Page 10 of More Than Pen Pals

“Did you talk to her on the way over here? Did she catch up with you after you ran out?” He moves his fingers in a running motion but then stops and cringes when he realizes he’s making fun of me. “Sorry.” His old habit will die hard.

I cross my arms over my chest. “I didn’t run out.”

“Close to it. But did you talk to her?”

“Kind of.”

“What does that mean?”

I tell him about the conversation.

“And you’re not going to dinner with this knockout woman? Are you dead inside?”

“I don’t care what she looks like. She’s a liar.”

“You’rea liar. You do care what she looks like.”

My brother isn’t wrong. Leslie is the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen—she looks a little like Michelle Pfeiffer, onlybetter—and I can still feel the imprint of her hand where she touched my arm, which makes the whole situation worse, if that’s possible. I refuse to be attracted to the woman who betrayed me.

“You can’t avoid her,” Randall says. “You’re over at Carter-Jenkins all the time.”

I close my eyes. Doing legal work to help cover up the questionable actions of a bunch of celebrities is a far cry from my dream job, but when I joined the law firm, my dad assigned me to Carter-Jenkins PR. He told me if I could successfully handle their legal counsel for three years, he’d let me do something I thought was more worthwhile. It feels like hazing, and there are days I want to tell my father where he can stuff the public relations nonsense, but I’m determined to make it through the next year so I can do what I really want to do.

My mind wanders to wondering how Leslie ended up in PR. That wasn’t her dream.

“You’ll probably have to work with her,” Randall says.

My eyes pop open. He’s doing his best to hold back a smirk.

“Didn’t think of that, did you?”

five

My office door swings open without warning.

Wendy puts her hands on her hips and glares at me. “You let me blabber on about that man like a fool, and all the while youknowhim?”

I hid in my office upon my return from the confrontation with Ash on the sidewalk, but I knew it was only a matter of time until Wendy finished her meeting and demanded an explanation.

“Can you close the door?” I ask.

She narrows her eyes for a few seconds before sticking her leg out and kicking the door shut.

“Well?” she asks, hands still on hips.

“Please sit.” I motion to the deep purple upholstered chair next to my desk. “I’ll tell you everything. I promise.”

Wendy flounces over to the chair and plops into it. “This better be good. I thought you were myfriend.”

“I am. Please hear me out.”

She hesitates but finally nods.

“It all started in fourth grade.”

She sits up straight. “You’ve known Ash since you were ten? How? You’re from Arkansas, and he’s from here.”

“We were pen pals.”

---