Unexpected Lovers Box Set by J.B. Heller

It tookme forever to fall asleep last night. I couldn’t switch off. All I could think about was the possibility that Atticus could be interested in me. Me. The quiet, reserved, plain Jane. It makes no sense. That man could have any woman he wanted. One look, and half the city would drop their panties for him, I’m sure of it. Hell, if I wasn’t so self-conscious, I’d probably join them.

I conclude that he, too, finds elevator travel as boring as watching paint dry, and he only noticed my tattoo because there was literally nothing else to look at. I once attempted to count the seeds on a strawberry while riding the lift but lost count because it’s really hard to keep track of the ones already counted.

Due to my lack of shut-eye, I’m now the not-so-proud owner of a pair of nasty-ass black bags under my eyes. I’ve already had two coffees while slathering generous amounts of concealer and foundation on my face in an attempt to hide the extra baggage. And now I’m filling my to-go cup before I head out the door with numero tres for the day.

Generally, I don’t wear this much makeup or consume this much caffeine, but desperate times call for desperate measures. I can’t take the risk of accidentally running into Atticus and having him see me looking like the unkempt mess I usually am.

Okay, that’s a slight exaggeration. I’m not that bad. But I’m certainly not what you’d call ‘put together.’ My go-to wardrobe consists of jeans, oversized sweaters, leggings—lots of leggings—and extra-long tees. And makeup? Anything other than a quick swipe of mascara and lipstick is only pulled out on special occasions.

The fact that I’m wearing a full face today speaks volumes as to the ridiculous levels of my nerves right now. The mere thought of possibly seeing Atticus just about has me breaking out in hives.

“You’re heading out early,” Em says as she shuffles over to the coffee pot, her hair in a messy top knot and creases from her pillowcase still etched onto her cheek.

Tying the laces on my Doc Martens, I bring my gaze to hers. “Couldn’t sleep. Figured I may as well put some hours in at the office since my brain is clearly too alert.”

Em nods while clutching a steaming mug between her palms and leans against the kitchen cupboards. “Fair enough,” she mutters.

Hold up. It’s freakishly early for Em to be up and about.It’s not so unusual for me, but for Emory? This is definitely not normal. When I finish tying my laces, I sit up and eye her. “Why are you up, anyway?”

Her shoulders droop, then her mouth widens in a massive yawn. “I’ve got an interview with a new upcoming author this morning. Apparently, she has a crazy-strict schedule and won’t break it for anything, so this is the only time she could meet me.”

“You couldn’t do a lunch thing with her?” I ask, knowing just how much Em loathes mornings.

She shakes her head. “Nope. I’ve tried everything, but her agent was adamant it was breakfast or nothing. And I really want this interview. I received an advance copy from her publisher, and the book is brilliant. I’m actually really excited to talk to her about it.”

I smile, sure her blog readers will love it. “Okay, well, you have fun with that, and you can tell me all about it tonight,” I tell her as I snatch my keys from the bowl by the front door and head out into the hall.

I mentally debate the merits of continuing to take the stairs or simply taking the elevator. It’s only six-thirty. The chances of Atticus being in the elevator this early are super slim. But I’m not willing to risk it just yet, so I push through the stairwell door and make my way down the seven floors to the lobby.

* * *

It’s not evenseven when I swipe my ID card and enter the building Fiora is located in and arrive at my office. After dumping my bag on the desk, I drop into my plush chair and open my e-mails. There are almost a hundred unread messages in my inbox, so I get comfortable then click onto the most recent one, pushing everything else out of my head, and give it my full attention.

I’m fully in the zone when someone clears their throat and knocks against the doorframe at the entrance to my office. I smile up at my coworker Kiara. “Morning,” I say.

She frowns. “Dude, it’s lunchtime.”

My eyes flick to the time displayed at the corner of my computer screen. “Well, crap, thanks for popping in. I would have worked straight through.”

Kiara grins and shakes her head. “I know,” she grumbles. “Come on. Let’s hit up the deli. I’m starving.”

“Sounds good. Now that you mention it, I am hungry. I skipped breakfast.”

“Why am I not surprised?” she mutters as I join her, and we walk down the hall to the elevator bank.

We’re riding down to the lobby with six other people crammed into the small space. Someone in here has some killer B.O. going on, and I cringe. Kiara side-eyes me, giving me a knowing look. She smells it too. She makes a gagging face, and I snort then quickly cover my face with my hands when the woman beside me glares in my direction.

When the elevator opens, we hotfoot it out of there as quickly as possible and laugh as we push the front entrance doors and emerge onto the street.

“That was nasty!” I say.

Kiara’s eyes are watering from her laughter. “I know. Have they never heard of deodorant? Seriously, it’s not a new invention.”

“Preach,” I agree and hold my hand up for a high-five as we make our way down the block.

We place our orders at the counter then take a seat in a cozy corner by the front window so we can people-watch as we eat.

“So, what’s new?” Kiara asks conversationally.

I shrug. “Same ol’, same ol’. Had brunch with my mom and sister last week—fun times. Oh wait! There was something new,” I tell her. “I was accused of being a cradle-snatching hustler by Mr. Tall, Dark, and Brooding.”

Kiara’s eyes widen. “What? Tell me everything right now!” she demands, slapping her palms on the tabletop.

“About brunch?” I tease with a tilt of my head.

She rolls her eyes. “Like I want to talk about your bitchy family.”

I’ve talked to her about my sex-on-a-stick neighbor before, but she doesn’t know about Miss Sadie, so I leave that little detail out. Clearing my throat, I give her a condensed version. “For some reason, he thought I was trying to hustle his sixteen-year-old son. He approached me in the elevator about it last week. It. Was. Mortifying.”

Her face scrunches in disapproval. “That’s not cool, dude. Maybe his son is crushing on you, and he thought you were encouraging it?”

“Yeah, maybe. Either way, I set him straight then got my ass out of there.”

Our bagels are placed on the table in front of us by Callum, who usually works the counter, not the tables. When he lingers, both Kiara and I swing our eyes up to him. He shifts on his feet nervously, then says, “Are you doing anything Friday night?”

My eyes shoot to Kiara. He’s asking her out, and he’s nervous about it. How freaking cute!

But she looks back at me, raises her brows, then shifts her eyes back and forth between Callum and me. I don’t know what she wants me to do, so I kick her under the table and widen my eyes at her.

She sighs, turns her attention to Callum, and gives him a small smile. “I’m sorry, Callum, but Kinsley here thinks you’re talking to me.”

My jaw drops, and I blink at her. The hell did she just say? He was talking to her. What is she on about?

“Oh,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck and biting down on his pierced lower lip. His gaze comes to mine, and he lifts a shoulder in a small shrug. “I was asking you,” he says softly.

I rear back in shock. “Seriously?” I ask.

A shy smile tugs at his pretty mouth. It’s a weird observation, but the guy has the poutiest full lips I’ve ever seen.

“Yeah,” he confirms. “You free on Friday? I’ve got tickets to a friend’s gig at The Royal. I’d really like it if you’d come with me.”

A red-hot blush creeps up my neck and over my cheeks. I swallow past the lump of nerves in my throat and say the first thing that comes to mind. “Why?”

I hear Kiara groan, but I ignore her.

“You seem like a cool chick. I see you in here almost every week, and well ...” He pauses, licks his lips, then glances at the ground as he says, “I’ve been wanting to ask you out for a while.”

Again, my eyes widen. “You have?” I whisper.

He chuckles and brings his gaze back to mine. “Yeah, I have. So, whaddya say?”

“Umm, I, uh—”

Kiara cuts me off. “She’d love to. Give me your phone. I’ll program her number in for you.” She extends an expectant hand, and Callum obliges.

“You okay with this, Kinsley?” he asks as Kiara punches in my number.

How sweet is this guy? A brilliant smile lights up his face, and I nod then bite the inside of my cheek.

“There. All done. You can text her the details,” Kiara says, giving him back his phone.

He grins, nods, then walks backwards away from us. “Will do,” he says before turning around to the counter.

Blinking at my bagel, I can’t wipe the smile off my face. I don’t remember the last time someone asked me out. And he’s super cute, to boot.

“Girl, you are so ignorant. How could you think that guy was talking to me? He watches you like a love-struck puppy every time we come in here,” Kiara says around a bite of her lunch.

“He does not,” I retort.

She shakes her head and chuckles. “You’re either ignorant or completely blind, ’cause he most certainly does.”

Hmmm, this is the second time in as many days that one of my friends has accused me of something like this. God, what if they’re right? How many guys have I not given the time of day because I had no idea they were even interested?

I refrain from banging my head on the table—only just, though. I’m such a moron.