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.

Emmett Lasker is impossible to work for. He might be model handsome and stupidly wealthy, but he also has it out for me. He’s given me more last-minute and weekend requests than anyone else, ruining any plans I make. I should quit. And I will. Just as soon as I hit my two-year anniversary and earn out my signing bonus. But after a particularly awful day at work, a breakup (via text!), and my computer crashing, I’ve had enough! So at 11:59 Friday night, I barge into Emmett’s office to tell him what I really think of him. Only, that’s not what happens. AT ALL.

No hot water? Check. Missed the train? Check. Broke my heel? Check. Dropped my coffee? Check. My first day of my new job can’t possibly go worse, right? Wrong. When I meet Parker Scott, I realize this job is going to be a lot harder than I thought it would be. Quitting isn’t an option; I’ll have to learn to deal with the three Bossholes in one way or another.

It started when I hosted a little party for a bunch of new friends. Though “friends” might not be the right word since the invitees were all the women I’d found out my boyfriend was talking to behind my back. When the guest of honor walked in—aka my now ex—things took a turn…. Unfortunately, a stranger witnessed the whole blowout. I was in a mood that night and ended up giving this gorgeous guy an attitude, too. As if my night could get any worse, before he stormed off, he informed me he was actually my landlord.

Everything goes as planned...until Nate and I wake up the next day, hung-over, wearing identical golden wedding bands, and with no memory of what happened the night before. Cue major hyperventilation. But it's okay. Nothing that a quick marriage dissolution can't solve...until the pregnancy test stick comes back with two pink lines...

Secrets are my life. Perception is everything, and I'm extraordinarily good at helping my clients hide their dirt—until him. Bad press about your latest movie flop? I can twist it. Need to repair your image after an embarrassing walk of shame? I got you. Reputation refresh? That’s me too. But my latest client challenges me in ways I never anticipated. Carson Steen. The heir apparent at the center of a media firestorm that’s taking down his family’s amusement park kingdom. I can help the drop-dead sexy, danger-loving, motorcycle-riding jerk…if he’ll let me. 

The first time I met Merrick Crawford was during my job interview. Well, technically, I’d met him 20 minutes earlier when he’d barged into a fitting room a few doors down from my appointment. I yelled. He yelled. After an argument while standing in my bra, I proceeded to smash the door into the gorgeous jerk, trying to yank it shut. As you might imagine, I was freaked out when I discovered that the rude guy was my potential new boss. Yet he didn’t seem to recognize me. Or so I thought.... Until we wound up bickering again during my interview and he told me to go sniff my armpit.

Ryot Bisley is my husband. Yes, the former third baseman for the Chicago Rebels and absolute heartthrob of the Windy City. That Ryot Bisley. The first time I ran into him, he was grumpy, a horrific host, and left me on his sofa with nothing but a nylon baseball flag to use as a blanket.

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.

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 thought my invitation was a birthday present from my best friend. The dress, the limousine, the red carpet...I thought they were meant for me. That was mistake number one. Then my date arrives, all gleaming cufflinks and tousled hair, steely blue eyes, and a body honed to masculine precision. Arrogant. Charming. Panty-melting. And melt, they do. Hanky-panky with a rich hottie in the back room of the event I'm crashing? Don't mind if I do.

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

I’m a single female who’s tired of relationships ruining my life. However, there are times when a date would be helpful. If you’re a single man, preferably mid-20s to late-30s, and are in a similar situation, we might be a match. Candidate must be handsome, charming, and willing to pretend to have feelings for me (on a sliding scale, as the event requires). Ability to discuss a wide variety of topics is a plus. Must have your own transportation and a (legal) job. In exchange for your time, I will give you mine. If interested, please email me. Time is of the essence. 

Raise your hand if you’ve ever done this. Written a racy message and sent it to—oops—the wrong person. Yeah, me too. Except, I sent my latest Tales of a Naughty Virgin column detailing my fantasies about my hot, charming, thoroughly bangable next-door-neighbor to…my entire company. Did I mention I’m a children’s book editor? Well, I was. *Facepalm.* At least the column goes viral, but I’m still the gal who gets fired for her not-safe-for-work thoughts about the so-called “Mister Sexy Pants”.

Jake Whitley and I start off on the wrong foot. And then it goes downhill from there. After my career implodes, I’m determined to make a living with my new event planning business. But Jake and I are at odds from the moment I step on his private plane.

No hot water? Check. Missed the train? Check. Broke my heel? Check. Dropped my coffee? Check. My first day of my new job can’t possibly go worse, right? Wrong. When I meet Parker Scott, I realize this job is going to be a lot harder than I thought it would be. Quitting isn’t an option; I’ll have to learn to deal with the three Bossholes in one way or another.

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.

Arrogant. Impatient. Distractingly sexy. Mega-successful department store magnate Blake Hudson is everything I’m not looking for. Unfortunately, I may have ruined his life a little bit when I got creative on my first day as a personal shopper. And unless I want to see my new career go up in flames, I’m stuck with the world’s smuggest billionaire until I fix everything I’ve broken.

Holly has a plan for everything. But she never could have planned for this. Holly Murphy’s perfectly planned life is not going so well. Her fiancé recently dumped her, the team she supervises at work secretly hates her, and now the promotion she’s worked so hard for is in jeopardy. Thinking that maybe Holly is too tightly wound and needs a break from everything, Holly’s boss demands she take a vacation. 

I thought my invitation was a birthday present from my best friend. The dress, the limousine, the red carpet...I thought they were meant for me. That was mistake number one. Then my date arrives, all gleaming cufflinks and tousled hair, steely blue eyes, and a body honed to masculine precision. Arrogant. Charming. Panty-melting. And melt, they do. Hanky-panky with a rich hottie in the back room of the event I'm crashing? Don't mind if I do.