Emotionally unavailable doesn’t even begin to describe my new fake boyfriend. He’s cold. He’s distant. He has more defenses than a nuclear missile silo. And he’s the ultimate catch of the century. At least, according to his bank statement.

My job’s simple: Keep Hayes Rutherford’s matchmaking relatives and all interested ladies away from the cranky, grumpy, walled-off heir to my favorite movie empire, and in return, he won’t ruin my life over a teensy, tiny little misunderstanding.

But the more I sneak past Hayes’s walls and fences, the more I realize that while we might be from different worlds, we have more in common than either of us expected. The man under all the glitz, glamour, and dollar signs could be the real love of my life.

But you know what they say about fake dating a billionaire—it’s all fun and games until the scandals start.

The Last Eligible Billionaire is a swoony, laugh-out-loud romance featuring a botched wax job, a woman in over her head, a man in over his heart, and the sweetest misguided dog to ever play matchmaker…or at least make sure these two anti-love birds never have clothes when they get out of the shower.

“A fun-filled enemies-to-lovers romcom featuring a ray of sunshine on a mission, a neighbor who’s only grouchy around her, and an epic prank gone wrong. It stands alone and comes complete with small-town shenanigans, a goat who’s not nearly as wise as his name suggests, and proof that sometimes, love is the best kind of vengeance.”

Copper Valley Fireballs Book #3, 

Max Cole and Tillie Jean Rock's story is here!

Chase

I’ve just bought the woman of my nightmares.

Technically, I bought the company she works for. Point is, she cost me my two best friends ten years ago. It’s payback time, and I’m going to make her life hell.

When I’m not banging her silly and myself stupid.

I need to get my head back in business, because getting off is great, but He was a man who had sex, and lots of it, and in the worst locations, with the woman of his nightmares isn’t the inscription I want on my tombstone.

Even if it’s true.

Ambrosia

There are three things I hate:

Bratwurst in any form, my neighbors boinking loudly like farm animals at 3 AM, and Chase Jett.

Mostly I hate Chase Jett. It’s been ten years since he took my virginity—I’d make a bratwurst joke, but the unfortunate truth is that it would have to be a bratbest joke, which also pisses me off—and now he’s not only a billionaire, he’s also my new boss.

Turns out our hate is mutual. And this kind of hate is horrifically twisted, filthy, and banging hot.

I just might have to hate him forever.

Mister McHottie is 45,000 gloriously hilarious, hot, sexy words that your mother warned you about, complete with an organic happy-ever-after (or seven), a Bratwurst Wagon, ill-advised office pranks, and no cheating or cliffhangers.