Working as Ruslan Oryolov’s personal assistant is the job from hell. After a long day spent tending to the billionaire’s every whim, I need some stress relief. So when I get home that night, that’s exactly what I do. Problem is, my thoughts are still stuck on the bosshole, who’s ruining my life. That’s fine—because of all Ruslan’s many sins, being gorgeous might be the most dangerous.

After failing my last semester of grad school, I decided to come back to my hometown and wallow in my boyfriend’s sympathetic arms. Instead, he proceeded to dump me...for being boring! Now, I'm not typically a spiteful person, but there's only so much I can take. Hence why I’m holding the box of his most cherished possessions...stolen possessions no less!

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.

When my grandmother found out she didn’t have long to live, she embarked on a crazy trip—jumping out of airplanes and scuba diving with sharks. After I repeatedly voiced my concern, Gram blocked me—her own grandson—on text and social media, leaving me only her travel companion Eleanor’s number.

Running away from home at 17 wasn't easy. Let's face it, though, nothing before or in the ten years since has ever been easy for me. And I'm doing okay—sorta. I just need to keep scraping by, living under the radar. Staying out of people's way, off people's minds. When a man walks through my open patio door, stepping boldly into my home and my life, I should be scared, frightened, terrified. I must be more broken than I realized because I'm none of those things. I'm intrigued—and I'm wondering if the way to take control of my life is by giving in to him.

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.

Rule number one for dating your best friend’s sister: Don’t. Just don’t do it. Especially when your best friend is dead and the last thing he made you promise him was that you’d keep an eye on his little sister, but not too good of an eye.

I didn’t know bridesmaid was code for babysitter for the bride’s brother, but if that’s what my best friend needs of me for her dream wedding to go off without a hitch, that’s what I’ll do. Even if Theo Monroe has been a pain in my rear since third grade. Even if he should be responsible enough to not wreak havoc at his sister’s destination wedding.

I should have run the other way. Paid my tab and gone back to my room. But he was there. And he was…everything. I figured, what’s the harm in letting passion rule my decisions for one night? So what if he looks like the Devil in a suit? I’d be leaving in the morning, flying home to my pleasant but predictable life. I’d never see him again. Except I do. In the last place I expected. And now everything I’ve worked so hard for is in jeopardy.

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”.

A successful writer accidentally sends her new (and super-dreamy) editor the wrong manuscript. Instead of the full-length paranormal novel she promised Longstrand Publishing, she sends the fan fiction she’s written about her crush…on him—including every detail of the hot, steamy “physical activity” she’s fantasized about happening between them.

It was supposed to be the best day of my life. But the second I got up, things started to fall apart. The kitchen just caught on fire. Flowers were from a funeral. My bride-to-be just had an allergic reaction, leaving by ambulance. Oh, and my ex-girlfriend just walked into the church. They say you have to see the signs when they are right in front of you. Maybe she was just mine to have.

Danny Walker, my big brother’s arrogant, powerful, handsome, and completely unobtainable best friend. He’s a ruthless tech tycoon, and I take calls from angry clients who can’t reset their passwords. He lives in a Grade II listed mansion with holiday homes worldwide, and I rent a room in a flat-share with my best friend and mice.

Five hockey players, a cabin in the woods...and little old me, Winnie Berlin. Sounds like the start of a fantasy, right? But it's not. It's my reality. It all started when I got lost in the middle of the Canadian Rockies. A wicked thunderstorm sent my car mud sliding into a ditch, and for a girl whose survival skills involve finding the nearest Starbucks, I was in deep trouble. Forced to abandon my car in search of help, I stumbled upon a cabin in the middle of nowhere.

Mac and Jamie had their life together all planned out. Until Jamie did the unforgivable and left Mac for another woman. Twenty years later, they meet again for the first time at a friend’s wedding. Mac’s pain lingers, while Jamie is still haunted by regret.