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!

As your paralegal (and ex), I have to be honest: You’re a horrible lawyer. Honestly, the worst I’ve ever seen. You never communicate, you pile on overtime, and you’re constantly in a bad mood. Now, about those panties on your desk. No, that wasn’t a desperate cry for your attention. It was the result of a lost bet with my roommate. But if you were even half the lawyer you claim to be, you’d have figured that out without all the ego-tripping.

Welcome to life as a wedding planner for the rich and entitled of Manhattan. I’ve seen it all - from the nastiest bridezilla to the most overindulged billionaire. And Evan is the worst. Tall, dark, and handsome, he has a ridiculously ripped body under his formal suit and runs a massive hedgefund that’s actively making the world a worse place. I don’t even feel sorry for him when he walks away from the alter in a daze

Armed with comfy pants, overpriced coffee, and a highly anxious emotional-support corgi, I prepare to face him. Corporate boss. Villain. Salinger Svensson. I step into his office. His perfect mouth twists into a sneer. There is no heart of gold beneath that suit, just a big black pit. He’s a shark in the frothy waters of high-stakes finance. He might be the archetypal-asshole CEO, causing all in his path to quake in fear, but he’s never had to face down a basic bitch in her thirties.

The only thing we have in common is that we’re both tall. He wears bespoke suits; I wear flats with holes in them. He runs a big shot investment firm; I’m trying to start my own company with only bubble gum and circus peanuts. He likes to show up at my horrible dates and ruin them; I…pretended I hated when he did that but secretly was thrilled even though it was a little young adult fiction.

When the townspeople of Harrogate almost riot over the Christmas décor thievery committed by the chair of the Elf on the Shelf Committee, I know I’m not going to survive the holiday season unless drastic action is taken. Biddy Jefferson turning up dead in my Christmas market stall is not exactly the type of drastic measure I had in mind. With no alibi and a town obsessed with pinning the murder on me, I have to clear my name. This is on top of planning the upcoming holiday ball, dealing with quirky stall owners in the Christmas market, and corralling confused tourists.

Callahan Hastings is relentless when it comes to getting what he wants, and what he wants is me–to be his private chef in the Hamptons for the summer. My dream job served to me on a silver platter by one of the wealthiest members of Pembroke Hills Country Club. The only catch? He’s my ex-boyfriend’s older brother with a reputation for being as charming as he is cunning. But Cal doesn’t take no for an answer. He draws you in with flirty smiles and extravagant promises.

Christmas is bad enough without all the music, frantic shopping sprees, and holiday parties. So many parties… with people you couldn’t stand in high school and definitely can’t stand now. Top of the list? Patty Harrison. She made my teen years miserable and, now that we’re adults, she’s trying to get me banned from the Christmas market. Even so, I’m not going to commit literal murder.

Hallie knows how to lose your best friend in one easy step. Offer him your virginity, then watch him reject you. But that was four years ago, and now she knows better. Working at Hunt’s Bull Riding School, there’s no shortage of hot young cowboys to keep her entertained. There’s no need to think about Nate Mathews, especially since he’s off on the pro bull riding tour. Out of sight, out of mind. Until Nate walks back into her life, four years older, four years hotter, and with four years of regrets behind the blue eyes she once fell in love with.

I made a deal with my brother a long time ago to never date his teammates. Technically, Rowan Landry, the hot as hell center for the Chicago Falcons, is no longer my brother’s teammate. Or his best friend. Their college days are long behind them, and they barely talk now. Also, I’m not dating him—we’re just sleeping together. There’s a difference.

I can still pinpoint the exact second when my life became two truths and a lie. You don't forget delivering a mountain of fresh-baked sweets to a man like Dexter Rory. I never wanted to see his scowling, bossy, brutally godlike face again, no matter how well he tipped. If you told me I'd wind up wearing his ring, I would've died laughing. But here I am, trying to cling to my sanity while I confront the undeniable.

When you kiss your perfect boyfriend under the mistletoe...only for your cousin scream to the family that you stole her man, you realize that you will never again have a merry Christmas. In my defense, I didn’t know my boss—yup, boss. Buckle up because this is messy—was my cousin’s newly minted and totally lying fiancé. I thought he was the Nutcracker Prince come to finally show my family that I, too, was worthy of putting the star atop the Christmas tree.

There are a million reasons why I shouldn’t date Fletcher Huxley. He’s a growly-faced, stubborn-streaked, international rugby legend trying to revive his flailing career in the US after being canned by his team overseas. While he might have the good kind of thunder thighs, intriguing tattoos, and a booty of steel, he also holds the top position on my very short nemesis list thanks to what happened the first time we met.

Rules are meant to be broken. Except for one: Women can't get enough peonies. Even the girl in front of me in line is admiring the peonies in my hand. While I need these particular flowers for my latest plot, I'll still give Meghan the biggest, thickest bouquet I can find. It's flattering how much she wants my peonies. And I don't mind personally delivering.

Ruthless, arrogant, and cold-hearted are some of the words I would use to describe my a**hole of a boss, Damon Everette. That doesn't stop the goosebumps from rising along my neck every time he says my name or the way my pulse races when his stormy gray eyes pierce mine. So, when he coerces me into a fake marriage to uphold his family's tradition, I can't resist pushing his buttons. He's a walking red flag, and I should run the second this arrangement ends. But the very thought of losing him is suffocating—a dangerous addiction that I can't seem to break.

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!

The only thing we have in common is that we’re both tall. He wears bespoke suits; I wear flats with holes in them. He runs a big shot investment firm; I’m trying to start my own company with only bubble gum and circus peanuts. He likes to show up at my horrible dates and ruin them; I…pretended I hated when he did that but secretly was thrilled even though it was a little young adult fiction.

Rules are meant to be broken. Except for one: Women can't get enough peonies. Even the girl in front of me in line is admiring the peonies in my hand. While I need these particular flowers for my latest plot, I'll still give Meghan the biggest, thickest bouquet I can find. It's flattering how much she wants my peonies. And I don't mind personally delivering.

Welcome to life as a wedding planner for the rich and entitled of Manhattan. I’ve seen it all - from the nastiest bridezilla to the most overindulged billionaire. And Evan is the worst. Tall, dark, and handsome, he has a ridiculously ripped body under his formal suit and runs a massive hedgefund that’s actively making the world a worse place. I don’t even feel sorry for him when he walks away from the alter in a daze

When you kiss your perfect boyfriend under the mistletoe...only for your cousin scream to the family that you stole her man, you realize that you will never again have a merry Christmas. In my defense, I didn’t know my boss—yup, boss. Buckle up because this is messy—was my cousin’s newly minted and totally lying fiancé. I thought he was the Nutcracker Prince come to finally show my family that I, too, was worthy of putting the star atop the Christmas tree.

I’m not one for holding grudges. But when Vincent Forde, billionaire perfume tycoon, crashes his shiny overpriced car into mine? Yeah, I’m holding that grudge. With his flashy car, tailored suit, and brooding glare—everything about him screams entitled bosshole. And then he acts like the fender bender was my fault! Seriously, who does this arrogant, sculpted devil think he is? He covers the damages—but with a request that has me fuming—and I figure that’s the last I’ll ever see of Mr. Rich and Ridiculous.

I kept smiling when I caught my fiancé coming down my sister’s chimney on Christmas Eve. I gave polite congratulations when they got engaged. And I even offered to help decorate for their Christmas wedding despite the fact that was supposed to be my dream wedding. But when my sister cuts up my great-grandmother’s one-hundred-year-old wedding dress and turns it into a skank show, even though that was the dress I was going to wear on my wedding day? Well, this elf is torching down the North Pole.

Unhinged. Charming. Dangerous. The brother of the man I’m prosecuting and now my stalker. I didn’t know Eoghan O’Rourke was a lawyer for the Irish Mob when I tried to put his brother in jail. And I shouldn’t have gotten drunk and yelled at him. I certainly shouldn’t have gone home with him. But I needed to get rid of my V-Card and a gorgeous mafia man who would never fall for a curvy womanlike me is the perfect one and done. Boy, was I wrong. Eoghan turns obsessed, jealous, and unhinged. I’m a prosecutor. He’s a criminal. We have nothing in common.

Christmas is bad enough without all the music, frantic shopping sprees, and holiday parties. So many parties… with people you couldn’t stand in high school and definitely can’t stand now. Top of the list? Patty Harrison. She made my teen years miserable and, now that we’re adults, she’s trying to get me banned from the Christmas market. Even so, I’m not going to commit literal murder.

In my perfect world, it would always be winter and never Christmas. I despise the holiday. I hate carols, shopping, and pretending to be a perfect family. I walked away from my family, or rather, they walked away from me. My heart is like ice. See it creeping up the walls. Oh, wait, no, that’s royal icing.

They say never mix business with pleasure. As a single father, and the captain of the Seattle Sasquatches, I’m adamant to keep every corner of my life separate and running perfectly. That is, until Indie Decker walked into my life. She’s the team owner's little sister, my new nanny, and so completely out of my league. Our first encounter? Pure fire, clashing wills with a passion that ensnared us both. Our second? A tentative truce, maybe even a budding friendship. But at some point, we slid recklessly into a 'friends with benefits' arrangement, thinking we could stay casual.

Crash-land on an alien barbarian planet and told there’s no way home? Anyone else might have a nervous breakdown, but I was abducted with my besties! Between us, we have fifteen PhDs. We will be getting off this planet. Trust. Two liquid hydrogen rockets and a smidge of deep-space travel later, and we’re back home on Earth. Except that our spaceship had stowaways. Now there’s a seven-foot-tall alien named Cassius in my Los Angeles condo. He’s calmly explaining that, according to the ancestors, we are to be eternally mated and have a litter of children.

My new boss is my baby's daddy . . . he just doesn't know it yet. But when he sees my son for the first time . . . feels a fatherly connection that he can't describe, he knows something is wrong. Five years ago, Carter and I had one unforgettable night just before he moved away. I tried to find him, but fate had other plans. Now, five years later, he's back in town. And my baby's daddy is my prick of a new boss.

When fate strands Paige Parker at O’Hare airport during a snow storm little does she know her misfortune is the beginning of a wild and life-changing adventure. Because when she meets three complete strangers, they quickly bond over shared tales of betrayal and heartbreak. And just for fun, they concoct a scheme to exact sweet revenge on their exes!

I’d been in Curmudgeon Bakery for one of those lemon baby-Bundt cakes I’d been craving since I found out I was pregnant. The draw had nothing to do with the baker himself. Tall, tatted, and edgy, he looked more like a biker than a man who makes baked goods. I hardly knew him other than taking a tumble in a rainstorm in front of his shop... and then tossing myself at him after he rescued me. We shared a moment, but it’s not what you’d think. Months later, he delivered my baby among his cookies and cakes. Talk about a second chance encounter.