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Twisting a foot inward so that her knees touch in the center and her hip sticks out, then lifting her arms meaningfully at her sides, she tilts her head to her shoulder and challenges, “You tell me.”
“You look…” I start to pay her a compliment, but when words like sexy and gorgeous and fucking beautiful pop into my mind, I pause to search for something a little less…intense.
This is Evan’s baby sister, and I haven’t been able to stop ogling her since she walked through the door. The last thing I need to do is give my mind permission by saying something I shouldn’t out loud.
“I look?” she asks when I don’t finish, searching my eyes. “I look what?”
“Uh…” I clear my throat and scrub a hand through my hair. “You look very nice.”
My dick calls me a chickenshit liar in four different languages. Which is really impressive since I only speak the one.
Her face falls ever so slightly, but she recovers quickly. “Thanks.” Unfortunately, it’s still too slow to hide her disappointment completely, and I feel like a prick.
Nice? I may as well have been giving a compliment to my mother.
I clear my throat and try again. “What I meant to say is that the clothes look very nice. You look beautiful.”
Her cheeks flush my new favorite color—a perfect mix of peachy pink and red—and she stares up at me from beneath her lashes. “You really think so?”
“Yes,” I answer without hesitation. I can’t pussyfoot around the truth too much, and quite frankly, I won’t. Maybe should know—she should always know—she’s more than a stylish dress and good makeup. “You always look beautiful, kid.”
Her eyes widen and her mouth parts, and I suddenly have a vivid picture of what she’d look like staring up at me from her knees.
Jesus, Milo. Stop. Stop right now.
Before Maybe can respond—and before I can mentally undress my best friend’s little and off-limits sister, I direct the conversation to the whole reason I had her stop by my office today.
“Tell me…if you could work for any publishing house in New York, which one would you choose?”
She doesn’t even have to think about it. “Beacon House.”
“That was a quick answer.”
She shrugs. “I put a little bit of thought into this over the past six years while I slaved away at Stanford.”
“Well, good. I have an excellent connection at Beacon, but that’s not who you’ll be interviewing with first,” I say immediately, scribbling down notes on the edge of my desk calendar. Now that I know what her ultimate end game is, I know exactly the direction to go.
She quirks a brow, and I continue.
“I’m going to line up an interview for you at Rainbow Press next week.”
I don’t miss the slightest hint of a frown that mars the smooth surface of her forehead. “Rainbow Press?”
“Yep.”
Rainbow Press is a moderately successful publishing house whose editor in chief, Cassandra Cale, went to Yale with Evan and me. And the truth is, I already lined up an interview for Maybe there this morning. When I spoke with Cassandra and told her about Maybe, she told me they were already on the hunt to add three more junior editors to their staff. I knew they’d be the kind of stepping stone we’d need to get us any other place Maybe could dream up.
“Oh. Okay. Well…that’s great.”
I grin at her stapled-together, blandly polite response, and she rallies a little harder, thinking I want more from her. “I would be happy to have a job at a publishing house like Rainbow Press.”
“Yeah, but it’s not good enough to achieve your dream,” I tease slightly, and she shakes her head.
“No, it’s fine.”
I laugh. “I appreciate your attempt at being diplomatic, kid, but Rainbow Press is not where you’re going to end up.”
She tilts her head to the side, and I watch the way a few long locks of her hair slide across her shoulders. She worries her bottom lip with her teeth, and then finally, shrugs her defeat. “I’m confused.”
“Think of this interview as a practice interview,” I explain. “I’m certain you’ll get the job, but I don’t want you to actually accept the job.”
“Wait…” She pauses and searches my eyes. “You want me to go to this interview already knowing I’m not going to accept the job?”
I smile and wink. “Bingo. That’s exactly what I want you to do.”
“You realize that makes no sense, right?”
“Just trust me on this. You’re going to hold out for something that’s bigger and better. Something like Beacon House.” I smirk. “But you’re going to need an offer on the table in order to do that.”
“You sound insanely certain.”
“Because I know how a thriving company like Beacon House works,” I answer with conviction. “I already know they’re not currently looking to add any editors to their roster, but I also know they don’t want to miss a new, up-and-coming, sought after editor who graduated from a prestigious school like Stanford.”
