Unexpected Lovers Box Set by J.B. Heller

At six-fifty-five,the chair across from me makes a godawful screech as it’s dragged out from the table, and the hot mess that is Emory Moss drops down into it.

Her hair is a wild mane of bright-red curls as she stares at me. Her bright-blue eyes tell me everything she’s thinking in this very moment, and I can’t help but smirk.

“Oh, look, she does know what punctuality is,” I murmur.

Her gaze narrows. “I got up extra-extra early and forwent my morning coffee to be here. So, you better give me something good for this interview,” she says, pulling a notebook and pen from a cotton tote bag with the word BOOKWHORE in capital letters splashed across it.

I hit save on the file I’m working on then close my laptop and sit back in my seat. “Am I supposed to be impressed that you actually arrived on time?”

She throws her hands in the air, gesturing like a madwoman. “Yes! My roommates are going to think I was kidnapped through the night when they realize I’m not at home. I told you; I don’t do mornings.”

“Or professionalism, it would seem.” I’m being a prick. I’m well aware, and I don’t even care. She’s cute when she’s pissy.

Emory huffs, stands, and goes to the counter—I’m assuming to order that morning coffee she was complaining about missing. “I’ll take a flat white,” I call over to her. “In a mug. No sugar.”

She glares over at me then turns back to the barista with an epic eyeroll. And I just grin. At our initial encounter, she made quite the impression. I think I’m going to enjoy this interview process more than I’d thought.

After placing her order—and I hope mine too—she returns to her seat, dropping down into it with a light thud. I eye her apparel and smile.

She narrows her gaze when she notices me staring. “What?” she snaps.

“Yesterday, it was books are better than boys, and today, you’re dating the figment of another person’s imagination?”

One of her shoulders rises in a shrug. “Yeah, and?”

I grin. She’s sassy for someone so small. “No and. It was just an observation.”

Emory quirks a brow and crosses her arms over her ample chest. But she remains silent.

It’s my turn to ask, “What?” as her blue eyes rake over me.

Again, she shrugs. “Yesterday, you were an ass, and today... you’re still an ass.”

I burst out laughing. “That I am, Emory. That I am.”

Mel approaches with our caffeine hits. She quickly slides Emory’s in front of her without a word, then slowly, she places mine directly in front of me as she positions herself to block Emory from my sight. “Here you go, handsome,” she drawls.

“Thanks, Mel,” I say then shift so I can go back to watching Emory.

Mel gets the hint and disappears a moment later. I’m probably going to have to do something about her soon unless I want her to start spitting in my coffee for constantly brushing her off.

“She’s awfully friendly,” Emory comments.

I shrug. “She works in customer service. It’s an important part of her job.”

Emory snorts. “That’s why she completely ignored my existence.”

Instead of replying, I pick up my coffee and take a hearty swallow of the heavenly liquid.

“Shall we get to it, then?” she asks after drinking some of her own beverage and sighing contentedly.

“Sure,” I say, sitting back in my seat.

She flips open her notebook and clicks her pen a few times, looking at the page in front of her. My gaze locks on her mouth as she nibbles on her full bottom lip, and I’m shocked when my dick perks up for the first time in months.

He’s been uninterested in the world since Jayla and I broke up six months ago, so this is a very welcome development.

The delicate sound of Emory clearing her throat pulls me back to the present and out of my head. “Sorry, what?” I say.

She frowns but repeats herself. “I’m just going to record this on my phone as well as take notes, if you don’t mind.”

I nod and wave her on.

Hitting a few buttons on her cell, she puts it on the table between us then asks, “Why romance?”

Ah, of course she’d start with that. Gripping my hot mug in one hand, I rub the side of my tense neck with the other. “It just kind of happened, I suppose. I didn’t set out to write a romance when I started. But that’s what it evolved into.”

“Hmm, interesting,” she murmurs as she scribbles notes in her book. “Why did you start writing?”

“Honestly, I needed something for myself. My day job is very satisfying, but at the end of it, I have nothing left. Nothing that’s mine. And I wanted that. I set out to create something solely for me that I could be proud of and call my own.”

Her eyes slowly lift to meet mine, and she examines me as though I’ve said something profound. It’s as though she knows exactly what I’m talking about and can see right inside me.

I swallow and avert my gaze. “Next question?”

“Right, umm...” She glances back down to what I’m pretty sure is her list of questions. “Where did the inspiration for Drown with Me come from?”

“Everywhere, I guess. So many things inspire me: my sister’s relationship with her fiancé, a scene in a TV show, a couple holding hands on the subway. It’s everything and nothing,” I attempt to explain.

Emory nods. “I’ve heard that before. I’m endlessly fascinated by the things that cause that spark of creativity to flare to life. I couldn’t write a book to save myself, but my love of words has always been a living, breathing part of me. Becoming a blogger and professional reviewer is something I pursued relentlessly until it was my reality. Is writing the same for you? When Drown with Me becomes a New York Times bestseller, will you quit your day job and devote your life to the written word?”

I don’t even have to think about my answer. “No.”

Her big blue eyes widen. “No?”

“No,” I confirm. “I love my day job. I don’t foresee anything making me want to give it up.”

“Okay then, that brings me to my next question. What is your current job?”

I’m not sure I want to tell her. It will lead to more questions that I definitely don’t want to answer. Picking up my coffee, I sip it, buying myself a little time.

Emory does the same, placing her pen in her open notebook and watching me as we drink in silence.

Eventually, I say, “I’m a caregiver.”

Understanding washes over her features. “That must be very demanding. No wonder you feel as though you need something for yourself.”

I nod. “It is, but very satisfying and fulfilling.”

She smiles at me then, and I’m struck by just how beautiful she is. Her porcelain skin, rosy cheeks, bright-blue eyes, full pouty lips, and wild red hair make a stunning combination. I have no doubt I could sit here with her all day, but I have places to be.

Forcing my gaze away from her to the clock on the wall, I sigh. “I have to get going. I’m sure you must have more questions, judging by that list.” I gesture to her notebook with my chin. “Maybe text or email them to me. I’ll get back to you when I can. I’m pretty busy through the day, but I’ll reply when I get a few minutes here and there.”

“Okay,” she says as I stand.

After sliding my laptop into my satchel, I down the dregs of my coffee. “I look forward to hearing from you, Emory,” I say as I extend my hand to her.

“I look forward to hearing your responses,” she replies, smiling and accepting my offered hand and giving it a firm shake.

“That’s some grip you got there.” I chuckle as we release our hold.

She blushes and licks her lips. “Yeah, only girl in the family with four older brothers.”

“Wow, that would have been intense. You can tell me about it sometime,” I say, walking backwards, not quite ready to take my eye off her just yet.

“Maybe,” she calls. “If you’re lucky.”

Then her eyes widen. My ankle catches on a chair leg. I stumble. She laughs her ass off, and I groan. Damn it.

“Goodbye, Emory,” I say, shaking my head at myself.

Smooth, Sebastian. So freaking smooth.

I’m smilinglike a mad thing as Sebastian leaves the café. Maybe he’s not as much of an asshole as I’d originally thought. I mean, he’s a caregiver, for goodness’ sake. How much of an asshole could he possibly be?

It’s tempting to pack up my stuff and head home so I can crawl back in bed, but since I’m already up and wide awake, I should probably try to get some work done.

My eyes focus on my notes, and I home in on one in particular. I set out to create something solely for me that I could be proud of and call my own. How many times have I thought that exact sentiment? It’s why I started my blog in the first place.

I needed something for me that was just mine. I love my family, but I didn’t want to be just another spoke in the wheelhouse of the family business. I needed to carve my own path.

Moss Publications, Inc. is one of the largest publishing houses in the country. Words are in my blood. And even though I love everything to do with the industry, I didn’t want to be a part of that particular aspect of the fiction game. So, I set out to make my own mark on the book world, and I have.

When I met Sebastian yesterday, I thought he was the biggest asshole I’d ever met. When he yelled his coffee order at me this morning, I still thought that. But now… maybe not so much.