The Trouble with Love (Sex, Love & Stiletto 4)

Then Jake and Grace had introduced him to Julie and Mitchell.

Who’d then introduced him to Riley . . .

And then Sam had entered the picture, and before he knew what was happening, Alex had found himself as part of a group.

One he enjoyed very much. Even if it did mean coming face-to-face on a regular basis with his former fiancée.

He deliberately did not look at Emma when she entered the room.

He only ever looked at her when his guard was down—or when hers was—and neither scenario happened very often.

Instead, he nodded in greeting at Julie, who gave him sassy little smile as she entered the room. Alex didn’t consider himself a smiley sort of guy, but it was hard not to smile at Julie Greene. There was something persistently likable about her.

It didn’t hurt that Julie was gorgeous. Her hair was an intriguing mix of blond and brown, her brown eyes sparkling and friendly.

Hell, for that matter, they were all gorgeous.

Grace Brighton—no, Grace Malone—was all soft curves and class with dark brown hair and hazel eyes.

And it was hard not to take a second look at Riley McKenna, the city’s closest thing to a real-life sex kitten. Tall, with long black hair and a sassy smile, Riley also had a rather exceptional figure, although if Sam Compton ever asked, Alex would swear up and down that he’d never noticed anything but her startling blue eyes.

And then . . .

And then there was Emma.

Emma, whose every feature he knew by heart, even without glancing at her.

Although not glancing at her was harder than usual today when she was wearing a sexy-as-sin pink dress that was completely unlike Emma’s usually conservative wardrobe.

There was a story there, clearly.

Not that he cared one way or the other. Not much, anyway.

“Stop staring at my girls,” Camille said under her breath.

Alex spun the conference room chair just slightly in the direction of Stiletto’s editor in chief.

“You’ve told them, right?” he asked.

Camille ignored him, continuing to tap out something on her iPad with the awkward, pointer-finger taps of someone only reluctantly familiar with touch screen technology. And touch screen was definitely new to her. Camille Bishop had been in the business longer than he’d been alive and tended to cling to old school methods whenever possible.

“Told them what?” Camille asked innocently. Too innocently.

He gave her a look, which she returned vacantly.

She was wearing big, oversized glasses today. Everything about Camille seemed big. Even though she had a wiry figure, her voice was loud. Her hair was bright. Her personality was . . . massive.

“No, I haven’t told them,” she hissed. “That’s what this meeting is for.”

He groaned. “Come on, Camille. Not even a heads-up?”

She pursed her lips and ignored him.

Shit.

As in, shit would definitely hit the fan when Camille dropped her little bomb on her team.

“Okay, everyone, let’s get started,” Camille said, standing and waiting until the small talk around the table trickled off. “You’ve probably noticed that there’s an extra dose of testosterone in the room today.”