Opposites Attract: An Enemies to Lovers, Neighbors to Lovers Romantic Comedy (First Comes Love Book Camilla Isley (ebook reader screen TXT) 📖

stuck in the house with our respective grudges. The only highlight is a call from Leslie mid-afternoon with a funny report about Dr. Ogre and his first agency date. Monday morning, I’m still mentally chuckling about it, when the subject of the call walks into the elevator next to me. Lucas is wearing another one of his sleek, tailored suits, and his leather shoes risk blinding me with how shiny they are. His hair, on the contrary, is as unruly as his clothes are impeccable, and also damp, as if he just got out of the shower after spending the night rumpling the sheets.

I can assume that’s not the case, given what I know, but still, it’s annoying for him to be this good looking so early on a Monday morning when the rest of us had to struggle to look half presentable.

“Morning,” I say with a big smile.

He takes in my greeting, and frowns. “You’re smiling. Something must be terribly wrong in the world.”

“No, I’m just in a good mood.”

Luke pushes the button to our floor warily, and asks, “Why?”

I shrug. “I’m counting the days until you’ll have to move out.”

“And what gives you such an unfounded certainty?”

“I heard you went on quite a… ah… magical date on Saturday.”

The scowl deepens, and I watch the creases on his forehead become more pronounced as he does the math: he told Garrett about his date, Garrett told Leslie, and Lee told me.

I expect a dry retort about my own AA Saturday night, but Luke shrugs, saying, “Beginner’s bad luck.”

I’m so shocked, I have to prod him. “What? No jabs about my own Saturday night’s woes? I know Tegan told you how we spent the evening.”

“Being a good parent is not something I find tasteful jabbing about.”

Lucas’ comment shocks me into silence and gives me more pleasure than it should. I shouldn’t seek this man’s approval. I shouldn’t seek any man’s approval. But, being a single mother, it’s so easy to get judged for my shortcomings as a parent and for not always being able to stretch this one person to do a two-person job, that I can’t help feeling a little pride.

When I don’t speak again, Lucas fills the silence. “What are you doing at the office so early, anyway? You’re never in before eight.”

“Tracking my movements now?”

“Hard not to when your heels are so loud on the landing and you shut your door with the grace of an elephant.”

I bristle, promising myself to slam the door even harder from now on. “Tegan has an hour detention before school every morning for the next two weeks. I thought I’d use the extra hour productively.”

Something good has to come out of having to turn back my alarm clock to five-thirty a.m. for two weeks, or I’d go insane. I already hate getting up early Monday through Friday but cutting an extra hour of sleep is pure torture. Another of the many joys of parenting.

“So you don’t have any appointments or hearings?” Dr. Tall and Broody asks.

“No.”

“Good, neither do I.”

“And why do I care?”

“Because it means you have time to discuss your daughter’s request to meet her father.”

The elevator doors ding open, and he marches out without waiting for a reply.

Sixteen

Lucas

I cross the narrow hall, unlock my door, and theatrically show the inside to Medusa, letting Miss Attorney know she’s not getting out of this conversation.

Looking prissy enough, and kind of sexy in her uniform of a tight pencil skirt suit—mauve today—she walks into the office. And I can’t help but wonder what shade of lace she’s wearing underneath those clothes. Does she keep an array of panties in different shades of pink, same as with the purple suits?

Okay. I seriously need to find a way to de-sexualize Vivian. I can’t be having these kinds of unprofessional thoughts while counseling someone.

Patient’s mother, patient’s mother, I chant in my head.

“Please take a seat wherever you’re most comfortable,” I say.

Vivian eyes the sofa with disdain. “I’m not sitting on the cuckoo couch.”

“I’m a psychologist,” I clarify. “Not a psychiatrist. Struggling couples hardly qualify as cuckoo.” Although that might not apply to all my cases, to be fair.

“Still not sitting there,” Medusa says, slumping in one of the armchairs facing my desk.

I drop my briefcase on the floor and sit at my desk. Time to switch to professional mode and forget my grievances with this woman. If my forehead were a screen, the words mother of a patient in need would be flashing across and hopefully sink into the brain behind.

“Thank you for being here,” I say.

Medusa raises a skeptical eyebrow, as if to say, “You didn’t give me much of a choice.”

“I know you’re uncomfortable discussing Tegan’s father,” I continue, “and it mustn’t be any easier to do so with me, but I can assure you our personal history has nothing to do with what I am about to say. Nor will it influence in any way my advice.”

Medusa still stays silent; the only giveaway she’s nervous comes from the shoe—black patent leather, red sole, stiletto heel, too sexy, too distracting—she keeps tapping on the floor.

“As you know, Tegan sought my help after the vodka incident—”

“Did she tell you why she did it?”

“Yes, but I’m not at liberty to discuss—”

“She must like one of the boys. A mother can tell…”

“As I said, I can’t share any details besides what Tegan has given me permission to divulge.” Medusa scoffs. I ignore her and move on. “Anyway, while we were discussing the vodka debacle, Tegan brought up her father—”

“Really, how? What’s the connection between the two?”

I swear, if she interrupts me one more time… I pinch my nose and try to remain calm. Air in. Air out.

“I asked what her dad thought about the incident, and Tegan told me she doesn’t know who her father is, which unraveled a whole new discussion about how you refuse to tell her who he is.”

Medusa gives me a long, piercing stare. “So, technically, you brought up Tegan’s father.”

I might be