Our meet cute was one big sip of ugly.
He pushed my hell-no buttons, wearing an indestructible smirk.
I offended his warped morals in front of his starry-eyed minions.
Then I got my sweet reward for doing the right thing.
I found out I’d be calling Roland Osprey “boss.”
A filthy rich tabloid king. Emphasis on filthy.
A gorgeous villain who sold his soul—if he ever had one.
A tyrant who stole my sensitive, uplifting music magazine.
Welcome to my bait and switch.
Apparently, disasters come in threes.
His perfect vests that leave me delirious.
The way he stares at my lips—painted for torment with an arsenal of lipstick.
Our shared love for sad songs that makes me cry.
So does the big fat secret assignment he drops on my head.
I hate that he has a good cause.
I wish I could hate the wicked ways he makes me feel divine.
When my guard slips, I’m in free fall.
One all-consuming kiss in an alley seals our epic mistake.
How many times can one damaged grump make me sing the blues?
How do you ever fall out of love with the bad guy?
Full-length enemies-to-lovers romance doused in biting words and sizzling slow-burn tension. The worst boss ever finds his missing piece in the woman who loathes him—and an unlikely Happily Ever After worth all the lumps to the heart.
It’s ten a.m.
I was supposed to meet Roland fifteen minutes ago, and I’m still slumming around in a t-shirt and panties.
“Just a minu—ULP!” I yell, tumbling out of bed.
Legs, meet sheets.
Legs, get intimately acquainted with sheets.
Legs, dump me face-first on the floor when I try standing with the sheets tangled around my calves.
Yep, I basically just hog-tied myself.
I go down hard, groaning as another knock rattles the door. This time, it’s firmer.
“Callie? Are you all right in there?” Roland’s voice drifts through the thick wood.
Oh, boy.
“M’fine,” I mumble into the pillow that fell with me, thankfully cushioning my head smacking the floor. “Just tripped. Give me a sec.”
He doesn’t say anything, but his silence whispers skepticism.
Who could blame him?
I fight off the sheets, totter to my feet, and dump the bedding back on the mattress before snagging a pair of running shorts from the suitcase I’d left open in the corner easy chair.
Hopping on one foot, then the other, I shimmy into them, yanking them up over my hips. Then I stagger to the door and pull it open with my arms moving faster than my brain.
Eep.
One look at the bosshole makes me realize what a disheveled mess I am.
We’re talking oversized shirt falling off one shoulder, hanging down just long enough to hide my tiny shorts. Bedhead hair sticking up like a cactus—I’m surprised I don’t scare him—and I don’t even want to know what I look like without my makeup.
Especially not after sleeping with my face smooshed in a pillow.
He’s my total opposite.
How predicable.
Even dressed down, he looks so cool and collected and put together that he’d wreck a GQ model.
He’s just wearing a t-shirt and a pair of jeans with thick-soled black workmen’s boots—but it’s a designer shirt, designer jeans, designer boots in fine leather.
The dark-grey shirt clings to his chest like it’s painted on, pouring over his beastly pecs and dipping down sculpted abs in ridged patterns.
God. Even the stitching on the short sleeves strains against the rock-hard cut of his biceps like it’s struggling to hold them in.
Dark, faded jeans hang low on his hips in the right and oh-so-wrong way, held in place by a leather belt that just barely keeps them from dipping down to pure sin.
A little lower, and I know they’d reveal the narrow V of his pelvis.
The fit hints at the power between his legs, from his thighs underneath to a piece of him I dare not imagine.
Not if I want to keep my last worn thread of sanity.
“Callie?” he whispers with a smug look from hell.
My “interview” with bosshole supreme was anything but normal.
He picked the worst day ever to chase me off my favorite park bench.
I retaliated with a spray of cinnamon latte all over his Italian shoes.
Then—for some unholy reason—Magnus Heron offered me a job.
Even his name sounds like a piece of work.
Guess what? He is.
But when you're single, broke, and barely surviving in Chicago, you hop on the gift horse offering a six-figure salary and ride.
I picked the stallion on a one-way trip to hell.
It's not the impossibly long hours working under Grump-zilla.
It's not the fact that he's snarly, demanding, horribly rich, and chiseled.
It's not even the pesky way he makes me blush every flipping time we're together.
Mag is my boss. I'm his lowly assistant. Some rules are carved in stone.
That's my mantra until we're sharing a sunset too beautiful for life.
Alone with wandering lips, whispered secrets, and disaster in the making.
The plan was simple: punch the clock, get paid, and keep hating my boss.
What's the blueprint when the office grump brings me to my knees?
Full-length enemies-to-lovers romance with the banter, intrigue, and slow-burn love worthy of a Happily Ever After. The bossman from Hades meets the hellion he totally can't stand—until he can't live without her.
Wall Street Journal bestselling author Nicole Snow returns with a screaming funny romance where two office enemies fake love until they’re all out of make-believe.
You know that awkward moment when your lava-hot boss says “marry me?”
Not for love. Not for real. Not without a mammoth payoff.
Of course, this fortune comes with a ginormous snag—Ward Brandt.
Call me bananas.
I must be short of a full bushel rejecting Chicago’s finest billionaire.
Who knew he was my boss when he crashed my worst date ever?
Oh, but he found out.
He swore I wasn’t fit for Brandt Ideas, chewed me up, and spat me back out.
I vowed I’d prove him wrong—and sabotage a metric ton of his coffee.
Then tragedy strikes, upending his limitless ego.
Guess who needs an image makeover to shore up the family business.
Big fat hell no.
King Snarlypants has a peanut-sized heart and a chip on his shoulder bigger than a redwood.
Find another sucker, Ward-hole.
Even if I agreed, my shields are up.
No magnetic kisses. Zero butterflies. Nix the blushing when everyone gushes over what a “perfect couple” we’d be.
Then again…it’s just ninety days and mama needs a windfall.
What’s one little white wedding lie with a bossy grump built like a god?
Full-length enemies-to-lovers romance loaded with banter, drama, and so much slow-burn heat you’ll want that Happily Ever After shaken over ice. A storm cloud of a man stuffed into a suit strikes a deal with the girl whose smart mouth drives him to the ultimate madness called love.
Full-length enemies-to-lovers romance overflowing with hilarious quips, teary-eyed twists, and slow-burn steam that sizzles off the pages. A magnificently bad-tempered boss pursues his spitfire driver in a knock down, claiming, need-you-to-live whirlwind to the Happily Ever After.
Nicole Snow is a Wall Street Journal and USA Today bestselling author. She found her love of writing by hashing out love scenes on lunch breaks and plotting her great escape from boardrooms. Her work roared onto the indie romance scene in 2014 with her Grizzlies MC series.
Since then Snow aims for the very best in growly, heart-of-gold alpha heroes, unbelievable suspense, and swoon storms aplenty. With over a million books sold, she lives for the joy of making two people fight with every bit of their soul for a Happily Ever After.
Current fan favorites include her Enguard Protectors series, accidental love novels, plus long beloved MC romance thrillers like the Grizzlies and Deadly Pistols.
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This series looks wonderful! Fantastic covers!
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ReplyDeleteThis sounds like a good book and series!
ReplyDeleteI would love to read your book.
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