Meet Randi Burnett—she’s brilliant, she’s beautiful, and she works for the bride. Missing groom? Intoxicated in-laws? Crying ring-bearer? You name it, she wrangles it. Too bad her personal life isn’t thriving like her side gig as a bridesmaid for hire. Recently dumped, Randi throws herself into her biggest challenge yet when she’s hired as a maid of honor and pretend best friend for an ice queen bride. There’s just one problem—the best man is infuriating, overprotective, and anti-marriage.

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.

I'm addicted to my stalker. He watches me at night, sneaking in through my living room window and making my blood turn to ice. I feel him all around me as chills snake down my spine. Each night he becomes bolder, getting closer and welcoming himself into my bedroom, feeding his addiction.

It all starts with a bucket list and a romance novel…. I’ve known Ryder McAdams my entire life. We’re neighbors and our families are besties. He’s also friends and teammates with my younger brother, Maverick. But Ryder and me? We’ve never been close. In fact, I’ve always gotten the distinct impression he doesn’t like me very much. He goes out of his way to ignore me. Know what makes it worse?

As the team’s publicist, I desperately need a football player to be the face of our charity calendar. Turns out our one-time party boy receiver Jones Beckett needs a savvy PR woman to manage his new good guy rep. Sounds like a simple give and take, even though I’ll be traveling around the country, snapping pictures of the sexy athlete holding rescue kittens and puppies. Still, I’m dedicated to my job, so I'll stick to my iron-clad rule—don't date a player. And never ever fall for one. No matter how charming, big-hearted and devilishly clever the man is.

Hotel manager Eloise Price is getting a crash course in being careful what you wish for. After years of dreaming about owning the historic Crane Hotel, she was thrilled when her former boss left half of the hotel to her in his will. But dreams have a funny way of turning into nightmares and all that original plumbing has sucked her bank account dry. It doesn't help that her co-owner hasn't lifted a finger to help. Would a jury convict her if she strangled him?

Emmett Hudson is just trying to play college football at Clearview Falls University while keeping all the balls from spinning his life apart. He thought he had everything under control until the coach threatened to bench him if he didn't get his grades up with the help of a tutor. Lucy Parker isn't into football players, except the one she's crushed on since high school. But he's the star quarterback and doesn't even know she exists.

Maybe I have an overactive imagination, but the hot guy next door totally gives off serial killer vibes. Why else would he know how long it takes to bleed out from a wound? Yeah, ok, so I asked, but it was research. Being an author definitely makes for some odd questions (someone had better clear my browser history when I die, that's all I'm saying). It's not like I'm stalking my hot neighbor or anything—there's nothing wrong with watching him out my window. Although I might have my own stalker (and not the cute harmless kind), which is kind of terrifying.