No Bull

Even in the chaos engendered by deadline day in the newsroom, Penelope knew when a sexy stranger was near. She turned around and with unerring accuracy zeroed in on the man in the crewcut and baggy jeans standing perplexed in the doorway. Virility poured off him like steam. Already the other women in the room were lifting their noses to sniff.

Penelope sauntered toward him to stake her claim. “May I help you, sir?”

He turned a rugged face dominated by mild brown eyes in her direction. “I’m here for a job.”

“I’m sorry”—and she truly was; she didn’t like saying “no” to eyes like that for anything—“but we don’t have any openings at this time.”

“This is a bullpen, ain’t it? Well, I’m a bull. I don’t smell any other bulls in here. Seems to me you need one.”

“It’s not that kind of a bullpen. That’s just a term.”

“So you got a bullpen with no bulls in it? Sounds like false advertising to me. You could get in legal trouble for that.”

Penelope’s lips curved upward. This one had a sharp brain to go with that shirt-straining body and those big brown deep-as-a-dungeon eyes. She could do things with a combo like that. All sorts of things. “What’s your name, cowboy?”

“Colby, ma’am. And it’s bull. Texas longhorn.”

“Ah. They’re the ones with the really big—“

“Horns. Yes, ma’am.”

“What is it you do, Mr. Colby?”

“Well, in my last job, I was kind of a security guard. I hung out with the herd and kept predators and rustlers off ‘em. I been on the rodeo circuit, too. Roping and bull riding.”

“Riding or ridden?”

He winked broadly at her. “I go either way.”

You big, beefy bastard. He’d sized her up and read her right in only a couple of minutes. No way she’d let this one slip the noose. “You realize we’re a newspaper. I don’t suppose you can write? Or know how to run a printing press?”

“Dunno. Never tried. I learn fast, though. All I need is”—he looked her up and down, thoroughly, pointedly—“the right instruction.”

Penelope swayed closer. She leaned in to whisper. “Ever been roped and tied? Or worn a nose ring?”

“Both, ma’am. I can take a whipping, too, or dole one out. Just no branding. I’m not into branding.”

“I think I may have a position for you.” Several, in fact, but she could lead up to those. She plucked a Post-It note from a nearby desk and carefully printed Dante’s name and the address to the Pleasure Club on it. She slapped the note onto Colby’s broad chest with the palm of her hand. “Go talk to this man. He always needs bouncers and security. Someone of your … talents … shouldn’t have trouble landing employment.”

“I’m much obliged, ma’am.”

"That’s ‘Mistress P.’ Mention my name when you talk to Dante. He’ll see that you get into the right department.”

“Yes, Mistress,” Colby said, without the slightest hesitation. He stared over her head at the bustling newsroom. “You could still use a bull in here, to justify the name.”

“Maybe I can get you stringer work from the sports desk, if you don’t mind covering rodeos. You could give an insider’s perspective. I’ll have someone interrogate—excuse me, interview you next week.”

“Interrogation’s fine. I’m looking forward to it.” Colby tipped an imaginary Stetson. “See you around, Mistress. Soon, I hope.”

Penelope watched that fine bull ass work its way toward the exit. Dante would give him work, of that she had no doubt. And so would she. A lengthy workout involving lassoes and hobbles. See if everything she’d heard about the brawny muscle of a big Texas longhorn was true.

And why not share the fun? After her blowup with Nick, Ziva could do with a girls’ night out. Penelope strolled back to her desk. All of a sudden the week was looking up.