Let it be known that I, Holley Stuart, do not give a single rat's behind about pro baseball's star pitcher Sebastian Stone. I definitely don't care that he's standing in my bookstore. Nor do I care that he seems to have forgotten about the last time we saw each other: senior prom, when he both humiliated me and broke my heart, albeit unknowingly. Now, he needs a date to his sister's wedding. Don't ask me how I ended up being it - I have no idea. But that's the least of my problems. His grandfather is adamant we're dating, and Seb isn't in a hurry to convince him otherwise.

Let me make this clear right here, right now: I, Halley Dawson, do not care that Preston Wright is kissing other women. Not a lick. Not at all. Nuh-uh-freakin'-uh. I do care that he's doing it six feet away from me behind a gaudy velvet curtain - making him my competition in this year's kissing contest. Why do I care, you ask? Because I've had an unfortunate crush on the insufferable idiot since I was 16 years old, but I also know it's never going to happen. 

With all my best friends off the market, it’s time that I, Tori Sussex, join them. So where better to find my future husband than the internet? It’s great. I get to get all the awkward stuff out of the way and already know if I’m going to like the guy before we meet in person. It’s a shame nothing's ever that simple. My relationship with Colton Lane, my best friend’s brother, is the very definition of complicated - dirty little no-strings-attached hookups we’ve somehow managed to keep secret from all our friends for the past six months.

Top tip: Don't put out an online ad offering your services as a fake date. Someone will take you up on it - and it won't just be for one night. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how I ended up being Mason Jackson's fake girlfriend. He didn't even want me to be. No - his sister was solely responsible for me being his date for his 10-year high school reunion. And now, she's responsible for telling his parents our relationship is real. We have no choice. We have to act like this isn't all a mistake. 

There are some things you just have to deal with - like your hot-as-hell college booty call moving in next door with his adorable daughter. The only time we've ever gotten along is under the sheets. Old habits die hard because two minutes on my front porch is how long it takes us to bicker. Not that a little fact like that bothers my healthy 80-year-old grandmother and roommate who's determined to see me married before she bites the dust.

The first time I met Hudson Rothschild was at a wedding. I’d received an unexpected invitation to one of the swankiest venues in the city. Hudson was a groomsman and quite possibly the most gorgeous man I’d ever laid eyes on. He asked me to dance, and our chemistry was off the charts. I knew it wasn’t a good idea to get involved with him, considering the wedding I was at. But our connection was intense, and I was having a great time. Though the fun came to a screeching halt when Hudson figured out I wasn’t who I’d said I was.

What's worse than having Rider Kingston, the star quarterback, give you the big brushoff because he doesn't want to get serious? You'd probably think living across the street from him where you get a firsthand view of his hookups, right? That's what I thought. Until someone drops off a baby with a note pinned to her blanket that says one of those jocks - either Rider or one of his roommates - is the father. The problem? Baby mama doesn't mention which of these numbskulls is the sperm donor. I wouldn't care about their paternity problems - except my brother lives there too. 

He's a billionaire heir. A grump supreme. Hater of people. Bigger hater of peopling with people. And my new fake boyfriend. "Emotionally unavailable" doesn’t even begin to describe Hayes Rutherford. 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 all interested ladies away from the walled-off heir, by pretending to be his one true love. But you know what they say about fake-dating a billionaire: It’s all fun and games, until the scandals start.

My first mistake? Causing the h-o-t Frenchman a concussion. My second? Telling the hospital staff that I was his girlfriend. In my defense, he didn’t speak English. My third? Taking him home and letting him sleep in my bed. I never said I was Florence Nightingale. He gave me a night I’ll never forget, but when I wake, he’s already gone. I tell myself it’s his loss, that I wasn’t expecting him to stay forever anyway, and my life moves on. Until those striking green eyes meet mine across the office, and it all comes rushing back. 

Leaving my husband was hard. Trying to face the world alone with my teenage daughter is the sort of thing nightmares are made of, but I caught a break. My best friend just hired me for a great job, with perks like a rent-free house right beside not just one handsome man, but five! Each one is hotter than the last, and all of them seem interested in me. But everyone around us has these strange golden eyes...and there are the questions no one will answer. And who cares if there's a lot of wildlife running around at night? I do, especially when a wolf keeps sneaking into my backyard.

Colin Undinger was my first friend, first crush, first kiss…until one day he made it to the High School Football Team and somehow became my first enemy. Five years later, no one knows why we are nasty to each other. He’s now the school star, causing me to be the unpopular school b**ch. Why should I care, though? I don’t love him anymore. I just need to keep ignoring him. Right? Wrong.  

Preston Michael Shaw. PMS, as I like to call him. I don’t need his job. I don’t need his fancy designer suits or his arrogance or his claims that I put a hex on him, because of course a strong, empowered woman needs to put a spell on a man. As if I want him. Pfft. He should be so lucky.

Taos was tired. Tired of everything that came with living. Not to the point where he was suicidal or anything, but tired enough that he just didn’t give a crap anymore. He’d seen all the ugliness this world had to offer due to his job as a police officer for way too many damn years of his less than stellar life. 

I'm Vicky, the dog whisperer. (Not really, but that's what my elderly neighbor says whenever I walk her dog, Smuckers.) When she dies, she surprises everybody by leaving a corporation worth billions to Smuckers...and she leaves Smuckers to me. Suddenly, I go from running my Etsy store to sitting in an elegant Wall Street boardroom with Smuckers in my lap. And my neighbor's son, Henry Locke, aka New York's most eligible bachelor, glaring across the table at me. Rumor has it Henry's a business genius who's as talented in the bedroom as he is in the boardroom.

I’m Poppy Woodstock. Romance author and wholehearted believer in Happily Ever Afters. A terminal case of writer’s block should be my biggest worry. Then I crash into him - literally - and fall into the most gorgeous pair of blue eyes I’ve ever seen. Connor Bradley. Thief, rebel...and my new neighbor. One slip with the bad boy next door, and my life becomes stranger than any fiction I could ever write. I impulsively tell his mother that I’m his fiancée, forcing him to help me.