My resignation letter was rejected by my boss with his sexy, trademark smirk and an "I highly suggest you read the fine print of your contract...." So, I did. And now I've realized that unless I fake my death, poison him, or find a way to renegotiate my impossible contract, I'm stuck working under one of the cockiest and most ruthless bosses in New York. Then again, I thought that was the case until he called me late last night with an emergency proposition....

The beginning of my sophomore year in college was off to a rough start. On the first day of orientation, I had an altercation with an infuriating British dude in a campus bathroom. (The ladies’ room was out of order. So, I used the men’s room. Don’t judge.) I got home later that night and realized that the foreign student we were expecting to rent a room in my parents’ house was allergic to our cat. So, the spare room went to someone else: Caleb - the British guy from the men’s room. And so it began...my love-hate story with Caleb Yates. Or was it hate-love in that order?

Dr. Easton is part man, part myth. He’s a formidable surgeon. Highly respected in his field. He also happens to be an ex-collegiate quarterback with a classically handsome face. Are you catching on yet? He’s horrible. Beautiful. A walking Ralph Lauren ad. He’s also so off-limits he should come with a warning label: This way lies heartache. 

My planned trip for two unexpectedly turned into a trip for one. Rather than let my breakup get me down, I packed my bags and decided a week at a luxury resort was just what I needed. But one calamity after the next, and suddenly I was stuck without a hotel room, along with a few hundred other people. It looked like my fancy vacation was about to turn into me sleeping on the hotel lobby floor. Until I overheard a gorgeous man pretending to be someone he wasn’t in order to steal a reservation from a guest who hadn’t shown up yet. 

WSJ best-selling author Ilsa Madden-Mills returns with an all-new enemies-to-lovers second-chance romance between the football hottie and the feisty nerd girl he can’t forget.

Maggie's mind is reeling when she discovers the guy she became tangled up with at Marv's Bait & Tackle isn't a stranger like she thought. The big snag: Sam and Maggie's chemistry is hot enough to melt ice, which makes keeping their secret far more difficult than either expected. Especially when one of them decides they want this arrangement to be more than just a catch and release.

Logan Crowne needs one year from Ella. Twelve months living in his house, holding his hand, wearing his ring on her finger, and in exchange, she’ll get her father’s company in the divorce settlement. They have one year to convince his skeptical parents that they’re happily in love, and he’s settled enough to run Crowne Industries. Ella wants the company badly enough to live with a man who will never love her. She’ll sleep in his room and kiss him for show.

It all started with a sexy selfie. Texted to the wrong number. Oops. Not my finest moment - but I have nothing to be ashamed of. She thought I was no better, and I quote, than the knuckle-dragging douchebags she was never dating again. It was a stupid dare from a girl I’d met online, but since she’d given me a fake number, I didn’t feel bad that my interests were suddenly focused elsewhere - on the fiery and sharp-tongued Peyton that I found myself sparring with over text. The following day, my case of mistaken identity came back to bite me in the banana.

My love wand is on a strike. As bad as that blows, pun unintended, it’s 10 times worse for me. I’m a male escort, but not just any escort, I’m the escort. The one with a mile-long waiting list and a pristine reputation that’s very well-deserved. Only now, I’m on hiatus. Because after years of pleasing women all over the city, my man missile decides to get finicky. And the only woman he wants? Someone I can never have - my best friend’s younger sister, the nerdy and awkwardly adorable Sienna.

Two days after my boyfriend dumps me, my business goes belly up, and the sperm bank declines my credit card, a gorgeous rock star offers to whisk me away for two weeks of hot, steamy, all-expenses paid...therapy. I should say no. I’m not looking for a fling. I want a man who’ll be a father to the baby I’m desperate to conceive. Or, at the very least, a guy willing to knock me up before we go our separate ways. 

They say Cyrus Reed is ruthless. That he rules the underworld with an iron fist. A criminal. A murderer. A monster. He controlled fortunes and amassed empires. Our paths should never have crossed, but one poker game intertwined our fate. I woke up stranded on his island. Trapped. Forced to play a dangerous game of hate and lust. He said he took me to protect me. That he was saving me. But who will save me from him?

The second the test-the-sexy-scenes offer landed in my lap, I said yes. After all, I've been damn curious about a few things I've read in romance novels. Do buttons truly go flying across the floor when you rip off a guy's shirt? Is staircase nookie hella hot, or does it leave you with a big old bruise mark on your back? And don’t even get me started on all that panty shredding, and whether it even works. Time to find out as I embark on Project Sexy Scenes Research, at the request of my hotshot book editor bestie. All I need is a willing scene partner.

Lucas Xavier is the last person I want to spend 24 hours with, let alone two minutes. Exes are exes for a reason. In his case, for a million reasons. Because he's not only an ex-lover, he's also an ex-friend. We didn't just break up - we combusted in a spectacular bonfire of barbs and doors slammed. Nothing will change that. Not his clever wit, not his ridiculous good looks, not his unfair levels of charm. And definitely not a wild dash through the city that takes us on an accidental scavenger hunt through our past, where we stop for a tango lesson, pancakes and a visit with llamas.

 I loved him before I knew what the word meant. From skinned knees to first dates and everything in between. But he was never mine to love. I settled for friendship, even though I always wanted more. That was before. Before he ripped my world apart and didn’t bother sticking around to help me pick up the pieces. 

There are three things I hate: Bratwurst in any form, my neighbors boinking like farm animals at 3 AM, and Chase Jett. Mostly I hate Chase Jett. It's been 10 years since he took my virginity - I'd make a bratwurst joke, but the unfortunate truth is that it would have to be a brat-best joke, and yes, it kills me to admit that - and now he's not only a billionaire, he's also my new boss.