Revved Up (Enemies to Lovers Romance, Novella 1): Enemies to Lovers, #1

By Willa Brooks

Get ready for a heart-pounding journey through the bustling streets of the Big Apple in this sizzling romantic suspense novel!

 

Meet Janine, a fearless taxi driver with a knack for navigating the chaos of New York City. When fate reunites her with Luke, her former high school rival turned suave hotel manager, their worlds are set on a collision course. Luke presents Janine with an unexpected opportunity to become the personal chauffeur for elite hotel guests. Little do they know, this seemingly glamorous job is the gateway to the perilous realm of a notorious mob boss.

 

As the city's underbelly reveals its treacherous secrets, sparks ignite between Janine and Luke, casting them into a whirlwind of danger and deception. Will their love survive the high-stakes game they've unwittingly entered?

 

This series is a must-read for fans of Alexis Anne, C.M Seabrook, and Makenna Holiday. Strap in for an electrifying ride you won't want to miss!

 

Other Books in this series:
Book 2: Locked Up

Book 3: Leveled Up

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Willa Brooks
• Release date: Apr 4, 2023
• ISBN: 9781778261015

Book preview

Chapter 1

Janine Benson

Aclean-looking, blond dude decked out in a blue designer coat, stood on the curb, waving an arm to get my attention.

I pulled up to the corner of Crown Paragon, New York—a swanky hotel.

The ritzy dude climbed into the back of my Taxi. The aromatic scent of honey mixed with something spicy filled the space. A welcome reprieve from the cleaning fluid fumes because my last fare barfed all over the partition.

Where to? I asked.

He closed the door and said, Ashland Place and Fulton Street, Brooklyn.

Brooklyn's a popular destination tonight. I just came from there.

Ahh…yeah, he hesitated.

Okay, Golden boy was probably not a talker. We could sit in silence for the remainder of the half-hour trip.

I'm cool with that.

He suddenly piped up, Hey, sorry. Didn't realize you were a lady. Not used to seeing female taxi drivers.

I’d rolled my eyes, then made eye contact with him through the rearview mirror.

Sorry, didn't mean to offend, he repeated.

It's okay. The cop I spoke to earlier also thought I was a guy at first.

Your voice is feminine. You'd probably confused the hell out of him.

I sighed, Well, that explains why he'd looked at me all weird.

The guy laughed. It had a rich texture to it. Melodic and masculine, like the men in those '50s movies. Now, those men had class. Even though this guy was modern as they come, he had an air of old-fashioned style. The front of his hair was combed to the side in a perfect flip that made him look like a million bucks.

He broke through my thoughts. So what's it like being a cabbie—especially at night? Isn't it dangerous?

Not really. Never had problems with it. Police are always around. And no one pays with cash anymore, so there are no stick-ups.

The truth was if anyone knew how much Taxi medallions cost, there would be a crap-ton more car theft. We're talking close to a million dollars—no joke. It was why we leased cabs instead of buying one for ourselves. Fat chance of turning a profit after dropping a million.

The man said, That's an improvement from how it used to be.

What did he do for a living? The question nearly fell out of my mouth, but I couldn't pry. If I got too personal with a fare, they might batten down their hatches, and there went my tip.

Did you pick up a lot of drunks today? he suddenly asked.

I laughed.

If he only knew. I towed a vomit cleanup kit in my messenger bag daily. Let's just say this is the last St. Pats I'll ever work.

He huffed, then shared, That tough, huh? We had a bunch of drunken nuts roving the hotel today. They'd swarmed the lobby and upset the other guests with their ruckus. Total nuthouse.

I raised my brow and glanced at the rearview mirror. You work at the hotel? Was it the same one I picked you up at?

Yep. I'm the site manager, and it's a serious pain-in-the-ass job. So that was why I left work at this ungodly hour.

My forehead creased. Can't you stay there? I mean, if you're going to leave work so late? And that was the same hotel my mom worked at, by the way. She was a maid.

He asked, Really? Your mom worked for us? She doesn't now, I take it?

She's retired. My folks moved upstate to Poughkeepsie. They took a shine to small-town living.

He let out another huff. Don't blame them. I worship my little backyard—small as it may be. That's why I don't want to stay in the hotel. I just want to go home and sleep in my own bed.

I laughed, Know the feeling. I'm a homebody myself.

Although our homes were very different. Ashland Place and Fulton Street was the upscale part of Brooklyn. I lived in a basement apartment across town.

I pulled up to the intersection he requested. The Taxi TV loaded a screen for him to pay. After he did, the meter printed his receipt. I ripped it and handed it to him through the gap in the partition.

He took it, thanked me, then he left the cab.

When I pulled away from the curb, something thunked from the back seat, so I parked to check it out.

I got out of the cab and opened the back door. A rectangular, black device lay on the seat. I picked up the weighty object, flipped the screen, and found what felt like papers wedged between the screen and keyboard. The dark obscured the writing, so I switched on the overhead light to illuminate the cab.

The dispatcher's voice crackled over the radio. Everything okay, Janine? This is your second time tonight you spent time at the drop-off site.

I made my way to the driver's seat, closed the door, grabbed the mic, and held it to my mouth. Fine, Marie. A fare left his laptop in the back. I think I can still return it to him.

You know the procedure if you can't, Marie said.

The urgent banging made me jump. The fare I'd just dropped off hunched by my window—eyes narrowed, and nostrils flared.

As soon as I opened the door a crack, he yanked it open the rest of the way.

I handed him his laptop. Sir, I found this in the back, and my dispatcher told me to deliver it to the lost and found. Well, not really, but more or less, that was what she said.

He snatched it from my hands while his eyes narrowed. Was that why you were trying to open it? 

Woah, woah, woah.

Wait a minute. He was the one who forgot his property. Why was he blaming me? That didn't make any sense.

I got out of the cab.

Sir, I'm sorry, but you left your property here. This company has a procedure for dealing with forgotten property. I followed—

"Ah, I see. You were returning it. That's why you were snooping through my papers instead of running it over to me," he said. His tone dripped with sarcasm.

Snooping?

He thought I snooped through his papers?

Who did this fucker think he was? The king of England?

As if I cared what these papers were about. 

My God! Some people were so far up their own asses, they couldn't tell how ridiculous they sounded.

All the charm he'd oozed when I met him vanished.

I prayed for patience and struggled to keep the calm in my voice. I tried to find your name, so I didn't have to take it to the lost and found. I was hoping to return it. I shoved my fingers in my hair. No point in arguing with him. Not to mention that my head came up to his chest, and I didn't have a snowball's chance in hell against him in a physical fight.

I have to go. I hurried to sit in the cab and yanked the door, but he held it, blocking my attempt to shut it.

My stomach dropped.

Crap.

He wrinkled his nose as his eyes roamed my face. Janine Benson?

I froze and really examined him.

A flash of memory of that teenage jerk I'd known in high school came to me. Duke? 

As in Luke The Duke Whitmore.

His lips curved into that asshole-smirk I remembered when he called me Homemade Ben. Still stealing, huh?

My nostrils flared, and I said through my clenched teeth, You're still an asshole, accusing people without knowing why.

Luke's hostile expression hadn't changed, but he let go of the door.

I got into the cab, pulled the door shut, slid the gearshift, and drove down the road. I glanced in the rearview mirror. 

Luke's eyes somehow found mine in the dark and a tingle ran down my neck as I turned at the corner.

Chapter 2

Maria Capello—Marie as we called her, leaned out the window of the dispatch booth like a queen about to deliver a message to her loyal subjects. Her pink-tinted glasses and platinum-dyed bouffant stood out against her black and white blouse. Marie's outfit was more fitting for a Grand Ole Opry singer than an NYC taxi garage.

Benson! That heavy messenger bag is making you drag your ass! The cigarette dangled from