Golden Lies - Barbara Freethy [152]
"I've been in meetings all day," he replied, stepping away from her.
"You know what they say about all work and no play. It makes a man very boring." She gave him a flirtatious smile. She really was pretty, he thought, ash blond hair, dark brown eyes, curves in all the right places. He just wished they had more in common outside of the bedroom. Not that he wanted a long-term relationship. He'd given up on that idea years ago.
"Ask me what I did today," she continued.
"What did you do today?"
"I went to a spa in the Napa Valley with Margarita. It was incredible. We had facials and mud baths, and they wrapped our bodies in seaweed ..."
Cole sat down at his desk as Gisela rambled on about her visit to the spa with a fellow lingerie model. He turned on the panel of television monitors that lined the opposite wall and skimmed through the taglines on each news channel, catching himself up on the latest happenings in the world. Breaking news in war zones had taken on a new dimension in recent years with reporters embedded in battalions and marching into battle along with the soldiers. It was a dangerous but exciting time to be a foreign correspondent.
"Did you hear what I said?" Gisela asked impatiently.
"Sorry?" he asked, still distracted as he saw a breaking-news tag flash on the CNN screen. He couldn't quite read the words, but the raging winds and swirling waves suggested a hurricane heading toward the North Carolina coast.
"Cole, this is ridiculous. You're not listening to me." Gisela slapped the top of his desk with her hand, a small ineffectual tap that would not have dared to chip her red nail polish, but the fact that she'd hit anything at all with those newly painted fingers told him she was truly irritated—which was par for the course. Gisela was a drama queen.
Every minor annoyance in her life turned into a major problem.
"What was the matter this time—not enough caviar in the body wrap?" he asked.
"The problem is you."
Cole sighed. He'd heard that one before—not just once, either. The comment was usually followed by, You don't spend enough time with me, or I don't feel like we really know each other. To which he often felt like replying, Do we need to know each other? Can't we just have a good time together, a few laughs, a lot of sex, and leave it at that? Not that he would ever actually say that. He knew better than to wave a red flag in front of a bull or an irritated woman.
Before Gisela could explain exactly why she was upset, there was a knock at his office door, and Josh Somerville entered the room. Josh had a typical California beach boy look: a wiry, lean physique perfect for riding a surfboard, skateboard or any other kind of board, sandy blond hair that was never combed, freckles that got worse in the summer, and a wide grin on his perpetually cheerful face. Thank God for Josh. His radar was still working. Growing up next door to each other, Cole and Josh and Josh's twin brother, Dylan, had developed a system with girls. If one was in trouble, one of the others always came to the rescue.
"Josh, you're right on time." Cole sent his friend a pointed glance.
Josh darted a quick look at Gisela's stormy face. "I see that I am. Hi, Gertie, how are you?"
Cole inwardly groaned. Gisela, once known as Gertrude Hamilstein, had changed her name to Gisela years ago, but Josh, a sports reporter for the Trib, had come across the info and couldn't resist goading her with her real name.
"We're having a private conversation, if you don't mind," Gisela said.
"I don't mind. Go right ahead." Josh sat down in the chair in front of Cole's desk and stretched out his legs. "What are we talking about?"
"Love," she said.
"My favorite topic."
"I said love, not sex. You wouldn't know the difference."
"Most men don't," Josh said with a laugh. "Don't you agree, Cole?"
"Dammit," Cole said, distracted once again by the scene on one of the television monitors. "They just hit the