BooksBarbecue
Back First Comes Love
Chapters (92)
  1. First
  2. Love Connection
  3. Zero
  4. One
  5. Two
  6. Three
  7. Four
  8. Five
  9. Six
  10. Seven
  11. Eight
  12. Nine
  13. Ten
  14. Eleven
  15. One Month Later
  16. Twelve
  17. Thirteen
  18. Fourteen
  19. Fifteen
  20. Six Months Later
  21. Sixteen
  22. Seventeen
  23. Eighteen
  24. Nineteen
  25. Twenty
  26. Twenty-one
  27. Twenty-two
  28. Twenty-three
  29. Twenty-four
  30. Six Months Later
  31. Twenty-five
  32. Twenty-six
  33. Twenty-seven
  34. Twenty-eight
  35. Twenty-nine
  36. Thirty
  37. Thirty-one
  38. Thirty-two
  39. Thirty-three
  40. I Have Never
  41. One
  42. Two
  43. Three
  44. Four
  45. Five
  46. Six
  47. Seven
  48. Eight
  49. Nine
  50. Ten
  51. Eleven
  52. Twelve
  53. Thirteen
  54. Fourteen
  55. Fifteen
  56. Sixteen
  57. Seventeen
  58. Eighteen
  59. Nineteen
  60. Twenty
  61. Twenty-one
  62. Twenty-two
  63. A Christmas Date
  64. One
  65. Two
  66. Three
  67. Four
  68. Five
  69. Six
  70. Seven
  71. Eight
  72. Nine
  73. Ten
  74. Eleven
  75. Twelve
  76. Thirteen
  77. Fourteen
  78. Fifteen
  79. Sixteen
  80. Seventeen
  81. Eighteen
  82. Nineteen
  83. Twenty
  84. Twenty-one
  85. Twenty-two
  86. Note from the Author
  87. Sneak Peek – To the Stars and Back
  88. Two
  89. Three
  90. Four
  91. Also by Camilla Isley
  92. About the Author

I spend the next thirty minutes watching that paper cup like a hawk. When I finally emerge on Columbus Circle, unharmed, if not a bit traumatized, I take a few deep breaths of air, even relishing the smog. If I come back to work at Northwestern, I’ll walk. I’ll get Chevron a dog-sitter nearby. What about winter? She’ll get a doggy rainbreaker, I don’t care. I’m never taking that line at seven in the morning ever again. If my relationship with Gerard had one merit, it was his Park Avenue address.

I swap flats for stiletto heels and cross the threshold of Northwestern’s evil tower of power. The glass and steel are overwhelmingly cold around me. Oh, so now you even miss brick walls and decrepit wooden floors? What if I do? Just saying, you used to love the power of glass and stainless steel. Right, used to. Before they kicked me to the curb. So what are you doing here? It’s business. A publishing house wants to make me an offer and I want to hear it. Mini-mental-me snickers at that.

As I did the first time I ever set foot in the building, I have to register as a guest at the reception desk. It feels weird not to bypass security. The receptionist hands me a visitor pass and starts giving me directions to Emilia’s office. Great, my least favorite place in the building.

“I know where Ms. Peterson’s office is, thanks.” I cut the girl short and make my way upstairs.

Emilia’s office is the same: white everything and minimalist. Emilia also appears the same paper thin and groomed within an inch of her life. She invites me to sit with the warmth of a popsicle. I take my place on the white chair opposite her white desk and fold my hands on the immaculate surface.

Emilia’s icy blue eyes follow the gesture with an air of disgust. Is she worried I’ll taint her space? Is she a germ freak? Her eyes focus an extra second on the tip of my fingers and her nose creases in the slightest wrinkle.

I quickly pull my hands down and check my nails. My index is missing a microscopic speckle of nail polish. So, yeah. I stopped doing my nails every night and started doing them every other night—or two. Big deal!

Emilia’s displeased scrutiny continues. This time, I follow her razor-sharp gaze to my blouse where, just over my left breast, there’s a tiny—again, almost-invisible-to-the-naked-eye—brown circle. So a droplet of that man’s coffee did land on me. Oh, well. Shoot me. It’s not like I’m wearing a T-shirt that says Cece Chanol.