I’m about to throw an ashtray at my boss’s head.Turns out, the mind behind my favorite, steamy romance novels...the ones I only read in private...the ones that are my only escape after a long day of dealing with The Boss From Hell? It’s not Natalie McBride, the sweet, rural housewife.It’s him.That’s right: my boss, Adrian Risinger, the thirty-three-year-old, maddeningly sexy, pissant billionaire “bad boy" who thinks he runs my life. He is also the author of all my deepest, most secret fantasies. And to make matters worse, he needs me to impersonate “Natalie” at a series of book signings and conventions. But, of course, that’s only if I want to keep my job.On second thought, I’m going to need something heavier than an ashtray.

There’s a sexy, sarcastic billionaire in my bed, and he’s wearing a wedding ring. How did this happen? Oh, right. Last year, I found out my insufferable boss was secretly a steamy romance author, and me? I was his unwitting muse. That kind of thing can really charm the pants off a girl - if she’s a little bit nuts. Thankfully, I’ve never had more than a passing interest in normalcy. Next stop, marital bliss! I mean, what could go wrong? It’s not like I have any ambivalent feelings about hooking up with the guy who made my life hell for five years. And it’s not as if Adrian accumulated a long list of enemies in his rise to the top. And we’re *definitely* not so stubborn that it’ll be a struggle to put away our pride and make things work. Okay, so maybe all those things are true. But at the end of the day, all you need is love…and spankings. At least, I sure hope so.

Marrying a kinky billionaire wasn’t exactly in my ten-year plan.Benjamin Chase is not my type. He’s abrasive. He’s arrogant. He doesn’t take anything seriously. I’d die before I dated him, but he has something different in mind. He has to get married in the next nine months, or he loses his company to his ex-wife. And apparently, I’m the most eligible bachelorette in town. If I accept, I’ll have a fortune, and the opportunity to prove my acting skills with the role of a lifetime. But I also have to accept Ben’s quirks - including the fact that he prefers his women bowing and scraping in a ridiculous parody of gender roles I thought we left behind, oh, several decades ago. I have absolutely no intention of submitting in private, but I’ll have to be by his side at all the right clubs and parties. Pretending to be his property. He says it’s all a game, but my head says to run away. My heart, on the other hand…not to mention certain other parts of me…secretly craves his discipline. I have to keep reminding myself that it’s not really on offer. This is all just an act… Isn’t it?

Landon Steele is the perfect man.He’s arrogant, he’s brash, he’s domineering, and he’s oh so sexy. He knows exactly what you want. What you need. There just one problem: he’s not real.His readers don’t know that. Or, to be more specific, my readers don’t know that. Yeah, yeah yeah. My name’s Kimberly Tuggey, and I’m a big fat fraud.Let me explain. Contrary to what you’d expect, I sold absolutely no romance novels writing as a woman. But when I started pretending I was a hot, rich, dominant alpha male, suddenly the accolades came pouring in. And the money. And the fans. But now, the media opportunities are coming too. I can’t keep passing them up forever; they’ll be amazing for building my brand. But I don’t think any of the TV audience at home is going to believe that a plump, mousy-haired introvert who looks like a suburban housewife is really Landon Steele.So naturally, I hire a struggling actor to play the part. He’s a little rough around the edges, but he’s got the abs, the tattoos, and that V-shaped muscle pointing right under his waistband. You know, the one that makes girls stupid.Except me, right? I’m way too smart for that. There’s no way I’d get involved with the fake Landon Steele. Not that he’d be interested, anyway.Unless, of course, I’m wrong...