The Lost Cats and Lonely Hearts Club: A heartwarming, laugh-out-loud romantic comedy - not just for cat lovers!
‘A story of a heart-warming friendship, kindness, bravery…this cat lady loved it!’ Kitty Loves BooksSwapping Prada for purrs…While covering a story, feisty network reporter Madison Shaw gets more than she bargained for when she rescues a box of orphaned kittens. Suddenly the glamazon of the Manhattan news room is doing two am feedings to keep these furbabies alive!This is certainly a change of pace for the high maintenance workaholic she’s become and taking care of the kittens makes Madison realise how far off track she’s come—after all, she was a stray once too…When a video of her caring for the kittens goes viral, she knows her image as a hardnosed reporter is shot to hell. What Madison doesn’t expect is the media circus that propels her and the kittens to stardom. And the domino effect that has on her, her career and her love life—especially when she meets sexy Officer Nick Marino!Step away from the cat videos on YouTube and put your reservation for the cat cafe on hold because this is a must-read for cat lovers and hopeless romantics alike…
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The Lost Cats and Lonely Hearts Club
Book One
NIC TATANO
A division of HarperCollinsPublishers
HarperImpulse an imprint of
HarperCollinsPublishers
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
First published in Great Britain by HarperImpulse 2016
Copyright © Nic Tatano 2016
Cover images © Shutterstock.com
Cover layout design © HarperCollinsPublishers 2016
Cover design by Holly Macdonald
Nic Tatano asserts the moral right to
be identified as the author of this work
A catalogue record for this book
is available from the British Library
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International
and Pan-American Copyright Conventions.
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No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted,
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stored in or introduced into any information storage and
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written permission of HarperCollins.
Ebook Edition © August 2016 ISBN: 9780008200657
Version: 2016-09-07
‘One of the top 20 books of 2013’
I Heart … Chick Lit
‘E-book novel of the year’
Chick Lit Chloe
‘I truly adored this novel … One of my favourite books this year, for sure’
Chick Lit Reviews
‘The heroine is sassy, the dialogue is razor-sharp and the romance is sweet. Well worth a read’
Chick Lit Club
‘Fast and funny’
Wondrous Reads
For Gypsy, Pandora, Bella, Buttons, Snoopy, and J.R., my furry companions through life …
Table of Contents
The tortoiseshell kitten with one good eye and a limp awoke first, emerging from the ball of fur comprised of his three siblings. Light from the setting sun filtered into the abandoned room as he moved toward his mother, eagerly awaiting the quick bath she gave him every day. She was still asleep so he nuzzled her chin.
She didn’t move.
He bumped her with his head. Still nothing.
Her mouth hung open. She wasn’t breathing.
And she was cold.
His heart rate spiked as he went back to wake his siblings.
The three kittens stirred from their slumber and moved toward their mother.
The tabby knew it was in trouble.
The black and white tuxedo kitten felt pangs of hunger.
The Russian blue kitten’s eyes filled with fear.
Suddenly a nearby noise grabbed the tortoiseshell’s attention. His ears perked up. He couldn’t see very well or jump, but he was blessed with a very loud voice.
He began to cry.
My face tightens as the construction crew chief hands me and my photographer a hard hat each. “Do I really have to wear this?”
The construction foreman nods. “Sorry, Miss Shaw. Unless you want a block of concrete falling on your head. The stadium is about to come down without the help of our demolition crew.”
I roll my green eyes as I put on the plastic yellow hat, mashing my salon-perfect copper curls. “My two hundred dollar hair appointment this morning, shot to hell.”
My burly, middle-aged photographer shakes his head. “Awww, poor Madison and her six-figure salary. Careful you don’t break a nail, Network.”
Yeah, that’s my nickname, which I hate. Even though I’m a network television reporter.
The foreman laughs as he puts his hard hat atop his thick gray hair. “High maintenance, huh?”
The photographer nods. “She’s raised it to an art form. Who else wears four inch heels to a demolition story?”
My jaw clenches. “I wouldn’t even be covering this if Joe wasn’t out sick. I am a national political reporter in case you forgot.”
“How could I forget when you remind the newsroom every single day?”
I shoot him my patented death stare as he moves in front of me and aims his camera. He turns on his light, walking backwards as I follow the foreman into the condemned structure, navigating my way through oily puddles. (Hey, don’t give me that look. Fine, so he was right about the heels. But they take me up to six-foot-two and since I’m one hundred forty-five pounds of solid muscle I like being the Amazon of the newsroom.) “Okay, we’re rolling. So, Mister Richards, tell me why demolishing a building with explosives is such an art?”
