Page 1 of Read This Before the Villain falls in Love with You

Prologue

NORA

I press the phone to my ear with my shoulder and grab my hot latte. "Amelia, if he was in bed with his wife's sister, he should have kept his family reunions in the dining room."

"He claims it was a momentary lapse in judgment," Amelia says through the speaker, the clatter of her keyboard loud enough to rattle my eardrums. "And that they were only discussing catering options for the charity gala."

"In a Mayfair hotel room with the 'Do Not Disturb' tag hanging on the knob? Please. Tell him our crisis retainer just doubled and he needs to draft a formal apology before the tabloids leak the penthouse elevator footage." I switch the hot latte to my left hand and step toward the crosswalk.

A horrific screech of burning rubber shreds the morning air. A massive black SUV cuts straight across two lanes of oncoming traffic, jumps the curb, and mounts the sidewalk three feet in front of me with the grace of a falling safe. Two hulking men in cheap dark suits pile out of the doors before the vehicle even finishes rocking on its axles.

"Amelia, I'll call you back," I say, stepping sideways, already doing the math on foot traffic and exit routes because that is what years of fixing other people's disasters trains you to do.

"Is it the client?" Amelia shouts over the noise. "Did he do something else?"

"No, worse," I mutter, stepping into the gutter as the left guy nearly takes my shoulder off. "I'm about to get abducted by two walking thugs in Armani knockoffs."

"Wait, what? Are you getting mugged?" Amelia's voice crackles frantically through the speaker. "Should I call the police or cancel your one o'clock meeting?"

"Cancel the meeting, call the police, and if I die, delete my browser history!" I yell back. Then the phone is gone, ripped clean out of my hand and shattered face-down on the concrete. A gloved hand clamps around my bicep, digging in hard enough to bruise.

I scream loud as I slam my heel straight into his instep. Bone gives under my shoe with a satisfying pop.

"Cazzo!" he yells, stumbling back and clutching his foot.

"That's for my iPhone, you giant ape!" I scream while my heart pounds in my chest.

The second guy grabs for my arm, so I drive my elbow straight back into his throat.

"Motherfucker!" he wheezes, staggering back and dropping to his knees, clutching his throat like he's drowning on dry land.

"Nice try, sweetie!" I gasp out, chest heaving. For one absurd second I think I might actually win this, might actually turn around, pick up my spilled briefcase, and hail a cab with my hands shaking, but then a third man appears from nowhere.

"Hold still, lady!" the third guy grunts, sliding a sweat-smelling rag over my mouth.

"Fuck!" I try to yell against the cloth, fighting the chemical reek burning down my throat.

In the distance, past the roar of traffic, the high wail of sirens cuts through the air. Too far. Too late. The street tips sideways and everything goes black.

I wake up in the back of the SUV with my wrists zip tied in front of me. When I blink, the streetlights outside streak past in blur, sending a sharp spike of pressure straight behind my eyes.

"Great, chloroform," I groan aloud, resting my forehead against the cold glass. "How original. Did you guys learn your kidnapping skills from eighties cartoons?"

"She's awake," the one with the bruised throat grunts from the front seat, rubbing his neck as he glares at me through the rearview mirror like I'm the threat.

"And she's already talking trash," the driver grunts, keeping his eyes on the road.

"No shit, Sherlock," I snap, blinking through the pounding in my skull. "Who raised you bastards? What kind of operation is this?"

The sore-throated one rubs his neck. "To a place where people don't fight dirty. You almost crushed my windpipe, lady."

"Next time I will crush it completely," I say, leaning forward against the zip ties. "I have four more kickboxing combinations I didn't get to try."

The man in the front passenger seat turns around. He's younger than the others, twenty-five maybe, with a face that would be handsome if he weren't smirking at me like I'm an interesting problem instead of a person he's committed a felony against.

"You're remarkably chatty for someone who just assaulted two grown men," he remarks, shifting in his seat to get a better look at me.

"I call it aggressive self-defense," I retort. "You can look up the legal definition while you're sitting in a cell."