[Love in New York 01.0] Lost and Found Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title page

  Tell your friends!

  Book Description

  Books by Elle Casey

  Copyright

  Dedication

  ---LEAH---

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  ---JAMES---

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  ---LEAH and JAMES---

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  Chapter Sixty

  Chapter Sixty-One

  Chapter Sixty-Two

  Chapter Sixty-Three

  Chapter Sixty-Four

  Chapter Sixty-Five

  Chapter Sixty-Six

  Chapter Sixty-Seven

  Chapter Sixty-Eight

  Chapter Sixty-Nine

  Chapter Seventy

  Chapter Seventy-One

  Chapter Seventy-Two

  Chapter Seventy-Three

  Chapter Seventy-Four

  Chapter Seventy-Five

  Chapter Seventy-Six

  Chapter Seventy-Seven

  Chapter Seventy-Eight

  Chapter Seventy-Nine

  Chapter Eighty

  Chapter Eighty-One

  Chapter Eighty-Two

  Chapter Eighty-Three

  Chapter Eighty-Four

  Chapter Eighty-Five

  Chapter Eighty-Six

  Next in the Love in New York series

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  About the Author

  Books by Elle Casey

  Love in New York

  Book 1

  Lost and Found

  ELLE CASEY

  Being an independent author, I depend entirely on you, the reader, to get the word out about my books. If you liked this book, won’t you please leave a review online and recommend it to a friend? The more you spread the word, the more books I can write, and nothing would please me more than to put a new book in your hands every single month!

  Read more Elle Casey books here:

  ElleCasey.com/Amazon

  BOOK DESCRIPTION

  Sometimes engagement rings can get lost and then found. Sometimes people can too. All it takes is a heavy-duty dose of karma and the magic of Manhattan to make it all come together.

  Leah is a financially destitute new age hippy. James is a wealthy surgeon with a trust fund. She's awkward, he's poised. She's completely crazy, he's way too sane. People might say they have nothing in common, but they'd be wrong. They both live in Manhattan, they both have no idea how to change a baby diaper, and they're both lost ... until they find one another.

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  BOOKS BY ELLE CASEY

  ROMANCE

  By Degrees

  Rebel Wheels (3-book series)

  Just One Night (romantic serial)

  Just One Week

  Love in New York (3-book series)

  Shine Not Burn (2-book series), also available as an Audiobook

  Bourbon Street Boys (3-book series), also available as an Audiobook

  Desperate Measures

  Mismatched

  ROMANTIC SUSPENSE

  All the Glory: How Jason Bradley Went from Hero to Zero in Ten Seconds Flat

  Don’t Make Me Beautiful

  Wrecked (2-book series), Book 1 also available as an Audiobook

  CONTEMPORARY URBAN FANTASY

  War of the Fae (10-book series)

  *Book 1, The Changelings, is a free ebook at most retailers*

  Ten Things You Should Know About Dragons (short story, The Dragon Chronicles)

  My Vampire Summer

  Aces High

  SCIENCE FICTION

  Drifters’ Alliance (ongoing series)

  Winner Takes All (short story prequel to Drifters’ Alliance, Dark Beyond the Stars Anthology)

  The Ivory Tower (short story standalone, Beyond the Stars: A Planet Too Far Anthology)

  DYSTOPIAN

  Apocalypsis (4-book series)

  *Book 1, Kahayatle, is a free ebook at most retailers*

  PARANORMAL

  Duality (2-book series)

  Monkey Business (short story)

  Dreampath (short story standalone, The Telepath Chronicles)

  Pocket Full of Sunshine (short story & screenplay)

  COPYRIGHT NOTICE

  © 2014 Elle Casey, all rights reserved, worldwide. No part of this ebook may be reproduced, uploaded to the Internet, or copied without author permission.

  The author respectfully asks that you please support artistic expression and help promote anti-piracy efforts by purchasing a copy of this ebook only at author-authorized online outlets that serve your country. If you’re viewing this book without having paid for it, you are pirating this creative work.

  PIRACY = STEALING

  Elle Casey thanks you deeply for your understanding and support.

  DEDICATION

  For Aigline. A friend and fellow adventurer.

  Chapter One

  “YOU’RE LATE AGAIN, LEAH.” BELINDA is giving me the tired face, the one that says she wants to scold me but then we’d both realize there’s really no point in me being here when she’s probably only had one customer all morning. Plus, she’s terrible at being mad at me for longer than five seconds.

  “I’m sorry, Belinda, I really am. It won’t happen again.” I rush through the store to get to the messy back room where I dump my bag on a ratty chair and check myself in the mirror for any errant nostril-lint. I won’t bother checking my hair; it’s always a crazy, frizzed-out, curly mess in a shade of blond that’s unfortunately referred to as dishwater. So attractive.

  “If I had a nickel for every time you’ve said that,” she says, finishing with a sigh.

  “I know, I know,” I say, wiggling my nose left and right, lifting my head up and down to get a better view, “you’d
have at least two dollars.”

  “Come out here, Smarty-Pants, we got a shipment of new essential oils and I want you to set up a new spot for them.”

  When I left home earlier, I’d tried to console myself over the inevitable boring day I was about to have with ideas of an ice cream splurge after work, but now my mood perks up instantly even without the ice cream, and my pinkie finger freezes in mid eyebrow-shaping. “New oils? From where?”

  “No comment.”

  That gets me out of the back room in an instant. “You didn’t order from Greenterra did you?”

  She won’t look at me.

  “But you said…”

  “I know what I said. Never listen to me, I’m a liar.”

  I walk over and put my arm around her shoulders and pull her against me. “You never lie. You just change your mind sometimes, and since you’re a chick, you’re entitled.”

  “Ha! I stopped being a chick thirty years ago. I’m a hen now. A clucky, tired, angry old hen. But I got tired of you bugging me, so I ordered some of that garbage so you can see I’m right about it never selling.”

  I laugh and let her go, moving over to the stack of boxes that are in the corner of the store. “You might be tired, but that’s only because you work too hard. You don’t get to claim henhood until you’re at least sixty so you have … twelve years left of being a chick.” I cut open the first box to reveal the beautiful dark, purplish-blue glass bottles inside. “Why don’t you stop going to the farmer’s market every weekend?” I ask. “You hardly make any money there anyway.” I hold the bottle up to the meager light coming in the front window and smile over the fact that I can barely see inside. Sunlight diminishes the power of the oils, and I’m glad to see this company knows its stuff.

  “I like the farmer’s market,” she says. “It’s better to be outside than cramped up in here all the time.”

  I can’t argue with her there. This place is dark and dreary, but Belinda has always fought with me over making any changes. Not that I’m Miss Interior Design or anything, but I do know the difference between a cave and a new-age shop. This place looks more like the former, even though the name on the sign outside says it’s Belinda’s New Age Wonders.

  “Speaking of the market, I’m going to need you to cover for me in two weeks.”

  I look up in surprise. This isn’t something I’m used to hearing; Belinda lives for the farmer’s market.

  “Why? Where are you going?”

  She acts like she’s busy rearranging pens on the counter and shrugs. “Nowhere special. Just my thirty-year high school reunion.”

  I stop what I’m doing and clap while hopping a few times. “Oh my god, that’s so exciting!”

  She tries to shrug it off, still pretending pen alignment matters. “It’s no big deal. I got cheap plane tickets and figured I could miss two market days.”

  “Oh, Belinda, you’re finally getting out into the real world. That’s awesome. I’m so happy for you.”

  She looks up with a scowl. “You act like I’m some kind of shut-in.” She folds both sides of her shawl tighter across her chest.

  I put my hands on my hips and give her my best mom-look. “Name the last time you went anywhere but here, your apartment, or the market.”

  “I go places.”

  “Name one.”

  “Just because I like to buy my veggies fresh…”

  “Listen, you do all your shopping at the market. All of it, including your clothes and shoes. You’re like the poster-girl of clean living. But you need to get out more, I’ve been telling you that for years. There’s more to the world than hemp skirts and organic mushrooms.”

  “You’ve only worked here for nine months so there’s no way you’ve told me anything for years.”

  I wave my hand around, sending her negativity away. My bracelets jangle like I’m some kind of belly dancer. I love feeling like a belly dancer. Ching ching.

  “Whatever. You know what I mean.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” she says, leaving the counter to go into the back room, her voice fading with the distance, “just don’t make any plans for the fifteenth and sixteenth, okay? You’ll be in charge of everything for two full days.”

  I resist the urge to rub my palms together like an evil genius, but it’s hard. I’ve been wanting to get my hands on her stuff for years. Okay, so it’s only been nine months, but it’s been nine loooong months. All this place needs is a little freshening up, and the customers would come in droves. Then I’d have a job for life and not just one for as long as Belinda can survive. I seriously don’t know how she affords to pay me anything at all; even minimum wage is too much for what I see coming in the door.

  “And don’t get any crazy ideas,” she shouts. “I know what you’re thinking and it’s not going to happen.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I say, trilling my words like a Disney princess as I line up essential oil bottles on a tiny shelf attached to the wall. I cannot keep the smile off my face. She is so going to love it when I’m done with the place. Love it. Love love.

  Chapter Two

  I’M STILL FEELING LIKE A Disney princess when I leave the store mid-afternoon and head to the subway. I only work half-days because that’s all Belinda can afford, and usually that stresses me out on account of the fact that I make almost no money, but today, I’m perfectly fine with it. The sun is shining, my favorite fountain is working and sending white water splashing all over the place, and …

  “Shiiit!” I yelp, slipping on the sidewalk and nearly busting my ass in the process. I’m saved by my ninja-esque skills as I grab the edge of a garbage can affixed to the concrete next to the street. I hang there for a couple seconds until I can get my feet under me again.

  “Oh, man, that’s some bad luck right there,” says a guy who’s walking past and looking at the reason for my near-fall.

  I cringe as I stand up and realize I’ve slipped on a dog turd. Literally. It’s a poop right there on the ground.

  “Who didn’t clean up after their dog?!” I yell, for some reason imagining that the perpetrator is still hanging around the scene of the crime, when I know perfectly well he stopped, plopped, and ran. “This isn’t Paris, you know!”

  I’ve heard there’s dog poop all over the sidewalks there, but here in New York, people usually take care of their doggie-business. Unfortunately, my head was too full of dreams of re-designing Belinda’s place to realize where my feet were placing themselves.

  “What the hell am I going to do now?”

  I look down the sidewalk and notice a man with a hot dog cart up ahead, and an idea-lightbulb goes on above my head. Hot dog carts have lots of napkins. Score.

  As I start to hobble over, an alarmed expression comes over the vendor’s face and he starts shaking his finger at me.

  “Oh, no, lady, no no. No doggy stuff for me. No, not for me. Not for you. No, no.” For some reason his horrible accent is making this worse. His hand becomes a stop sign. “You go away!”

  After trying to shame him with a mighty scowl that says Whatever happened to chivalry? and failing miserably, I change the trajectory of my hobble over toward the fountain, thinking maybe I can splash some water onto the ground and use it to clean my shoe.

  When I get to it, I sit on its concrete edge and slip my shoes off. The sun is shining down on me, and even though the odor of horrible unspeakable things hovers, I’m reminded what a fabulous day it is. My bracelets give a little jangle and I angle my face up to the sky to soak up the sunlight.

  A black man drifts by on old-school rollerskates with a boom box up at his ear, distracting me for a moment. I watch as he glides over the sidewalk. He has no shirt on, and if his shorts were any shorter, I’d be seeing the mighty motherlode. Thank God they’re not shorter, because his lode looks like it could be very mighty if the bulge is any indicator. He’s singing loudly in a falsetto voice.

  “Walking on sunshine … Waaaooohhh … I’m walkin' on sunshi
ne … waaaaoohhh…”

  He’s gone before he finishes the rest of the song, but I know the tune and it restores my faith in today. I start humming it to myself as I turn around and put my feet in the fountain. My toes are way too hot and sweaty, so this water feels positively scrumptious. I lean my head back and close my eyes, letting the bliss overtake me.

  “Hey, lady! Yo! You can’t put your dirty feet in the fountain!”

  I ignore this person, whoever he is. I will not let him intrude on my rapture. Go. Away. Rude person.

  “Hey! You hear me? Whatt’re you deaf or somethin’? I said you can’t put your dirty feet in the fountain!”

  I stand up all of a sudden, my mood destroyed. All I wanted to do was cool my hot, sweaty, almost dog poopied feet off, and now this guy’s all up my ass about … what? Fountain trespass? Is there even such a thing? No, there’s not; not in my world, anyway.

  I decide then and there that fountains should have people in them. What’s the use of all that cool water if you can’t even enjoy it? Eyeballs don’t need cool water — feet do. Cold water? Meet my feet. You’re welcome.

  I take two steps out toward the middle of the thing. It has a mostly naked woman with a basket of something in her arms in the center with a bunch of fish dancing around her. The Apple logo floats in the background behind her, suspended on one side of the store’s giant glass entrance.

  “Stop right there,” says the fat, bald-headed rent-a-cop, coming toward me through a quickly-gathering crowd of onlookers, hands on his belt at his hips. “I’m not jokin’. You’re playing with fire right now. I’m warnin’ you.”

  I snort. Fire, my ass. I take several more steps in and can’t help but smile. Sometimes it feels really good to be bad. Okay, usually. It usually feels good to be bad.

  He’s working up a serious sweat coming to the edge of the fountain. When he points at me, I can see big sweat stains from his pits, and the buttons going down his belly are straining to keep his shirt together. Uh-oh. Paul Blart, mall cop, is out to get me. So not scary.