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“Not this time you don’t.”
Emma slumped back in her chair. “I was wondering when you’d try to pull this.”
“Pull what?” Camille fluttered her eyelashes—or tried to—but the effect was . . . ghastly.
“Well, let’s see,” Emma said, tapping her nails against the arm of the office chair. “You assigned Julie a story about what comes after the first kiss . . . she got engaged. Then you had Grace work on a battle-of-the-sexes story with Jake—”
Camille held up a finger. “Hey, Grace volunteered for that—”
“So you had nothing to do with Grace and Jake getting together?” Emma pushed. “Didn’t get involved at all?”
Camille made her eyes go wide and innocent.
“Uh-huh,” Emma said knowingly. “And then you set Riley up to spill her guts and she ended up with Sam—”
“I fail to see the problem,” Camille said. “Your three besties are all in happy relationships. I refuse to apologize.”
“Fine. But I’m not looking for a relationship,” Emma said.
Camille’s lips twitched. “Neither were they.”
Emma’s fingers found her temples. She knew there’d be no winning this argument. “Just tell me. Tell me what you want me to do so I can get it over with.”
“A blind date story. Julie told me you’ve never been on one—”
“Because they’re a terrible idea,” Emma muttered.
Camille continued as though Emma hadn’t spoken. “So spin it. Do whatever take on the story you want. “My First Blind Date.” “Are Blind Dates a Thing of the Past?” “The Horrors of a Blind Date.” Do it however you feel moved. . . . Just . . . give Benedict a chance. At least try, Emma.”
“It doesn’t feel fresh,” Emma said, as a last-ditch effort. “Surely Stiletto has done a million blind date stories over the years.”
“Oh, you know how that goes,” Camille said, standing up as though the conversation was over. “Everything old is new again, et cetera.”
“Camille—” Emma begged, standing so they were eye to eye.
“It’s one date, Emma.” Camille’s voice was impatient now. “A mere two hours out of your life.”
“So this is nonnegotiable?”
Camille nodded once.
Emma ran a tongue over the front of her teeth as she inhaled a long calming breath through her nose.
Fine.
Fine.
Camille was right. A date with a good-looking guy wouldn’t kill her. Worst case, it’d be a disaster and her story would all but write itself.
“All right. Set it up.”
“Already done,” Camille replied, her attention on her phone.
Emma rolled her eyes. “So this entire conversation was just a formality?”
Camille glanced up. “Next Friday at eight. Benedict will text you the location.”
“Can’t wait,” Emma muttered, heading toward the door.
