Page 38 of VOGUEish

“Because for a very long time, I’ve lived life too safely, especially when it comes to personal relationships.”

He shoved his hands in his pant pockets. “What does that mean?”

She walked over to the window and opened the curtains. “I’ve gotten really good at keeping people at a distance and have been selective, even a bit standoffish.”

“Is your stance that I’m not your type an example of this behavior?”

She turned and studied him in a way he couldn’t fully read. It was like she was having an internal argument and wasn’t even aware he was waiting for her answer. He was about to make a flippant comment when she snapped out of her inner ramble. “There’s more to it than that, but it might play a small part in it.”

“I see. And you’re telling me this why?” Where was she going with this?

“Because while we both agree we have no future, I think we’d both be lying if we didn’t admit there are sparks between us.”

He took a step toward her and stopped. “You did make me forget to breathe.”

As if settling into a decision, she raised her chin and squared her shoulders. “I believe tonight might be a good time for me to make a fun choice.”

He swallowed, liking the implications of what she’d just said, and took another step in her direction. “What does that look like in practice?”

She held out a hand, stopping his forward movement, and gave him a wicked smile. “I’m glad you asked. But before I answer, please make yourself more comfortable.” She waved him toward the couch.

Before he could ask how comfortable? she walked out of the room.

He took off his tie and draped it over her couch next to his coat. “Where’s your roommate?” He raised his voice so she could hear him.

“Out of the country. It’s just the two of us.”

His anatomy took notice. Why the hell wouldn’t it? Truthfully, everything she did spoke directly to his dick. “Does she travel a lot?”

“It depends. She’s a publicist. Her job is to keep her clients out of trouble and in the limelight. Not an easy job. Sometimes they ask her to travel with them. I didn’t mind when I was also travelling a lot. Now that I’m not, it gets a little lonely.”

Chandler sat on the arm of the couch. “I have a friend who reports on the rich and famous when their publicists aren’t able to keep them in check.” A friend who’d not even given Chandler a warning about the Grinch column. What the fuck was that about?

“What’s your friend’s name?” Isabella asked, still in the other room.

“Grayson Summers.” Grayson hated dealing with publicists for the rich and weird. According to him, they always argued their clients should be excluded from his columns—unless, of course, he had something good to say.

“With Page Six?” Isabella asked loudly.

“That’s the one.”

She strolled back into the room carrying two beers and came to a stop in front of him. “My roommate would like to dropkick him into a vat of dirty jocks.”

He’d have to remember to tell Grayson that. “Why the hate?”

“Last Christmas, he wrote an unflattering post about one of her clients. So unflattering, Chloe would give up her autographed Lady Gaga T-shirt to bring him down a notch or twenty.”

Her roommate sounded intense. “He does seem to draw the haters…as well as the lovers.” Plenty of women had attempted to snag Grayson off the bachelor market. Chandler and Grayson had been two out of four of the original Elusive Six—a group of guys who had been on the auction block for charity and gotten the ridiculous nickname for their trouble.

Nowadays, they were referred to as the Elite Four. Chandler had been at one of the fallen Elusive Six’s weddings the night he met Isabella.

She handed him a beer, walked over to a full-sized ping-pong table set up in a corner and turned back to him. “Want to play?”

“What does the winner get?”

“If I win, you must tell Nonna the place across the street is perfect. And, if you win, I’ll owe you something.”

“Something?” He stuck one hand in his pant pocket, mostly to keep it from reaching out and yanking her into his embrace.

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