Being a single dad while managing one of the biggest businesses in New Orleans keeps me very busy. I spend my free time with my daughter, Bella—reading to her, styling her hair, or choosing nail polishes appropriate for an eight-year-old. But I’m okay with that, because she is my whole world. After my divorce, I made myself a promise: I wouldn’t date until Bella was older. Then, all my good intentions go up in smoke when I hire our newest chef for the flagship restaurant in the French Quarter.

I’m a full time single dad. A former NFL player turned coach, tasked with turning around a college team full of kids who either don’t take it seriously or are determined to get injured. I will absolutely not be falling for my new neighbor.

She has no idea who I am. I immediately like that about her. The gorgeous woman who sat down at the blackjack table beside me and asked me to teach her to play doesn't recognize me as the third baseman who played pro baseball for seven years. I tell her I'm in town for a job offer when the truth is my buddy just asked me to leave my quiet existence in San Diego and unretire so I can lead the new Vegas Heat expansion team to the championship.

First rule of a marriage of convenience? Don’t get knocked up. When I tell off my new boss after he cuts in line, I think he’s about to fire me. Instead, CEO Harry O’Donnell proposes. He wants me to marry him and move in for six months. See, Harry needs a wife to inherit his family business. I need a windfall to pay for my mom’s medical bills. How hard could playing wifey be? Answer? Very.

Things are about to get sticky...I might as well permanently add the label "Ex" to my name. I'm an Ex-Mr. Universe. Ex-Mr. Olympus. An Ex-Hollywood Stuntman. But no one from my small hometown cares anything about that. They only care that I'm the ex-boyfriend to the beloved Mayor's daughter, Elaina Dyker. And now, t10 years later, I'm back, helping my siblings run my mother's bakery while she takes on chemotherapy treatments. What should have been a routine cupcake delivery turns into utter chaos when the bachelorette party thinks I'm a stripper.

Crew Madden needs to find a place to recover. For his twin girls. For himself. From the woman who left them without a backward glance. Recovering from a traumatic event, a summer in the small town of Redemption Falls was the perfect solution for him. For his family. The only drawback? The rental cottage at the end of the drive.

I admit it was me who shouted, “Looking good, hot stuff!” at Mr. Richmond this morning, but I didn’t mean it like that. Yes, Mrs. HR Lady, I know how it looks. Believe me, I am totally anti-catcalling, but that’s not what that was. Honest. I was paying him a compliment! That’s kind of what I do: I’m a proud, small-town Floridian, and Manhattan is craving some Florida sunshine—nothing like a sincere compliment to turn those New York frowns upside down!

I was a small-town girl with big city dreams and more ambition than money to my name. He had everything—money, privilege, and the world at his feet. Opposites in every way, but that didn’t matter. We were lightning in a bottle, and everything felt possible when we were together. Life was perfect.

I used to believe Jacob Evans could be mine. That was before he delivered unforgivable news rather than sweeping me off my feet. Not that I can fault his choice. He got the sweetest little girl out of the deal.

It was a heat-of-the-moment agreement scribbled onto the back of a crinkled gas station receipt nine years ago. "If neither of us is married by age 30, we'll marry each other." Haha! So funny! Cash moved to a city 500 miles away, built his billion-dollar empire, and made a name for himself. Me? I stayed in our gossipy hometown, working a simple job and living a simple life. And we never discussed the marriage pact again. But I just turned the big three-oh, and Cash showed up at my door in the middle of a freaking rainstorm.