Unexpected Lovers Box Set by J.B. Heller

What does one wear on a breakfast date?

I searched the address Sam sent me, and it looks like we’re eating at a fancy restaurant located on the ground floor of one of the most prestigious apartment buildings in the city. Tapping my finger on my chin, I peruse my closet in search of an appropriate outfit.

What could be fancier than glitter?! I snatch my glittery black capris from their hanger and pair them with a gorgeous crisp white, long-sleeve, silk blouse I’ve been dying to wear. It’s still cool enough in the mornings to get away with long sleeves, thank goodness.

Now for shoes. I go back to tapping my chin as I run my gaze over my extensive shoe collection. Ha! My Jimmy Choo knock-offs will go beautifully with my outfit. Grabbing them from their perch, I check the time: five-twenty. Crap. I lay everything on the end of my bed then jump in the shower and clean myself off quickly.

Luckily, I washed my hair last night, so all I need to do is throw it in a quick braid that hangs over my shoulder.

When my hair is as good as it’s going to get, I apply a light coat of foundation, some mascara, and gloss.

I order an Uber then throw on my clothes before giving myself a quick survey in my bedroom mirror. Not too bad, if I do say so myself. Another quick look at the time tells me I’ve only got ten minutes to make the twenty-minute trip. I forego waiting for the elevator and dash down the three flights of stairs to the lobby. Pushing through the front door, I’m pleased my ride is already waiting.

Sliding into the back seat, I smile at my driver. “Morning!”

She gives me a slight chin lift in acknowledgment, but that’s all I get. She’s obviously not a morning person, so I don’t bother trying to fill the silence that permeates the car. Nervous energy surges through me when my phone chimes with a text from Sam.

SAM: I’m trying to decide if I’m being stood up or you’re just running late.

Crap. He’s obviously one of those people who are never late. And I’m the complete opposite. It doesn’t matter how much time I give myself to get ready, I’m never on time. Except for work.

ME: Sorry. I’m on my way . . .

SAM: Good. I’ll wait for you out front.

My knee bounces as the next five minutes drag by incredibly slowly. And then we arrive, and I’m out of the car with a hurried, “Thanks,” to my driver as I slam the door.

Sam’s dressed in a pair of dark-wash jeans and a white V-neck T-shirt. I admire the fact that the slight stubble that coated his jaw the other night is now thicker as he stands outside the most luxurious apartment complex I’ve ever seen. And somehow, he’s even more devastatingly handsome in the daylight.

My heart rate spikes when I take him in, a dreamy little sigh slipping past my lips.

His eyes light as they rake over me from head to toe. “Wow, you look gorgeous.”

I blush. I know I wasn’t beaten with the ugly stick as a child, but hearing Sam say those words warms my insides. “Thank you,” I murmur as I take his offered elbow and he leads me inside.

We’re shown straight to a secluded table in the back, and I give Sam the eye. “Did you book this table before I arrived?”

“This is my table. I have breakfast here almost daily.”

Rolling my eyes, I chuckle. “What, like you own this table? What if someone else was seated here before you arrived? Would you make them move?”

An impish grin pulls his delicious lips to the side. “Actually, I own Zenith. Well, Tom and I do. And nobody else sits here but myself or Tom.”

I blink at him dumbly. Did he just say he owns this building? I take in our surroundings with new eyes. Holy. Shit.

“Now would be a great time for you to say something,” Sam says, nudging me with his foot under the table.

What am I meant to say? I thought he’d picked this place for the food, not because he lives here. Let alone that he owns this whole damn building. What do I do with that?

“Hannah,” he murmurs. “Is this okay? We can go somewhere else if you’re uncomfortable.”

Shifting in my seat, I lick my lips then look back to him. “I’ve made this awkward. I’m sorry.”

He shakes his head. “No, I should have picked a different restaurant.”

“This is fine, Sam—better than fine. I guess I wasn’t expecting you to, well, own it.”

“Is that a problem?” he asks, his vivid blue eyes searching mine.

Is it?Not really. It makes no difference to me if he has a bazillion dollars in his bank account. It’s not like we’re in this for the long haul. We’ll hang out for a couple of months, have some fun, then go our separate ways—if it even goes that far.

Smiling at him, I say, “Not at all. I guess you caught me off guard. I wasn’t expecting it, is all. Sorry for getting all weird on you.”

He tilts his chin, his gaze assessing. “You sure?”

I smile wider and shimmy forward in my seat before leaning my elbows on the table. “Of course. So, what’s good here? I’m starving.”

And just like that, the air of awkwardness I instigated evaporates, and we fall into comfortable small talk as we order our breakfast.

I can’t stop staringat her.

Hannah isn’t like the other women I usually spend time with. For starters, her hair is pink and her pants are covered in glitter. I don’t know much about fashion—okay, I don’t know anything about fashion—but I do know that none of the women in my social circle would be caught dead in those pants or with that hair. It makes me like them even more.

I can’t quite get over the way she speaks to me, either. In fact, I quite like it. Nobody else has ever refused to share a meal with me or threatened to feed me to a tank of sharks. She’s light and airy; it’s easy to be around her.

Even now, as she shovels her Eggs Benedict into her mouth like she’s never eaten before, I can’t take my eyes off her.

“What?” she asks. “Is there something on my face?”

All I can do is shake my head. “No, I just like watching you.”

“Way to sound super creepy.” She chuckles and wipes the corners of her mouth with a napkin.

“I can’t say I’ve ever been accused of being creepy before.”

Her eyes sparkle with humor. “I bet you say that to all the girls.”

At this point, she has my mouth set in a permanent smile. “I can’t reveal all my dirty secrets on our first official date.”

Her brows arch, and a smirk curves her lips. “Is that what this is? A date?”

I nod. “What would you call it?”

She shrugs and takes a sip of her coffee. “I don’t know. Two people getting to know each other.”

“Otherwise known as a date,” I supply.

“Potato—potawto. Doesn’t really matter what we call it, does it?”

I relax in my chair, stretching my arms back then lacing my hands behind my head. “Not really. But I still don’t know much about you, Hannah, except that you work at The Aquarium with the sharks. What else should I know?”

Hannah takes a moment before answering me. “There’s not much to know, really. I’m an only child whose parents have sadly both passed away. I’m twenty-eight, career-focused, love starfish, hate toadfish, and I share an apartment with a lobster named Levi, short for Leviathan. He’s quite the little charmer. You’ll have to meet him sometime.”

I cock a brow then shake my head. “I shouldn’t be surprised, should I? I mean, you refer to sharks as sweet babies.”

“I think I was a mermaid in a past life,” she says on a dreamy sigh. “So, what about you? What do I need to know, Sam? Please include any weird sexual fetishes in your rundown—just so we can get those out of the way here and now. I reserve the right to veto anything too outrageous.”

I cough. She’s a riot. I’m enjoying this way too much to stop her, even though the waiter clearing our empty plates away has just turned fifty shades of red. “Weird sexual fetishes?” I sit forward, supporting my elbows on the table and cupping my jaw as if to think about her absurd question. “Nope, don’t have any. Doesn’t everyone collect their lovers’ toenail clippings while they’re sleeping?”

Hannah throws her head back and laughs. It’s a beautiful sight, and it sounds as good as it did the other night.

When she’s regained a semblance of control, I cock a brow. “What? You don’t do that?”

She wipes a tear away from the corner of her eye, and I’m ridiculously pleased that I’m the one who produced this reaction from her. I’m not known for being an amusing person, but I couldn’t help myself. She makes me want to be, just so I can listen to her laugh.

“Oh my God. Stop. You’re too much.” She gasps and I grin, pride blooming in my chest at my accomplishment.