Curious Hearts, A Cat Loving Lesbian Romance Novel (Paperback)

When investment banker Jessica Taylor inherits seven cats, she hires animal behaviorist Dr. Ali Ritchie to manage the chaos. As her ordered life unravels under feline interference and Ali's charm, Jessica must choose between her dream London promotion and unexpected love. A slow burn lesbian romance where cats are the boss and opposites attract.

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Pages : 336
ISBN : 9614622000341
Weight : 323g
Dimensions : 127 x 19 x 203 mm

What if everything you thought you wanted was exactly what you didn't need?

Investment banker Jessica Taylor has spent her entire life checking boxes: Ivy League education ✓, corner office ✓, London promotion pending ✓. The last thing on her list is inheriting seven cats and a crumbling Victorian house from the great-aunt her family considered an embarrassment.

Dr. Ali Ritchie knows about starting over. After her own devastating breakdown, she's rebuilt her life around healing wounded animals and keeping humans at arm's length. But there's something about the perfectly controlled banker slowly melting under the influence of seven demanding cats that makes Ali want to risk her carefully guarded heart.

As litter boxes replace boardrooms and cat hair ruins designer suits, Jessica discovers that some of life's best gifts come with claws attached. But when the career opportunity she's worked toward her entire life finally arrives, she'll have to choose between the future she planned and the love she never saw coming.

Because sometimes the family you inherit is exactly the one you need.

• Slow Burn Romance
• Grumpy/Sunshine
• Opposites Attract
• Age Gap
• Nicaraguan Grandmothers - Yaya is back!

Chapter 1
Jessica
Jessica Taylor had built her reputation on three principles: precision, control, and immaculate timing. Which is why standing outside the law offices of Weismann and Goddard, on a gusty Denver morning, staring at the broken heel of her nine hundred dollar Louboutin felt like a personal attack by the universe.
"Perfect," she muttered, glaring at the tree grate she held solely responsible. Dark curls whipped across her face as she balanced with the grace of someone who'd navigated far worse than a wardrobe malfunction to become the youngest Investment Director in Hamilton Trust's history. The broken shoe was just one more irritation in a morning already derailed by this dubious inheritance meeting to which she had been summoned.
This stretch of 20th Avenue straddled Uptown and Five Points, a liminal space where renovated condos sat shoulder to shoulder with dated law offices and buildings that looked better from a distance. The air smelled faintly of roasted coffee and last night's rain, and somewhere nearby, a light rail bell clanged its way into the morning. Everything about the block whispered respectability without aspiration—exactly the kind of place Jessica paid other people to handle on her behalf.
Slipping foldable ballet flats from her briefcase, Jessica made the quick calculation: maintaining her dignity was worth more than changing shoes on a public sidewalk. She always had a contingency plan. That's what made her so good at managing other people's millions.
What she couldn't anticipate was that in less than thirty minutes, she'd face a decision that no spreadsheet could optimize: seven cats, one Victorian house, and an eccentric great-aunt's final scheme to upend her perfectly ordered life.
She'd rescheduled two client meetings and postponed a strategy call with London for this appointment. The email from the law firm had been frustratingly vague—something about an inheritance—but her assistant had confirmed it wasn't a scam.
"Ms. Taylor?"
The receptionist's smile faltered as she took in Jessica's mismatched ensemble and the red-soled heels clutched in her hand. Her gaze lingered a moment too long, a mix of recognition and appraisal that Jessica knew well. People often did a double take when they met her, as if reconciling the name they'd heard with the brown-skinned woman standing before them.
"Mr. Goddard is ready for you."
Jessica nodded once, refusing to acknowledge either her footwear situation or the receptionist's barely disguised curiosity. She straightened her spine, a movement that pulled her silk blouse taut across her shoulders, and strode forward with the confidence of someone who commanded nine-figure portfolios before her second coffee.
The office at the end of the hall was lit entirely by two flickering fluorescent tubes, their sterile hum already grating. There were no windows. No natural light. Just a mahogany desk, a single framed photograph of Mount Blue Sky dusted with snow, and a white-haired man with small rectangular glasses rising to greet her.
"Ms. Taylor, thank you for coming. I'm Harold Goddard." He extended his hand, and Jessica noted his firm grip. "Please, have a seat."
She placed her shoes, complete with flapping heel, and briefcase beside a leather armchair. "I have a conference call at eleven, Mr. Goddard, so I'd appreciate if we could be efficient."
"Of course." He smiled, seemingly unfazed by her briskness. "I understand you were Vivian Porter's great-niece?"
"She was my father's aunt, yes." Jessica crossed her legs, the movement automatic and precise, unconsciously elegant even in ballet flats. "We weren't close." She paused, then added, "I hadn't seen her in years. She sent Christmas cards, usually late, with handwriting that looked like it had been done in a moving car."
A moment of silence followed and Harold Goddard blinked. Once.
"I was surprised to hear from her estate, but not especially... affected," Jessica added.
Vivian had been the only Porter to skip medical school, a cardinal sin in her family's eyes. At Taylor-Mehta family gatherings, Aunt Vivian's name rarely came up, except as a cautionary tale of "wasted potential" according to Jessica's mother. The last time Jessica had seen her, at some cousin's wedding over a decade ago, Vivian had worn flowing scarves and jangling bracelets, her gray hair wild and unfettered while everyone else was perfectly turned out.
"I see." Goddard opened a file folder. "Well, regardless of your relationship, your great-aunt named you as the sole beneficiary of her estate."
Jessica blinked, the only outward sign of her surprise, stopping her fingers before they tightened on the leather of the armrest. "I wasn't aware she had an estate. The last I heard, she was living in some rundown Victorian in Five Points."
"Yes, that's the property in question. The house at four eighty-seven North Downing." He slid a photograph across the desk.
Jessica picked it up, studying the three-story Victorian with its wraparound porch and ornate gingerbread trim. The paint would have been garish had it not faded, but the architecture was undeniably impressive. The property had possibility.
"It has been appraised at one point two million, given its historical status and the recent gentrification of the neighborhood." Goddard adjusted his glasses. "There's also a modest investment portfolio worth approximately nine hundred thousand."
Jessica's fingers twitched with the instinct to pull out her phone and check current market rates for Five Points real estate. The neighborhood had transformed over the past decade from neglected historic district to up-and-coming hot spot. With the right renovations, the property value could increase by another fifteen to twenty percent within two years. And the investment portfolio, even conservatively managed, could yield significant returns.
"And the terms?" There were always terms.
"Ah, yes." Goddard cleared his throat. "This is where matters become specific. Ms. Porter was quite detailed in her wishes."
Here it comes, Jessica thought, her body tensing slightly, a subtle tightening across her shoulders that she immediately counteracted, forcing them back to relaxed.
"You're to take up residence in the house for a minimum of six months and assume care of her—companions."
"Companions?" Jessica repeated, wariness creeping into her voice.
"Her cats, Ms. Taylor. Seven of them."
The silence that followed was absolute. Jessica's expression remained composed, betraying none of the horror bubbling beneath her surface. Her pulse quickened, a flush of heat crawling up her neck that she prayed wasn't visible.
"Cats," she finally said, the word dropping from her lips like a dead weight.
"Yes. According to the will, you must reside in the house and maintain the care of all seven cats for a minimum of six-month period. If the terms are met, the house and investments transfer to you, free and clear."
"And if I decline?" Jessica asked, already knowing the answer.
"Then the estate goes to the Denver Animal Welfare Association."
Of course it did. Jessica suppressed a sigh. "Mr. Goddard, I live in a penthouse downtown. I work sixty-hour weeks. I'm allergic to cats." The last point was a slight exaggeration, she'd never actually been tested, but it felt true in spirit.
"Ms. Porter anticipated your reluctance." He slid another document forward. "She's arranged for a stipend to cover the services of an animal behaviorist who specializes in feline psychology. Ms. Porter was quite insistent that this particular specialist be retained, should you accept."
Jessica skimmed the document, stopping at a name circled in red: Dr. Alison Ritchie, DVM, PhD, DACVIM (Neurology), DACVB. There were more letters in her professional qualifications than in her name. The scrawled handwriting beside it, Jessica immediately recognised from Christmas cards, read: "Ali helps the hopeless cases. You need her." The ink was purple—who used purple ink anymore?
"A cat therapist?" The words came out sharper than she intended.
"I believe Dr. Ritchie prefers 'animal behaviorist,'" Goddard corrected mildly. "She works with the Healing Paws Foundation and came highly recommended by Ms. Porter."
Jessica set the paper down, her mind racing through calculations. The property alone was worth the inconvenience, especially in Denver's overheated market. Six months was manageable. And perhaps these... creatures could be confined to a specific area of the house. Her finger traced the edge of the paper unconsciously, pausing over Dr. Ritchie's name. Vivian Porter was being irritatingly demanding if nothing else from beyond the grave.
"When would this six-month period begin?"
"Immediately. Ms. Porter's housekeeper has been caring for the animals since her passing three weeks ago, but that arrangement ends today. Ms. Taylor, we have been trying to schedule this meeting for almost two weeks." Goddard's expression remained neutral, but Jessica detected a hint of frustration mingled with curiosity. He was wondering if she would actually go through with this.
She stood, smoothing her skirt, the wool firm against her palms. "I'll need to review the full documentation with my attorney."
"Of course. But the housekeeper leaves at five today." He offered a business card. "This is Dr. Ritchie's contact information. Ms. Porter was quite explicit that you work with her specifically."
Jessica slipped the card into her pocket without looking at it. The cardstock was thick, expensive, oddly, not what she'd expect from someone who worked with animals.
"We'll need your decision by end of business today, Ms. Taylor."
"And you'll get it," she said standing to leave, briefcase in hand, shoes dangling next to them.
Outside on the sidewalk, Jessica pulled out her phone and tapped the screen, calling her assistant, who answered instantly.
"Zach, cancel everything after two. I need you to find a contractor who can create a sealed, separate living space for pets." Her voice hardened. "And locate the best air purifiers on the market. Money is no object."
She glanced at her watch, then at the card in her hand.
"Also, I need you to call this Dr. Ritchie person and schedule an immediate consultation. I'll send you her number."
Ending the call, Jessica hailed a cab. Her day had been hijacked by her dead aunt's cats. $2.1 million or not, someone was going to pay for this inconvenience. As she slid into the back seat, she couldn't shake the feeling that her life was about to become very, very complicated.