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All the shit that would have worked on her at one time. Hell, all the shit that had worked on her back when Greg was pulling her into his slimy web.
But Grace 2.0 knew better. Grace 2.0 didn’t trust compliments, didn’t trust smiles.
Didn’t trust men.
She gave a slow smile. She didn’t care if Jake Malone was usually the Dalai Lama of dating. There was no way he—or any guy—was getting her number. Literally or figuratively.
“Grace, you know you’re doing your piranha smile, right? That scary face you do when some guy’s about to be emasculated?”
“Don’t worry,” Grace said, taking a satisfied sip of her cocktail. “I’m not going to kick his balls, just his dignity. For Stiletto’s sake, of course.”
“Of course,” Julie muttered. “Because I’m sure Jake Malone isn’t going to pay the price for Greg Parsons’s wandering dick.”
“Hey!” Grace exclaimed, stung. “Is that what you think is happening here? That I’m only doing this article as a way of getting back at Greg?”
“No,” Julie said carefully. “But I do think you’re motivated by your pride. You want the world to know that just because you failed to see through one man doesn’t mean you’ll fail to see through all of them.”
“Is that so bad? Wouldn’t you do the same?”
“Probably,” Julie granted. “But—”
“I’ve found him!” Riley interrupted, triumphantly waggling her phone in their faces.
“Found who?”
“Jake Malone. I thought you’d want to know who you’re dealing with.”
“Please. It’s not like we’re dealing with Cary Grant,” Grace said. But she leaned forward to look at the picture on Riley’s phone anyway. Couldn’t hurt to be a little prepared.
The cocktail that seconds ago had tasted perfectly balanced turned bitter on her tongue as she took in the perfect male features.
But it wasn’t the fact that he was perfect that bothered her. Although he was. Perfect, that is.
It was the fact that he was familiar that made her want to puke.
Grace had lied when she said she’d never seen Jake Malone. She had seen him. Just not in a professional capacity.
No, Grace’s interaction with Jake was more recent.
And more personal.
Jake Malone was none other than the guy from the taxicab that morning.
Her friends were right. She was in trouble, because this was a guy who could read women.
But far more alarming … Jake Malone had been able to read her.
That wouldn’t do. In order to win this thing, she needed to be predictable and mysterious. She needed to throw him off balance at every turn.
In other words, she needed to be everything Grace 1.0 had not been. Sexy. Enigmatic. Magnetic.
“Girls.”
At her serious tone, they both abandoned their discussion about the newest Kate Spade line and gave Grace their full attention like the best friends that they were.
“About this date … I need a new dress.”
Julie clapped her hands together in delight.
