Bram shakes his head. “Thank you. I can get ads. It’s just…an article, an editorial, anything would really help.”
Even though I don’t mind my boss Lucy, it’s Joe, the editor of the paper who is a real asshole. If I could get what Bram is talking about, I’d have to go to him.
Still, Nicola is my friend and Bram’s heart is in the right place. I sigh. “Okay. I’ll talk to the editor tomorrow and see what I can do. I couldn’t write the article, but I’m sure someone else could. If they’re interested.”
“Nicola said you went to school for journalism. Why couldn’t you write it? It would give it more of a personal spin, don’t you think?”
I feel a familiar pinch of regret in my stomach. “I went to school for communications,” I correct him, “and got sucked into the ad world. I can write, but…they wouldn’t let me, even if I tried. They’ll give it to a staff writer. But they’re all good. I’ll see what I can do, okay?”
He smiles at me. Handsome devil. “Thank you, Kayla. You’re not as black-hearted as they say you are.”
I raise my brow. “I beg to differ. I’m in advertising, after all.”
Even though I’m ready to leave, something makes me sit down with the rest of them. Linden, Steph, and Lachlan are on one side of the booth, so Bram and I slide in beside Nicola, just as a waitress comes by bringing more drinks. The glass of wine slides toward me, and I groan inwardly knowing it would be rude of me to leave now.
“What was that about?” Steph asks us.
“Just seeing if Kayla can pull some strings at the Weekly,” he explains, then looks over to Lachlan.
His cousin gives a sharp nod, his eyes flitting to me and back to Bram. I’ve barely made an impression on the man, and usually people say I’m forgettable (not always in the most flattering way, but still).
“That would be great if you could,” Nicola says from down the table. “Would save Lachlan from going on another date with Justine.”
Bram laughs at that, and Lachlan leans back in his seat, palming his light beer. Holy crap. His hands. I get such a lady boner for men’s hands, and his are large, wide, and strong looking. If he could touch me like he’s touching his beer, I’d be in so much trouble.
Lachlan gives Bram a dry look, and I notice the light scarring on his forehead and cheekbones, the way the middle of his nose is just a bit crooked. He looks like a bruiser, a fighter, a player. My mind adds that information to the recent discovery about his hands, and I feel like I’m about to implode.
“The things I do for my cousin,” Lachlan comments, and I’m lost in the roughness of his accent. His tone borders on amusement, even if his face remains as stony as ever.
“More like the women you do for your cousin,” Linden jokes. Lachlan doesn’t say anything to that.
Ah, so he’s a womanizer like the other McGregors. I thought as much. I mean, how can you look like that, all manly, primal, rugged, with those lips and eyes, and not have women falling at your feet. Hell, if I hadn’t made a vow and actually had makeup on and fresh breath and didn’t have a live audience, I would be under the table, trying to put his dick in my mouth. I bet it’s glorious.
I sigh inwardly. It doesn’t bother me that he’s a player because I am too. Or I used to be. So I guess that’s what bothers me. I’ll never be able to sample the goods. Even though abstaining is for the best, I need to get laid something fierce, and Lachlan McGregor would be the man to do it. Over and over again.
That is, of course, if he even finds me attractive. Or anything at all. And from the way I catch his gaze briefly from time to time and see nothing readable in those hard, mossy eyes, I know that’s not a possibility. Maybe he really is hung up on this Justine girl, despite the joke that Nicola made it out to be.