Dear grouchy neighbor: I’m considering your offer and need clarification before proceeding. Despite being an artist, I think you know that as a busy New Yorker, I am also practical and straightforward. That said, I need to make sure you know that this could never turn into anything serious. I don’t care if you’re trying to get over your ex-girlfriend or hoping she’ll eventually want to get back together with you - just don’t project your messy feelings about her onto me.

Being a veteran quarterback means I’m a mentally alert, fine-tuned athletic machine who can make split-second decisions. It’s my job to anticipate what’s going to happen next. But I couldn’t have anticipated the death of our beloved team owner, or his estranged daughter, Hannah Strong, inheriting the Boston Tomcats. She’s stubborn, uptight, infuriating, and wrong about absolutely everything. I can’t stop arguing with her. Or thinking about her. And I don’t want to talk about how good she looks in a skirt. Or how good she’d look out of it. Really, I don’t.

Everyone on Main Street has been talking about Evan Hunter, the British movie star who’ll be filming on location in our small Pacific Northwest town for a couple of months, and all I have to say about that is: “Who?” When he shows up two weeks early to escape the London paparazzi after breaking up with some starlet, all I want to know is: “So?” When he walks into the gym that I manage for my dad and brothers, to start training for the action scenes in his movie, I’ll admit I do say to myself: “Hmmm...” 

She serves me coffee late at night when I come around to write lyrics, but it’s not the caffeine I’ve gotten addicted to. We’ve got the spark, but she’s the only woman in town who seems to be immune to my charms. When it’s time for me to leave for my cross-country tour, I just can’t imagine not seeing her for months. So I offer her a job on the road with me.

Dear Mr. Vega: I felt it necessary to follow up on today’s meeting, since we weren’t able to speak candidly in front of your son. I was shocked to discover that you are Ryder’s dad. I think it would be best if we just pretend that we met in person for the first time today. Your son is a very bright (flirtatious and talkative) student and since his education is a top priority for both of us, I hope I can count on you to respectfully refrain from grinning at me, using that sexy tone of voice, and undressing me with your annoyingly beautiful brown eyes....

When I was a kid, my dad was the gardener for the richest man in town. His daughter, Lily Barnes, told me she could never like a guy like me. Then she kissed me and told me it would never happen again. When it happened again, she told me she could never love me because she was going to leave this place, and I would never leave my dad. We were never quite friends, not exactly enemies, and we could never quite stop secretly kissing each other. She never said goodbye before running off to try to make it as an actress. That was her dream, and I wanted her to chase it.

A single dad, a model, and a comedian walk into a bar.... They’re all Owen Brodie. It’s only funny if you aren’t the hilarious struggling comedian who has been hired to be his son’s nanny for the stand-up tour. 

My stress level is off the charts. I can’t sleep right on a normal day, and lately my days are filled with the best kind of chaos. My ex-wife and husband number two are filming in Poland for three months, so I’m turning down movie parts to focus on the most important role of my life - impossibly charming and somewhat capable young single dad. Our regular nanny quit. The only person I could trust to hire as a temp nanny is my best friend’s sister. If Mary Poppins and Bill Murray had a baby it would be Willa.

Dear Fiona: I hope this letter finds you well - and by well, I mean significantly less infuriated than you were yesterday. I’ve wanted to continue our conversation from the night we met, but there are so many things I can’t say or do, now that I’m your professor. As an anonymous letter writer, I can give you some idea of what I have planned for us, once the year is over. As an author, I can share my work in progress with you. Not for you to critique but to show you how much you mean to me. 

I knocked up my best friend's sister. Let's start with how she decided to inform me and Pacey the news...together. Imagine that nightmare. I was going into what I thought was a hockey marketing meeting, and then bam! I'm going to be a dad and my best friend/teammate is attempting to imprint my face with his fist. Threats were tossed around, friendships were revoked, and then I was marched up to her apartment, suitcases in hand, and forced to live with her so I could take care of her every need. Now I'm finding it harder and harder not to fall for my best friend's little sister.

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.

Reasons why I should not be drawn to Troy Serrano. Number one: He’s obnoxious. Number two: We were enemies more than a decade ago. Number three: He’s my friend’s ex-boyfriend. I could go on and on, really. When my boss gives me an unwanted assignment, and tells me it involves spending time with the grandson of one of our residents, the grandson turns out to be Troy. Lucky me. Four hours a week of having to deal with his insufferable personality and unsolicited advice - the only consolation is getting to stare at his annoyingly gorgeous face, in between our many arguments.

I moved to Chicago six months ago, determined to finally open my own bakery. My landlady was this sweet woman who treated me like her granddaughter. Then she sold the house. Now the devil himself is my landlord and neighbor, since I live in the guesthouse on his property. Declan Maxwell is moody, unreasonable, and takes himself far too seriously. Unfortunately for me, he’s also damn sexy. Then one day I come home injured from work and he surprises me by taking care of me. And kissing me. And just like that, all my best intentions go up in smoke.

I was never supposed to see him again. Him being the man wearing the perfectly tailored suit, who oozed an intoxicating mixture of wealth, rebellion, and sex appeal. One night. No strings. No names. Still riding the high from last night, I walk in to meet my new client, and he’s wearing that same dangerous smirk. Yes, I’m consulting for Callahan Sharpe. That Callahan Sharpe. Billionaire heir who abides by no rules, bucks convention, and is determined to complete one final project to honor his late father’s legacy. Luckily, and unluckily for me, I’m tasked to help.

Know that saying about how what happens in paradise, stays in paradise? Yeah, no. That other one about first impressions? Check this out: tall. Broad shoulders. Fine butt. No manners. Expensive aftershave I could swear I’ve sniffed somewhere before. I should keep my mind on the sun, the sand, and the tequila and keep my hands to myself. But it’s Cancun. And there’s sun and sand and tequila...and when Mr. Annoying turns on the charm, I can’t resist. That crucial thing about never sleeping with your boss’ boss? Yeah. Too late.