“I have no idea what Stiletto readers find interesting,” Alex muttered, his gaze falling on an article called “Mastering the Side Braid.”
“I’m not talking about what’s interesting to readers; I’m talking about what’s interesting to you,” Cole said. “Why not get inside her head? Find out if she has an Alex Cassidy voodoo doll under her mattress.”
“I assure you, I don’t give a fuck if or how Emma Sinclair thinks of me.”
“So why’d you call me in here?” Cole asked, his expression confused.
“I didn’t!” Alex said, frustration prompting him to raise his voice. “You just entered, uninvited.”
“Oh. My bad,” Cole said, with a cocky grin. “Good luck, boss. Have fun with your lipstick.”
Alex stared at the door as it shut behind Cole. His sports editor’s suggestion had been diabolical. Alex was a professional. Even if he did want to get inside Emma’s head after all this time, he wouldn’t be so underhanded as to use his temporary boss status against her.
Would he?
Then he remembered that night after their rehearsal dinner—remembered her words.
You thought I’d never marry you if I knew the real you? Well, congratulations, Cassidy. You’re absolutely right. I don’t want to marry you.
Remembered the way his chest had felt like it cracked in two.
Alex clicked his pen as his frown deepened.
Maybe he could be that underhanded after all.
Chapter 8
“He wants you to write a story on your ex-boyfriends?” Julie asked. “He can’t be serious.”
Emma pulled a box of Thai food out of her fridge—well, Camille’s fridge—did a quick sniff test, and deemed it edible.
“Trust me,” Emma said, pulling a plate out of the cupboard. “He was serious.”
“But why?” Julie wailed. “You guys have always been so civil about your dirty, dirty past.”
“Sure, if by civil you mean barely speaking,” Emma replied, licking pad Thai off her thumb as she put the leftovers into the microwave.
“So what changed? He just decided to be a jerk all of a sudden?”
“I dunno,” Emma said, taking off her earring and then shifting her phone to the other ear so she could remove the second one. “Maybe it was a power trip thing?”
Even as she said it, it felt wrong. That didn’t seem like Cassidy. The man knew he was in charge. Always had. He didn’t require other people’s acquiescence to get a power rush.
“I hope you smashed his balls when he told you. No. Lit them on fire.”
“Yes, because that’s totally something I would do,” Emma said, grabbing a fork to stir her pad Thai. “Light a man’s testicles on fire.”
“Not just any man, Em. We’re talking the man who left you at the altar and now wants you to write about it.”
Emma didn’t respond right away, and Julie pounced. “That is how it went down, right? He left you at the altar? You never talk about it, but we’ve tried to put the pieces together….”
Emma went to the fridge for some wine. She needed it. “I was left standing in a white dress on my wedding day, yes,” she finally replied.
She could practically hear Julie’s eyes narrowing.
“Why do I get the sense there’s more to this story?” Julie asked.
“There’s always more to the story.”
Julie sighed. “But you’re not going to tell me, are you?”
Emma bit her lip. She sometimes felt a little guilty that her friends had turned Cassidy into the villain in their failed relationship. The guy deserved some of the blame, for sure, but he wasn’t quite the villain that she’d let her friends believe.
Emma herself had played a part in their explosive ending.
A big part.
“It’s so not as juicy as it is in your head,” Emma said, taking the plate out of the microwave. It was steaming like crazy so she set it aside to let it cool.
“Fine. But if you didn’t light his balls on fire, did you yell? Or at least raise your voice a little?”
“Couldn’t,” Emma said. “It was over email.”