I’m no Prince Charming, and the last thing I want is a Cinderella. My instructions were simple: Scour the city for a fake fiancée who’s not my type at all. Have her on my jet Monday morning, dressed for a yacht vacation. I need a woman believable enough to convince a certain client that I’ve changed my playboy ways...yet too annoying to tempt me - no emotional entanglements, thank you very much. This is business only. If she’s unfazed by my looks and wealth, all the better. Should be easy. Right? Apparently not, because my people go and hire Tabitha. My hairdresser.

He's a billionaire heir. A grump supreme. Hater of people. Bigger hater of peopling with people. And my new fake boyfriend. "Emotionally unavailable" doesn’t even begin to describe Hayes Rutherford. He has more defenses than a nuclear missile silo. And he’s the ultimate catch of the century. At least, according to his bank statement. My job’s simple: Keep all interested ladies away from the walled-off heir, by pretending to be his one true love. But you know what they say about fake-dating a billionaire: It’s all fun and games, until the scandals start.

I knew it was a bad idea to get on the elevator. Because now, I have three problems. Number one, I’m stuck in the elevator. Number two, I’m soaking wet from the rain. Number three, he got in before the doors closed. Miles Humphries. My neighbor. The one I hate. The biggest jerk I’ve ever met. Mr. Bachelor-for-Life and I, Rose Taylor, are like night and day. Imagine my jaw dropping when he asks me to be his fake fiancée. And move in with him. Together with my cat. Hello? That’s disaster waiting to happen. But then he makes me an offer I can’t refuse.

CEO millionaire Max Fletcher is a single dad in desperate need of a nanny. Cozy Barlow is in the middle of her self-appointed “gap year” and doing everything she can to detach from her past. But when her sister begs her to interview for the nanny position of a high-maintenance client, she doesn’t have a good enough reason to say no. And when Max locks eyes on the 20-something in a tie-dye sweat suit who pitches the idea of daydreaming all summer—he prepares to give this bad nanny the boot.

He’s the devil himself: Damon Copeland (he practically carries a pitchfork), fiery-hot, a torturously sexy body, and a killer smile (if he ever smiled). He’s also the top dog at my father’s company and my brother’s best friend. Oh, and someone I accidentally slept with. In my defense, that was before I knew who he was and before he hired me. Now, my one-night stand has turned into my boss. What’s worse, he’s Mr. Bosshole Superior: brutish, broody, and impatient. He’s also 6’4". And I’m pretty sure he hates me. But it’s not as if I planned any of this.

Am I friends with JP Cane? Ha! That's laughable. Besides the fact that he’s adopted some far-fetched notion from the movie When Harry Met Sally that says men and women can't be friends and work together, it’s safe to say we're not friends. He's annoyingly loud, obnoxiously handsome, and has made an art out of poking all my hot buttons...multiple times a day. So you can imagine how disgruntled I am when I not only have to fly to San Francisco with him for work, but stay in the same penthouse. Yup, we're sharing the same air, 24-7. We're talking full-fledged working roommates.

Winnifred Gobaldi and Byron Visser are not best friends. Yes, they’ve known each other for years, but they’re not even friendly. Winnie considers them more like casual, distant acquaintances who find each other barely tolerable, especially when he's being condescending (which is all the time). The truth is, they have nothing in common. She’s a public school science teacher with stars in her eyes, and he’s a pretentious, joyless double PhD turned world-famous best-selling fiction author. 

I just moved in with my billionaire best friend (and secret crush), Oliver Humphries. He’s the all-star. The jock. The golden boy. And I’m no match. I’m the nerdy, frizzy-haired, not-so-skinny friend. The moment I met him at 14, I was in L-O-V-E. I’m under no illusion I stand a chance. Living with him? Not a problem. 

An unexpected steamy yet laugh-out-loud royal romance.

I never should have gone commando in that dress. I'm almost positive the rest of it wouldn't have happened if I hadn't been dangling off a hotel balcony. And of course the one person to witness my mortification had to be him. Camden Cox. Sure, today he's gorgeous and wealthy, and fine, I can admit he has a great sense of humor. But once upon a time, he was the boy who loved to make my life miserable. But I'm Sophie Abbott, and if there's one thing I'm good at, it's making a mess. Only this is a disaster. Because after a wild night in Vegas, I'm pretty sure we got married.

Bad luck seems to follow me. Last night, I grabbed a drink at the bar near my new workplace. I met the most sophisticated man when he “stole” my table. We bantered and danced, and I went home with a stranger for the first time in my life. The next morning, I find out my hot one-night stand is my new boss. Gone is the playful, charming man from last night. Luke Maxwell is all business, acting as if our night together never happened. He’s impossible to please, but I’m determined to succeed. This job is my chance to prove myself and put my past—and my ex—behind me. 

It’s official. I’m totally hopeless at love, parenting, and life. Single mom? Check. Massive debt? Check. A sassy daughter who inherited my gift of snark? Ugh. Check. I work three jobs, go to school, and do my best to be in my kid’s life. Men are the last thing on my mind. I wouldn’t have time to look at a man even if he fell into my lap. Until he does. Thanks to my spawn who keeps calling some famous relationship expert, airing my disastrous life in her podcast. 

What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas. Or does it? Okay, let me explain. I broke into my crush’s dressing room to sniff his tights (not in a pervy way, I swear!) and got busted while, um... you get the idea. He then kind of, sort of blackmailed me into agreeing to a fake green card marriage with him. But hey, I’m not complaining. Next thing I know, we’re on a flight to Vegas to make our friends and family think we had a crazy drunken night and, in the spur of the moment, tied the knot. Except… that’s exactly what happens.

My new assignment at work: test out toys. Yup, that kind. But when the testing goes south, and I mean that literally, I’m forced to recruit the help of my new boss, the infamously reclusive and devastatingly sexy Vlad Chortsky, a.k.a. the Impaler. Testing toys with your scorching hot boss is still professional...right?

I was only trying to help a friend. I swear. I was legit asking for a friend who was finally ready to date again. So I did what any good friend would do. Posted it for her. It seemed like a good idea at the time - I’d weed through the candidates, and bring her my top picks. But then he responded. Is it wrong to date the guy I screened for my bestie? Not asking for a friend.