Lowen Ashleigh is a struggling writer on the brink of financial ruin when she accepts the job offer of a lifetime. Jeremy Crawford, husband of best-selling author Verity Crawford, has hired Lowen to complete the remaining books in a successful series his injured wife is unable to finish. Lowen arrives at the Crawford home, ready to sort through years of Verity's notes and outlines, hoping to find enough material to get her started. What Lowen doesn't expect to uncover in the chaotic office is an unfinished autobiography Verity never intended for anyone to read.

Ryder, Garrett, Kenzo, and Diesel - The Vipers. Their deals are as sordid as their business, and their reputation is enough to bring a grown man to his knees, forcing him to beg for mercy. They are not people you mess with, yet my dad did. The old man ran up a debt with them and then sold me to cover his losses. Yes, sold me. They own me now. I’m theirs in every sense of the word. But I’ve never been meek and compliant.

Beckett: If you’re reading this, well, you know the last-letter drill. You made it. I didn’t. Get off the guilt train, because I know if there was any chance you could have saved me, you would have. I need one thing from you: get out of the army and get to Telluride. My little sister Ella’s raising the twins alone. She’s too independent and won’t accept help easily, but she has lost our grandmother, our parents, and now me. It’s too much for anyone to endure. And here’s the kicker: there’s something else you don’t know that’s tearing her family apart.

We're not free to give into this. She's 19, and I'm 38. And I'm her boyfriend's father. Unfortunately, they both just moved into my house.

Eight years ago I fell into a secret summer fling with my best friend’s little sister before our lives went in different directions. Now, I’m the grumpy to Juliet’s sunshine on a popular dating podcast we host, and when a wealthy fan gives us a charming coastal cottage as the biggest thank you ever, we head to the town where I grew up to give it a makeover. And find the house has only one bed. Located under a mirrored ceiling.

Oakley Farrow is your typical high school senior. He stays up late, cramming for finals. He has impossible deadlines to meet. He worries about his future as graduation lurks just around the corner. He has to defend himself from his abusive uncle. He has to keep his sister safe. He has to survive the constant torture from his bully, Asher Brooks—the seemingly arrogant and cruel star quarterback. Okay… so maybe not your typical high school senior.

Playing a lead role in a book-to-movie adaptation with a wild fan base? Sign me up! The only downside is that I'm cast alongside Jacoby "Heartthrob" Hart—Hollywood's golden boy. If only they knew he was an uppity, pompous snob. We don't get along, and if you're reading the tabloids, you'd assume it was because I "stole" his girlfriend, but they have it all wrong. Jacoby and his cold shoulder started this, and now we're set to play lovers. The only thing I'd love to do is strangle him, but I'm a professional.

Landon Griffin has everything going for him. He's a high school senior on the brink of receiving a football scholarship, his dad is running for mayor of Madison, Texas, and his future with his girlfriend looks bright. But his simple life shatters when feelings spark for a guy he's never met. Giving the stranger the codename Mystery Boy, Landon hesitates to step out of his comfort zone to solve the mystery. Living in a conservative town, he struggles to hide his new obsession while trying to figure out where he fits within the spectrum of sexuality.

Charles Preston Carmichael is the most infuriating man I've ever met. I want to sock the golden boy of college hockey right in the mouth. He enjoys telling me everything I'm messing up—publicly. And since he's my roommate for the next year, I can't avoid him. Yet there's something about him that makes me watch him. Something dark. A secret I want to uncover. When he returns from a weekend away, broken and haunted, I can't keep my distance anymore. He needs someone, and I'll be damned if it's not me.

Just the sight of Nico ‘Stix’ Jamieson makes me want to hurt something. Between his stupid smiles on that annoyingly handsome face and the constant drumming of anything that makes a sound with those drumsticks of his, I want to throttle him. No one is that happy. I don’t trust it. Even when my hate for him is clear, he throws it back in my face with a smile and wave. And how he loves to push my buttons when he’s feeling especially obnoxious. If I hate him, then why am I obsessed with him?