I’ve finally got feisty Georgina right where I want her. In my bed. In my swimming pool. Strapped into the kinky swing hanging in my home gym. And through it all, Georgina’s clearly becoming more and more physically addicted to me. A junkie in constant need of her next fix. Exactly according to plan. But, to my shock, I’m beginning to think she’s not the only addict here. Any more than she’s the only liar. In fact, as crazy as it sounds, this fiery, relentless woman has been breaking down my walls. 

Reed freaking Rivers. I wouldn’t trust a word out of the arrogant music mogul’s mouth if his gold-plated tongue were notarized. The man with the Midas touch would say anything to get me into his bed, and I know it. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want him to succeed. Indeed, the moment I laid eyes on Reed while he was speaking at an on-campus event I’d crashed, my body physically ached to feel his golden fingers - and tongue - all over me.

At one point during the party, Alessandra said, “There’s nothing like a girl’s first love.” I knew she was talking about the first smash hit by my band, 22 Goats. Alessandra said it was the first song she’d heard by us and it “hit her like a ton of bricks”. Ironic, seeing as how I was having the same reaction from being in her presence.   

The minute Josh Faraday meets feisty, vivacious Kat Morgan, he wants her. Not for a relationship, of course. He doesn’t do those. He wants her in his bed. But, to his shock and extreme frustration, Kat won’t play by Josh’s rules like all the others. No, this stubborn woman declares she won't so much as kiss Josh until he divulges some highly personal information.... But it's something Josh has never told anyone, and won't be telling Kat. Not over his dead body, no matter how gorgeous and sexy she is.

Wealthy, arrogant playboy Josh Faraday finally has feisty, vivacious Kat Morgan in his bed. And in his shower. And in the bathroom of a bar. He knows her deepest sexual fantasies, and he’s intent on fulfilling them all. But Kat wants more than fun and games. She wants to know the real Josh. The man behind the mask. And that’s not something Josh is willing to show Kat - or any woman. But, damn, this stubborn, sexy, relentless woman is wearing Josh down...and he’s not sure he can resist her much longer.

It was lyrics at first sight when I saw Violet Rhodes across that crowded party. She was lights and darks, swirled together. Music in motion. And all of it while looking like a hitwoman at an Elvis convention. I had nothing to offer the intriguing girl but a one-night stand. I figured I’d revel in my last night of anonymity before my first tour and shoot her a quick “we’ll always have LA!” good-bye the next morning. But nothing went according to plan.

“I’m hiring you to do more than guard her, Zander,” my new boss explained. “You’re gonna be her rock. Her human Valium. Her trusted friend. And she’s gonna be your mission from God.” “So I’m her babysitter?” “Her babysitter, her bodyguard, her f--king service doggie. Whatever she needs or wants, that’s what you’ll be. Anything except her booty call.” The vein in my new boss’s neck bulged. “Touch her and I’ll do more than fire your ass, Zander. I’ll rip off your balls.” My buddies laughed when I told them about my ridiculous new job. 

Keane Morgan wouldn't return any of my calls or texts, and I was pissed as hell about it. I didn't want to drive from Seattle to L.A. with the guy any more than he wanted to drive with me, but I had no frickin' choice in the matter - at least, not if I wanted to use his brother Dax's coveted parking spot at UCLA. Okay, so it turned out Keane was objectively gorgeous, and, fine, pretty funny, too. But did he have to be so damned in love with himself? I mean, jeez, the cocky way he flashed those dimples was just so orchestrated.

It wasn't the way this kind of story was supposed to go...insta-love isn't supposed to turn into insta-hate. But that's exactly what happened when the dreamboat I met in a bar turned out to be a lying, cheating scumbag looking for nothing but a little side action. And he has the nerve to call me a liar and a "sociopath"? Asshole. And now, three months later, it turns out my boss is marrying his sister in Hawaii and I've got to play nice with him for an entire freaking week.

Cruel. Coldblooded. Hades in a Brioni suit. Cillian Fitzpatrick has been dubbed every wicked thing on planet earth. To the media, he is The Villain. To me, he is the man who (reluctantly) saved my life. Now I need him to do me another small solid. Bail me out of the mess my husband got me into. What’s a hundred grand to one of the wealthiest men in America, anyway? Only Cillian doesn’t hand out free favors. The price for the money, it turns out, is my freedom.

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....

Scott Sebastian is a liar. Fitting, since I'm a liar too. Yet there's no place for me in his glittering world of half truths. With all our secrets in the open, I should stop trying. What I've learned should send me running far away. I can’t keep pining for a man in love if I’m not the woman he’s in love with. But it's not that easy to escape the Sebastians. I already knew they owned this city. Now I'll find out if they also own their son.

Unemployed. Check. Zero prospects. Check. An eviction notice in hand. Check. Life in shambles? Check. Check. Check. Desperate to avoid living on my sister’s couch, I took a job in the one place I shouldn’t. That's where I first saw him. Drew Lawson. Elusive bad boy. Owner of the hottest club in the city. And apparently my new boss. 

My love story all started with a letter. Only it wasn’t from the man I’d eventually fall in love with. It was from his daughter. A sweet little girl named Birdie Maxwell who’d written to the magazine that I worked for. You see, once a year my employer fulfilled a few wishes for readers. Only that column didn’t start up again for months. So I fulfilled some of her wishes myself. It was harmless…so I thought. Until one day I took things too far. While anonymously granting yet another of Birdie’s wishes, I got a look at her father.

The first time I laid eyes on Lydia Decker, I couldn’t speak. Or breathe. Or string two coherent thoughts together. And I don’t mean any of that figuratively. No, when I first laid eyes on Lydia Decker - my physical therapist - I was lying flat on my back in the ICU, high as a kite on painkillers, breathing on a ventilator, my bones as broken and splintered as my spirit. She said she’d been assigned to fix me. But what I didn’t know...what I couldn’t possibly know...was that Lydia Decker needed fixing far more than I ever did.