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At least two dozen pairs of eyes snapped to Alex. Half of those eyes had been staring even before Camille had mentioned him. There were nearly thirty people in the room, and there was only one other guy besides Alex.
And from the way the one other guy—Oliver, if he remembered correctly—was giving him the once-over, Alex was fairly sure he was the only man in the room who liked women.
He gave a weak smile at the group, wishing he could be somewhere else. Anywhere else.
Up on his floor, the Oxford guys were probably discussing last night’s game. Instead of joining them, Alex was surrounded by presentation boards covered in everything from lingerie to perfume ads.
He liked to think of himself as relatively modern man. A little gruff and stoic at times, sure.
But he didn’t grunt and drag women around by their hair, or brand them, or scream at them to make him homemade biscuits every morning. And he liked his nice suits and cologne and high-thread-count sheets. He was evolved.
But Stiletto was too much woman. It was like girly stuff on steroids. It made even the most modern man long for beer and onion rings.
“As most of you know, Alex Cassidy is the editor in chief for Oxford, our sometimes rival, sometimes partner. He’s the man version of me, so to speak.”
God help him.
“Anyway, he’s here because I have an important announcement to make.”
Camille paused dramatically, clearly waiting for someone to beg her for more info. She frowned when everyone merely stared at her, half-bored, half-expectantly.
Alex hid a smile. Clearly the Stiletto editor in chief had cried wolf one too many times. Her team didn’t expect this news to be earth-shattering.
And he supposed it wasn’t. Not really. But it might be to one person in the room.
A person he still refused to look at it.
Camille finally snapped when the silence stretched on ten seconds past awkward. “I’m going on a sabbatical,” she said.
“A what now?” Riley asked.
“A sabbatical,” a snooty-looking blond woman on Alex’s right explained. “It’s when—”
“I know what a sabbatical is, Kandice,” said Riley. “I just didn’t realize Stiletto offered them. How do I get one? Because there’s this sex camp—”
Camille held up a hand. “No sabbaticals for you. You want one, wait until you’re editor in chief.”
“Why would I want to be editor in chief?” Riley asked.
“Exactly,” Camille said, looking pleased at the lead-in. “It’s a thankless, tiresome job, and one I didn’t want to wish on any of you while I’m gone for three months.”
“Three months?” Julie asked. “We’re leaderless for three months?”
“Not quite,” Camille said. “You need someone to steer the ship, of course. So . . .”
She made a dramatic flourishing gesture in Alex’s direction.
He waited patiently for everything to register with the Stiletto crew.
“No. A boy?!” Riley said, scandalized.
“I saw him without his shirt once,” Grace said, leaning over. “He’s not a boy.”
Emma leaned in toward her friends, speaking up for the first time. “I saw him without his shirt once, too. Boy’s actually not so far off. He’s a little scrawny, and the lower half . . . eek.”
Emma’s voice was little more than a whisper, but it reached his ears. It was meant to.
Alex didn’t take the bait. Hell, back when Emma had seen him naked, they’d been young. He had been little more than a boy.
