. “Do we have to do it now? You seem like you’re in a shitty mood.”

“Of course I’m in a shitty mood,” Cassidy said, running a hand through his hair. “You just interrupted that woman’s interview. She could sue us.”