Laurel McGillis has a secret: she's a hopeless romantic. She'll deny it up one side and down the other, and all evidence points to the contrary, but it's true. Her deeper secret: she's desperately hoping to be the third victim of The Ad. In this case, Laurel's two secrets are about to cross paths, in the steamiest, most romantic way she could possibly imagine.
Contains mature themes.
Autumn Scott is the second woman at Six Chicks Real Estate to fall victim to The Ad: 'Beautiful, successful single woman in search of a wealthy, handsome man to help her get pregnant the old-fashioned way. Financial validation a must. Serious inquiries only. DM for more info.'
Problem number one? It works, a little too well, one could argue.
Problem number two? Autumn has a dark, tragic past keeping her from trusting men at all, let alone wanting a baby with one.
Problem number three? Seven St. John doesn't take no for an answer, in the sexiest possible way.
Contains mature themes.
From New York Times bestselling author Jasinda Wilder comes a sexy, laugh out loud romantic comedy series that is the perfect escape. If you're a fan of Sex in the City and you binge watched Selling Sunset, you don't want to miss this.
It was just supposed to be just a fortieth birthday prank for our boss after a wild night of girlfriends, laughter, and a LOT of margaritas.
When we placed the ad in the newspaper, we never thought anyone would actually answer it.
We also didn't think that Laurel would be so brainless as to put Lizzy's actual phone number in the ad . . .
'Beautiful, successful single woman, forty, seeks attractive male billionaire to impregnate her the old-fashioned way. No strings. NOT seeking sugar daddy. Validation required. Serious inquiries only, please.'
What could possibly go wrong? Everything.
Contains mature themes.
IMOGEN: Jesse says you better know what you're doing with Franco.
ME: Dude, I'm scared.
IMOGEN: !! What? Tell me!
ME: He makes me FEEL THINGS. It's icky and I don't like it.
IMOGEN: You've known him what, a few hours?
ME: I'm telling you, he scares the sh*t out of me. But he's so good I can't stop myself.
IMOGEN: Audra, seriously. Chill. It's been a couple hours. It's just insta-lust.
ME: Uh-oh. He's waking up. Time for round . . . 3? 4? I've lost count. Tell me I'm a cold-hearted man-eating b*tch with no soul. Tell ME!
IMOGEN: You're a cold-hearted man-eating bi*ch with no soul? Only, you're not. So . . . you're on your own with this one. Except if you need me of course. I've got All Thai'd Up on speed dial, three bottles of Josh in the rack.
ME: if this goes south-or anywhere except nowhere, you'd better make it four. Or six. Because we're either going to be incredible together, or we'll destroy each other. There will be no in between.
Contains mature themes.
RYDER: You are the most beautiful woman I've ever seen, Laurel. And if that's all of you I ever get to see, I'll be the luckiest man in the world for having seen it.
I swallow hard. He wasn't supposed to make it sweet. He was supposed to leave it dirty and inappropriate, so I could tell myself all he wanted was sex. That all he cared about was getting me naked, or if not that, then at least seeing me naked.
Instead, he turned it sweet. And I couldn't tell myself any lies to keep me on my high horse.
Contains mature themes.
It started with a window that was jammed shut. Pretty simple, right? All I wanted was to open the windows while I tidied the house. I'd been after my no-good husband to do it for months, but he never did. And then he shacked up with his secretary, leaving me with a pile of bills, husband-free for the first time in ten years, and with a house that was falling apart.
The ad popped up on the side of my social media feed-a local contracting agency willing to do pretty much anything. Since I don't really know a screwdriver from a ratchet, I gave them a call.
And let me tell you, the ad was not lying. Jesse O'Neill can do it all . . . and looks amazing doing it.
He fixed my window, so I called him back to fix the sagging, splintery front steps. Which led to him fixing my kitchen sink. And then he recarpeted my stairs. And then fixed the squeak in my bed.
He was supposed to fix my house, not my rusty, sputtering libido. And certainly not my broken heart.
Contains mature themes.
