I get paid to follow a womanizing troglodyte who thinks rules are for other people and that my pants are the next pair he’s getting into. Bet your first professional job didn’t involve babysitting an extremely hot, muscle-bound Scottish highlander with an ego the size of a kilt and libido bigger than his…well…chicken. Keeping Scottish football (that’s "soccer" to us Americans) player Hamish McCormick away from inappropriate scandals while he does product endorsement campaigns is my mission. No problem. Until Hamish decides I’m his next scandal. And maybe more...

When mystery shopper Shannon Jacoby meets billionaire Declan McCormick with her hand down a toilet in the men's room of one of his stores, it's love at first flush in this hilarious new romantic comedy from New York Times best-selling author Julia Kent.

We're ready. We've studied and planned, read all the birth and labor books, researched parenting classes, consulted our schedules, and it's time. And by "we", I mean me. Declan's just ready for the "have lots of sex" part. More than ready. But there's just one problem: My husband and his brother have this little obsession with competition. McCormick men don't just have babies. They engage in competitive billionaire Babythons.

Ten years ago, my high school crush found me during senior finals week in the student parking lot with my car decorated with items you find behind a drugstore counter and a "Most Likely to..." banner that would make a pro blush. And by "pro", I don't mean golf. In under an hour, everything I knew about myself was turned upside down and inside out, just as our high school career was in its final hours.

When I was young and impulsive (okay, it was only five years ago, alright?) I let my boyfriend take, let's just say...compromising pictures of me. (Shut up. It made sense at the time.) Surprise! The sleazy back-stabbing jerk posted them on a website and, well, you can guess what happened. I’m a meme. Now I get tagged on social media whenever anyone shares them. You try getting a thousand notifications a day, all of them pictures of your tatas. It’s time for revenge. But how do you get embarrassingly intimate pictures of your jerkface ex who double-crossed you five years ago?

One night in Monaco, my best friend, Maxence, disappeared from the middle of the Monte Carlo casino like blowing away a breath of smoke. I have no idea what Maxence was doing in Monaco that night. Yeah, he loves the Monte Carlo casino - the stage of British spy movies, billionaires, Russian mafia, and roulette. But too many people in Monaco think he might be a danger to them. He never should have been there. But he was. And so was Simone. 

When you think about how easy it is to lose keys, phones, sunglasses and your dignity on social media, you might figure it'd be a cinch for me to ditch my V Card. You'd be wrong. At 25, I run a successful business, live in a fantastic apartment, and have fabulous friends to go out with any night of the week. And yet I'm still a card-carrying member of a club I don't want to belong to anymore. Good thing I know just the man for the deflowering job - my brother’s business partner and best friend.

It was only supposed to be a marriage of convenience. Let me just say, this whole part-time lover thing was her idea. I’d have gone all in from the start, but hey, when a gorgeous, brilliant woman invites you into her bed, and only her bed...well, I said yes. But then, one hysterical phone call from my brother later, begging me to find myself a wife so grandfather’s business stays in the family, and I need a promotion with Elise. Turns out a full-time husband suits her needs too, and a temporary marriage of convenience ought to do the trick, until we can simply untie the knot....

Welcome to the sensual world of This Man...Young interior designer Ava O'Shea has no idea what awaits her at the Manor. A run-of-the-mill consultation with a stodgy country gent seems likely, but what Ava finds instead is Jesse Ward - a devastatingly handsome, utterly confident, pleasure-seeking playboy who knows no boundaries. Ava doesn't want to be attracted to this man, and yet she can't control the overwhelming desire he stirs in her.

Since the last guy turned out to be married, they’ve been easy-to-follow. Until him. Callum Huxley is a ridiculously sexy Brit, and the connection we have the moment our eyes lock scares the ever-loving hell out of me. Thank God I came to my senses before going back to his hotel where I would’ve ended up naked, panting, and unable to forget him. Thinking I walked away from that night unscathed was stupid. Sure enough, at the biggest meeting of my career waits the CEO of Dovetail Enterprises - him. It might be the most embarrassing moment of my professional life.

An all-star production of a brand new stand-alone romance from number one New York Times best-selling author Lauren Blakely, performed by a full cast of 12 narrators.

When the invitation arrived, it detailed the rules of the masquerade - no names, no identities. I set one more - find a most wicked man for one night. The kind who'll bring me deliciously naughty pleasure in dark corners. But as the clock ticks to midnight, he finds me, whisks me away to a secret alcove, and delivers all that dirty bliss and then some. We make arrangements for another secret rendezvous before I rush out of the ball. But fate has other plans, since I see my most wicked man the next morning. 

Let me just say - none of this was supposed to happen. I didn't expect the letter to go viral. I didn't think anyone would figure out who Dear Sexy Ex was. And I especially never thought he would find out about it. Yeah, bit of a miscalculation there. But see, I need the money to fund my brand new venture. And Dear Sexy Ex, well, it turns out he needs me to save his business. By becoming his fake fiancée.  

It all started with the bereavement flowers with my name on them. Not the best way to wake up, right? I work in a flower shop. I know a funeral arrangement when I see one. I know a killer when I see one, too. And one is standing in my hospital room right now, straight behind the man who saved my life. I can’t tell anyone the truth, because that’s the fastest way to really die. So I do the next best thing. I “lose” my memory. I fake my amnesia. Pretending not to remember a brutal attempted murder has its perks.

Mr. Santillian, Despite the fact I'm currently living out of your guest room and sleeping with you most nights, I am writing to announce my resignation, effective two weeks from today. In other words, I'll locate someone who is both obscenely overqualified and willing to devote their days to the handful of tasks you are able to wrench from your perfectionist, micromanaging grip.