- Author: Camilla Isley
Read book online «Opposites Attract: An Enemies to Lovers, Neighbors to Lovers Romantic Comedy (First Comes Love Book by Camilla Isley (best books to read non fiction TXT) 📕». Author - Camilla Isley
(A Sweet Enemies to Lovers Romantic Comedy)
First Comes Love Series
by Camilla Isley
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright Pink Bloom Press 2020
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Note from the Author
Sneak Peek – I Have Never
Never Make a Scene
The First Comes Love Series
Also by Camilla Isley
About the Author
A woman in a red coat rushes in front of me in the subway station, cutting me off at the yellow line marking the end of the platform. Chivalry prevents me from protesting aloud or asserting my right to board the train first and compels me to pause for a second to let her pass.
It’s one second too many.
The moment she steps into the subway car, the doors slide shut and the train begins to move, leaving me behind gaping like an idiot at the beautiful profile of the woman in red who stole my ride. I barely have time to take in the regular curve of her nose, heart-shaped mouth, and dark hair swept back in a bun before the train gathers speed and they both disappear into the tunnel ahead.
On the ceiling, the subway monitor informs me another train is due in ten minutes. Fingers crossed it’ll be on time; otherwise, I’m going to be late, and I can’t afford to be. I’ve spent months hunting for a new office, ever since the rent on my current space skyrocketed and I had no choice but to cancel the lease. But so far, I’ve had no luck. All the places I’ve seen were out of my budget or not to my taste—as in, they wouldn’t be to any sane human being’s taste, unless they favored dingy holes with no light, no windows, stained walls, and fifty-year-old carpet.
And the clock’s ticking—not just to get to my appointment, but to find a new place, too, as I have to move out of my office next week. In short, I have everything staked on the newly-renovated business complex I’m supposed to be visiting in less than an hour, assuming I can make it to Brooklyn Heights in time.
Luckily, the next train pulls into the station on the dot, and, with no other corner-cutters in heels before me, I hop in first and even find an empty seat.
Now I can get to my appointment on time, and I don’t have to grab onto an overhead handle while being jostled right and left, as that red-wearing woman is surely doing right now.
Despite the unexpected setback, I reach my destination with fifteen minutes to spare; just enough time to grab a quick breakfast first. I find a Starbucks in my path that’s surprisingly not too busy, so I step in and give the female barista my standard order.
“Tall cappuccino, double espresso shot, easy on the foam. And a donut, please.”
“Right away, sir.” The young woman behind the counter smiles at me. “Could I have your name, please?”
“Lucas,” I say. “Luke is fine.”
Her smile widens. “Luke it is.” The barista rings up my order, and frowns. “I’m sorry, sir, it looks like we’re out of donuts. Could I get you anything else to eat?”
Disappointed, I take a quick look at the bakery display. “A blueberry muffin is okay, thanks.”
I pay and move to the other end of the line to wait for my drink. In my peripheral vision, I catch a flash of red and turn toward it… And why am I not surprised to see a heart-shaped mouth bite down on a mouthwatering, double-glazed donut?
What should’ve been my donut.
Looking away from both woman and pastry, I try to convince myself the muffin is going to taste just as delicious as the donut.
When my cappuccino is ready, I move outside, since it’s a sunny day none too cold for March in New York. I hate eating and walking, so I sit at one of the metal tables and sniff the muffin.
Halfway through my first bite, the woman in red leaves the coffee shop. She strolls down the street without a care in the world. Her coat flaps open as she walks, revealing a black skirt suit underneath. The skirt is so tight it forces her to take small steps, while her black stiletto heels make a click-clack sound as they hit the concrete.
That queue-jumping, donut-stealing witch. I hope I’ll never see her again.
I finish my breakfast and check my watch. Time to go.
The address Leslie—my new real estate agent, and the girlfriend of my best friend, Garrett—gave me brings me to one of those industrial rehabilitations. Before the area was gentrified, the complex must’ve been a factory now turned into lofts and offices. I take to the place at once, liking that history dwells within