Loving Elise: An Enemies to Lovers Romance Read online

  Contents

  Dedication

  Chapter One - Elise

  Chapter Two - Elise

  Chapter Three - Joshua

  Chapter Four - Elise

  Chapter Five - Elise

  Chapter Six - Joshua

  Chapter Seven - Elise

  Chapter Eight - Elise

  Chapter Nine - Joshua

  Chapter Ten - Elise

  Chapter Eleven - Elise

  Chapter Twelve - Elise

  Chapter Thirteen - Joshua

  Chapter Fourteen - Elise

  Chapter Fifteen - Joshua

  Chapter Sixteen - Elise

  Chapter Seventeen - Elise

  Chapter Eighteen - Elise

  Chapter Nineteen - Elise

  Chapter Twenty - Joshua

  Chapter Twenty-One - Elise

  Chapter Twenty-Two - Elise

  Chapter Twenty-Three - Joshua

  Chapter Twenty-Four - Elise

  Chapter Twenty-Five - Joshua

  Chapter Twenty-Six - Elise

  Chapter Twenty-Seven - Elise

  Chapter Twenty-Eight - Joshua

  Chapter Twenty-Nine - Elise

  Chapter Thirty - Elise

  Chapter Thirty-One - Joshua

  Chapter Thirty-Two - Elise

  Chapter Thirty-Three - Elise

  Chapter Thirty-Four - Elise

  Chapter Thirty-Five - Elise

  Chapter Thirty-Six - Joshua

  Chapter Thirty-Seven - Elise

  Chapter Thirty-Eight - Joshua

  Chapter Thirty-Nine - Elise

  Chapter Forty - Elise

  Chapter Forty-One - Elise

  Chapter Forty-Two - Joshua

  Chapter Forty-Three - Elise

  Chapter Forty-Four - Joshua

  Chapter Forty-Five - Elise

  Chapter Forty-Six - Elise

  Chapter Forty-Seven - Elise

  Chapter Forty-Eight - Elise

  Chapter Forty-Nine - Joshua

  Chapter Fifty - Elise

  Chapter Fifty-One - Elise

  Chapter Fifty-Two - Joshua

  Chapter Fifty-Three - Elise

  Chapter Fifty-Four - Elise

  Epilogue One

  Epilogue Two

  To my mother, who taught me to fall in love with books.

  You are the reason I write.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Elise

  THERE’S NO WAY to tell time. Seconds, minutes, hours, days. It’s all a blur of drifting in and out of sleep, eating oatmeal and bread when it’s brought to me, and staring at the wall.

  Cuts and bruises cover my arms and legs, visible through my ripped and bloodied clothing. It’s been days since I woke up in the basement, but the wounds are still sensitive and raw. My meager meals aren’t enough to energize my body, and I can feel myself growing weaker. The lack of good hygiene and nutrients has minimized any healing that should’ve taken place by now.

  I’m about to drift off to sleep when I hear the faint sound of footsteps coming down the hallway.

  My eyes dart to the tray of food that’s still warm. If someone is coming to see me, it isn’t a routine visit.

  I scramble backward on instinct, getting as far away from the solid metal door as possible, but the effort is in vain.

  The doorknob turns, and my visitor enters the room.

  Well, shit. This can’t be good.

  Six days earlier

  I wipe off the counter and listen to the pleasant chatter of customers. It’s been a slow day at the bakery, but I’m not complaining since I didn’t sleep well last night.

  I made it three weeks without a nightmare, but my luck ran out last night. By 5 am, I had given up on sleep completely, and I’ve been at work since 7 am.

  It doesn’t help that I can’t stop worrying about this phone call with Dad tonight, but there’s no avoiding it. I’ve pushed it off long enough, and I’m officially out of time.

  There’s no doubt in my mind that he’s going to be difficult about this, so I replay my best arguments on a loop in my head. I’ll only get one shot to convince him because once he says no, it’s game over.

  The sound of the door opening pulls me from my imaginary debate, and I look up to greet the newest customer. As soon as I see him, I have a difficult time remembering how to breathe, let alone speak.

  The first thing I notice is how his presence seems to consume the whole room. There’s a collective lull in conversation, and all eyes seem to follow the man sauntering toward the counter.

  His dark hair is cut shorter on the sides, windswept and messy, the neatly trimmed scruff outlines his strong, square jawline perfectly. His full lips are set in a charming half-smile, and his posture, which seems to effortlessly command the whole room, is confidently relaxed.

  I’d expect a man like him to complete his larger-than-life look with a perfectly fitted suit, but somehow the dark jeans and plain grey tee fit him better.

  As he approaches, customers begin looking away to return to their conversations.

  If only I could do the same.

  He slips one hand in his pocket, scanning the menu above my head with analytic eyes. I’m about to attempt to look away when he glances down and meets my gaze, locking me in place. Dark eyes stare into mine, and my cheeks warm at the attention.

  Gosh, I must look so pathetic.

  “Can I order here?” he asks, suppressing a smile that makes me wonder if he can sense my nervousness.

  Fortunately, I’m able to snap out of my trance in time to answer him.

  “Yes, of course! Sorry about that, sir. Welcome to Milwaukee’s Finest. What can I get for you?” I glance up at him, just now realizing that he’s easily over six feet.

  “No problem. I can’t decide what I want. Any suggestions?” He leans one hip against the counter, bracing his weight on one arm which is flexing impressive muscles.

  “Well”— I tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear and avert my gaze— “I would have to suggest the chocolate pastry. It’s made from scratch every morning, and it’s my favorite.”

  “I’ll take two, bagged separately, and a large coffee.”

  I ring up his items and open my mouth to tell him the total, but before I get a word out, he hands me a $50 bill. “Keep the change.”

  I don’t make a move to take the bill from him. “Sir, that’s more than a $40 tip. Please, let me give you your change.”

  “Keep it,” he commands, and his tone doesn’t leave room for argument, so I reluctantly take the money.

  His eyes are trained on me as I prepare his order, but his body is turned outward to face the rest of the bakery. “How long have you worked here?”

  “This is my third year,” I tell him, as I bag the pastries. “I like it a lot. Not many bakeries sell authentic, house-made food.” I set the bags aside and grab a cup to pour his coffee. “Cream or sugar?”

  “Extra cream, please.”

  “Here you go.” I present his food with a smile.

  He doesn’t take it, and instead, looks at me inquisitively. “This isn’t what I ordered.”

  I may be out of it right now, but I’m positive he asked for two chocolate pastries, bagged separately, and one coffee with extra cream.

  I open my mouth to tell him just that, but he interrupts me. “I could’ve sworn I asked for your number, too. I’m not sure I could forgive myself if I left here without it.”

  It’s not that I’ve never been flirted with before, but his forwardness is so unexpected that I’m momentarily speechless.

  He digs into his pocket for his phone and places the small device in the palm of my hand.

  I bi
te down on a smile. “How can I give my number to someone I don’t even know?”

  “I believe it’s called making friends.”

  “Usually I know the names of my friends.”

  He places the pastry bags on the counter and formally holds out his hand. “My name is Hayden Montez. I just moved here from California. I work in real estate at an agency two blocks away, and I’m single.” He winks, his smile growing wider as he does. “Now you know a few things about me.”

  He’s got a good point, so I relent and shake his hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Hayden. My name is Annie.”

  I feel a pang of guilt at the lie, but it’s necessary.

  I finish typing ‘Annie Smith’ along with my number and hand his phone back to him. He messes with it for a few seconds before putting it away. At the same time, I feel my own phone vibrate in my back pocket.

  “I hope to hear from you soon, Annie,” he says, picking up his order before turning to leave.

  He’s halfway to the door when I notice one of the pastry bags is still on the counter. I call out to him, but he doesn’t turn around. He only lifts his phone before exiting.

  For a moment, all I can do is stand dumbfounded and watch the exit with a dreamy look. I finally pull out my phone and read the message.

  Hey beautiful, enjoy the pastry.

  The rest of the workday passes quickly, and I’m ready to go by the time Kaitlyn is waiting at the door.

  Kaitlyn is the head of my security detail. I used to hate being trailed everywhere I go, but after six years, I barely even notice anymore. Kaitlyn is my favorite though. Being the same age that I am, we’re more like friends.

  It had taken a lot of convincing to get my dad to hire a female for my security team since there are absolutely no women in my father’s line of work. He finally agreed to hire Kaitlyn after months of my begging. I’d been desperate for a female friend who understands the complications of my life.

  “Someone had a good day,” she observes.

  I smile as a confirmation and think back to when Hayden came in this morning. “Were you around when that guy was flirting with me?”

  Her eyes spark with interest. “No, I must have missed it. When did that happen?”

  “Around noon, I think.”

  “I would have been running perimeter. What happened?”

  We climb into the car, her in the driver’s seat as usual, and I recount the events.

  “I can’t believe I missed all of that,” she says as she takes her phone from her lap. “What did you say his name was? I’ll have Jace run a background check.”

  “No way.” I shake my head at the mere suggestion. “I do not want my dad finding out. Besides, it’s just innocent flirting right now. Maybe if it gets more serious we can run an official check. Promise me that you won’t do anything for now?”

  Kaitlyn studies me warily before saying, “Okay, no background check yet, but be careful. Your dad would have my head if anything happened to you.”

  When I think back on Hayden’s warm eyes, I’m confident they could do me no harm.

  It’s almost 7 pm, and I can’t get my hands to stop shaking. My eyes keep flitting to my phone, and the TV does little to distract me from my nerves.

  Half an hour until the call with my dad.

  I’m so caught up in all of the possible scenarios that I jump when my phone buzzes. For a fraction of a second, I wonder if it’s Dad calling me early, but I know that’s not true before I even check the screen.

  Dad doesn’t change his plans.

  I relax and reach for the phone, but my nerves spike again when I see the name on the screen.

  Hayden Montez.

  How was work?

  Consumed by the stress of my impending call, I’d completely forgotten about my encounter with the handsome stranger.

  I pour myself a glass of wine before responding, desperately needing the liquid courage.

  It was really nice. Thanks for the pastry. Whoever suggested that has great taste.

  I press send before I can second guess myself.

  Not even two minutes have passed before it vibrates again.

  Well, she might have great taste. It depends on whether or not she’ll let me take her out to dinner?

  I think she’d like that.

  His message comes quickly.

  Then no, she doesn’t have good taste.

  My smile is wide as I write my reply.

  On second thought…

  I turn off the television, no longer needing the mindless distraction.

  Haha, don’t go breaking my heart now gorgeous. How is tomorrow night?

  My fingers fly over the screen, ready to accept his invitation, but I stop and count the days in my head.

  Tomorrow is the third Sunday of the month.

  The only night I’m without security. The only night my father demands I stay inside.

  The disappointment settles in my stomach like a ten-pound weight, and I lean my head back against the couch.

  This is just my luck.

  Tomorrow isn’t the best for me… How about later this week?

  I wait for his response, and my heart drops when I read it.

  I’m going back to California on Monday to get the rest of my stuff and I won’t be back for a week. I’d really like to see you before then.

  The temptation to break my father’s rule is strong, but I can’t bring myself to do it. I’ve never been much of a rebel.

  I’d love to see you before you go, but I can’t do tomorrow night. I’m really sorry.

  Closing my eyes, I picture a life without security details, background checks, or paranoid criminal boss fathers. Then I could just say yes to a date with a sweet man like Hayden.

  Don’t be sorry, you’re worth waiting for. Let me know if you change your mind.

  Before I can open my phone to respond, it buzzes with an incoming call from a Chicago area code, and I can’t believe Hayden distracted me from the impending conversation that’s been haunting me for weeks now.

  Steeling my nerves, my finger slides across the screen to accept the video call.

  I expect to see my father’s greying hair and signature scowl, so I’m surprised when two identical grins appear on the screen. Their dark brown hair is similar to mine, that is when I don’t conceal it with blonde dye, but the light green eyes are a trait they got from our father.

  I’m told that my brown eyes are exactly like my mother’s. Not that I’d remember.

  “Elise! How are you?” Logan, the older of the twins, greets.

  It’s strange hearing my real name since no one but my family actually uses it. Everyone I encounter on a daily basis, including my security detail, has taken to my alias.

  “I’m good, but where’s Dad? I thought he was going to call me.”

  James is the one to answer me. “He’s with Damon right now. They’re handling a time-sensitive matter.”

  Only Dad would send my brothers to take a phone call from me instead of just pushing it back an hour. If they weren’t able to see my face, I’d probably be rolling my eyes.

  “Oh, when will he be able to talk? Should I call back later?” I wonder what he and my oldest brother are attending to that is so important.

  Logan shakes his head. “He should be ready in a few minutes. Is everything okay?”

  Being the youngest and the only girl in my family, I’ve always been the outcast. My four brothers act as our father’s capos, or captains, at our family’s main Chicago base.

  I, on the other hand, choose to have no affiliation with his work whatsoever.

  I smile to hide the disappointment threatening to taint my evening.

  “Yeah, everything is fine. I just have something I want to talk to Dad abo—” A loud crash in the background steals their attention.

  Muffled grumbling follows, but it’s quickly cut off when my brothers mute their microphone, and their lips move as they address the interruption.

  I ignore the pang o
f hurt that hits my chest at being shut out by them.

  My finger taps against the wine glass in my hand as I wait for my brothers to return to the call. Judging by the look of concern on Logan’s face, that may take a while.

  Logan hands the phone off to James, who gives me a forced smile as he unmutes himself.

  “Dad will be done in just a few minutes.” His eyebrows jump up when he catches sight of something beyond the camera. “Mason! Will you talk to Elise for a few?”

  I don’t hear a response, but a moment later the youngest of my brothers takes the phone.

  His light brown hair is cut shorter than the last time I saw him a few weeks ago, and the look suits his sharp jaw and prominent cheekbones. Those dark eyes sparkle, and the sight of his wide grin eases some of the hurt in my chest.

  Mason is the only one of my brothers who also inherited mom’s brown eyes, which made us look more like twins than Logan and James in our childhood years.

  “Hey, Elise. What’s going on?” His deep voice continues to take me by surprise. Though he’s three years my senior, I can practically still hear the voice cracks of his teenage years.

  I wave my nearly empty wine glass in front of the camera. “Obviously not very much. What about you?”

  He glances in the direction the twins went. “Things are a little hectic here, but nothing out of the ordinary.” When his eyes flit back to the screen they take on a calculating edge. “What’s going on?”

  “What do you mean?” I strengthen my fake smile, but there’s really no point.

  Mason has always been the most analytic of the Consoli family, a habit he picked up from our father. He doesn’t miss anything.

  One exasperated look from him, and I drop the act completely.

  “Tomorrow is the deadline to submit an application for the European Culinary Tour that my professor recommended to me. Since graduation last month, I haven’t heard back from a single job that I’ve applied for. Having this tour on my resume would really make me stand out.”

  “Elise”— he gives me a sympathetic smile, and I can guess what he’s going to say— “you know Dad’s going to say no.”

  “Why would he? I’d still have security, and I’d maintain my fake identity. He has no reason to say no.”