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.

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. 

You might think the problem would be waking up in Vegas, hungover, next to a beautiful woman who’s wearing your boxer briefs, and finding out you married her. But you’d be wrong. I, Nolan Cassidy, international charmer, and maker of mischief have fallen head over heels for Cora Delaney. I want to be married to the lass. So, you might think the problem would be that she wants an annulment. But, again, you’d be wrong. None of that is the problem. I’m a problem. My boxing days may be behind me, but the fight never left me. And nothing is going to stand in my way. 

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....

There are bad ideas and there are good bad ideas. My former fiancé banging a nanny - that was a bad idea. A good girl having her first ever one-night stand with the hot former bad boy she just met after being dumped? Bad idea. When I find out that the nanny's ex-boyfriend is looking for revenge, I should run - far away. But I don’t...because rebounding with Vince is the most awesome bad idea ever. Do I want to help him get back at our exes in this way? Oh. Hell. Yes. I want him to get back at my ex hard. With wild abandon. All night long.

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. 

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.

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.

Things that suck on my wedding day - walking in on my groom kissing another woman 20 minutes before the ceremony. Things that suck worse? The woman he’s kissing is my mom. I head straight for the bowling alley bar down the street and ask for a double. And in walks a deliciously charming local football hero - Harlan Taylor. Yes, I’ll take another drink in the form of a one-night stand with this hunk of a man. In the morning, he asks if I want to get together again. More rebound nookie? Yes please!

What I meant to do in Vegas: Let my hair down for once and celebrate winning a medal at my first women’s hockey all-stars competition. What I actually did: Got senior prom drunk and woke up married to Brooklyn’s star winger, the great Neil Drake. He’s the heir to a billion dollars, and I barely survived my childhood. Our friendship is based strictly on hockey, takeout food, and smack talk. And now holy matrimony. We both know it can’t last - especially once his evil family gets wind of our Vegas shenanigans.

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.