He failed.
“They have a third partner now. We dated. Not much of a spark, but he’s not too bad,” she said simply.
Corey was sure his eyes were bugging out of his head. “How old are you?” he demanded.
“Twenty-eight.”
He wasn’t sure he believed that. When he looked at her closer, she looked maybe twenty-two?
“Why? How old did you think I was?”
“Yesterday? Ten,” he answered honestly.
She glared and then rolled her eyes. “I’m just going to thank you.”
“What?”
“Apparently, you think I’m a child prodigy who started writing feature articles at seven.”
Corey hadn’t thought about her career, and it was weird again to have it pointed out that she was a reporter. “Twenty-five is still impressive to start features,” he said begrudgingly, because it was. Even if her career choice left something to be desired.
She ignored his comment completely. “Second house on the left. Brick with the fence,” she said, nodding her head toward the house she pointed out.
“What?”
“GPS you’re using tells me you’ve never been here,” she said simply and hopped out when he parked. She moved quickly to get the tray of brisket—which had his car smelling like heaven on earth—out herself. “Don’t worry, your baby’s safe. It didn’t spill,” she said and disappeared with the tray, heading to the front door.
He followed, intending to help, but didn’t get a chance because Sean’s front door opened.
About a year ago, Hot Shots had reorganized into three divisions, headed by the three men. Sean did all the contracts and deals. Austin took care of investing and money management. And the new guy did publicity and damage control. Something Corey never really needed. Still, Corey’d met the guy, but what the hell was his name?
“Mike, I hate your partner.” She frowned at the guy she claimed to have dated, but let him lean down and give her a quick kiss on the cheek before passing him the dish.
This curly-haired skinny clown had dated Taran? She needed someone with more backbone than this guy. She tucked her bangs behind her ear, then her finger trailed along her neck. Corey itched to let his lips follow the same trail before sucking at the soft skin at the base of her throat. Would she taste sweet? Or would she be as tart as her personality?
“Let me guess. Asshat of the year?” Mike asked, interrupting his thoughts.
But Taran rolled her eyes and wrote the idiot off in one look.
This woman needed someone who could turn those sea-green eyes hot and put that pint-sized pistol in her place. Maybe tie her down and let her beg for release, and not from the ropes.
He blinked.
Wow, where had that come from? He watched her saunter out of the room, thinking maybe it wasn’t that strange an idea.
“That’s a new look on you, and not one I want released to the press,” Sean said from across the room. “What’s up with you two?”
Corey smiled over his shoulder at the guy he paid to keep reporters like Taran away from him. “I guess we’ll see, won’t we?”
He walked into the kitchen in time to see Taran lean over the counter and grab something white and creamy on a fork before sucking it into her mouth. Her orgasmic smile and satisfied groan stopped him in his tracks. Damn, he needed to clear that counter and put a different kind of satisfied smile on her face right now.
He didn’t know what was going on with him today. Maybe he just had sex on his brain because he hadn’t gotten laid in so long. It had been a while; he didn’t have a lot of time during the season because his head needed to stay in the game, and he wasn’t much for random hookups. So in the year since he’d ended things with Mel, he’d had a longer than normal dry spell.
“Marc was right.” Sean sighed behind him.
“About what?” Corey asked, but his focus was still on Taran as she took another bite.
“You two,” Sean said but didn’t elaborate. “Hi, Taran,” he called, and Taran turned and glared at him.