Showing results by author "Camilla Evergreen" in All Categories

Is it rational to hate my billionaire boss because he's too nice? Maybe not. However, it's definitely rational to apply to become a billionaire stranger's housewife so I can quit being a personal assistant. When—in a shocking turn of events—I encounter billionaire scarcity and learn I've signed up to become my boss's wife before Christmas, I backpedal so hard I'm liable to pull something. Shame, indeed my too-nice boss picks this moment to blackmail me.

This is not a fish out of water, enemies to lovers romantasy. This is me—a barely functional adult—attempting to live my best life, which consists solely of reading books, eating cheese, and falling asleep on the couch. It does not include making friends with werewolf chihuahuas, meeting a moth faerie prince, or defeating a boogeyman.

He's the current bane of my existence… and the hot monster haunting my dreams. Maybe if he weren't also the single father of one of my students, I'd be okay with the evening jaunts into the skankier parts of my subconscious, even though nothing ever goes anywhere. I mean, a private elementary school teacher has to relieve stress somehow, right?

When Alexios Vox appears on my doorstep looking like the butler lead in a popular anime, the last thing I expect is for him to invite me into the Villain Protection Program. My first mission? Foster the child he and Mr. Cheekbones Kidnapper Extraordinaire stole. Do I want to protect a villain? No. Not even a little bit. But do I want the opportunity to finally adopt a child? Yes. Even if the price Alexios demands in return for making this possible… is everything I have.

I've spent my life battling to manage my parents' impossible expectations and trying to catch the eye of Brian Single, a man whose head only turns for mail. Bemoaning my humanity shouldn't really be at the top of my priorities after I've just moved out of my parents' house and in with the mailman himself, but—haha—it is.

Be careful what you write on a Taco Bell napkin in high school. Committing to a marriage pact beside a Mild sauce stain normally isn't contractually binding. Unless, of course, your signature winds up next to the signature of a future billionaire CEO, who is 100% serious, 100% certifiably grumpy, and 100% the kind of person to make 30-day Valentine activities at his fancy office building mandatory.

When my chihuahua turns into my celebrity crush, it's like a fanfiction come to life. Not my fanfiction, mind you. I could never write the Doliver Talon eating dog food, submitting himself to tiny costumes, or gnawing on chicken feet under my bed without his millions of fangirls going feral. To put it plainly, self-preservation forbids me from upsetting the twelve-year-old masses…

All I've ever wanted is to live in a fantasy world, and, yes, I am willing to sell my soul to a moth faerie prince to make that happen. Which is perfect because after I've accidentally, maybe, kinda, sorta hit one with my car, that's exactly what he asks for. My soul. And a kiss. But we won't talk about that. Because he told me not to. And I'm very good at keeping secrets. (Especially the one about how he flew into my headlights. I didn't immediately blurt that to his chihuahua shifter and vampire cat friends at all.)