Meet the Author:

Sara Jane Stone lives near New York's Hudson River with her very supportive real-life hero, two lively young children, a lazy Burmese cat, and a very active dog. When she is not finger painting with the kids, she loves writing sexy stories, staying up past her bedtime reading red-hot romance and chatting with her readers on Facebook.

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About the Book:

Rule #1: Maintain Control.

You think you know me. The cars, the penthouse, the reputation for delivering women to that “Oh, yes, Gavin” moment… Yeah, I’m the bad boy billionaire who drives your fantasies.

But I’ve traveled a long road to get here. And I played by the rules—the ones I wrote to guarantee I didn’t return to whom I was before.

Until now. The pictures, the story—it’s my past coming back to haunt me. I’ve lost control. And to get it back, I need to change the story.

So I asked my best friend and neighbor for help. Kayla agreed—if I support her growing pack of four-legged misfits.

My life is under control again.

Only I’m falling for my best friend. Now, my New York City apartment is full of rescued pups, my country retreat looks more like an animal sanctuary, and Kayla’s guarding her heart.

And I’m running out of time to prove the girl next door belongs with the billionaire.

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Excerpt

“You know, I could swing by for a lunch date. We could close your office door—”

“Make fake sex sounds to get my staff talking?” The humor in his tone sounds forced, but it’s a step in the right direction. At least he’s not focused on Alexandra’s interview anymore.

“That won’t work,” I say. “You’re horrible at faking an orgasm. You didn’t even try last time.”

“Everyone has an Achilles Heel,” he muses.

“We need to give them something real to listen to.”

“Kayla,” he growls. “How soon can you get here?”

“One hour.”

I stand and pull on Luna’s leash, ready to run back to Gavin’s building and prepare for our date. This is what I want—wild, passionate office sex with a billionaire. “And Gavin?”

“Yes?”

This doesn’t solve our problems.

But I’m guessing he knows that. And if he doesn’t, well now, after he’s watched his ex-girlfriend call our fake engagement a sham on national TV is not the time to tell him we’re in over our heads.

“Call Margaret while you wait. We need her best private investigators looking into Alexandra. It’s time, Gavin. We need to fight back.”

“Already in motion,” he says. “I spoke to her before I called you. Margaret anticipated the request. She’s had a PI looking into Alexandra for two days now. We should have a report soon.”

“She’s amazing.”

“Stop thinking about Margaret and get your butt to my office.”

“One hour,” I say again. “And afterward you need to take me to lunch. Someplace public.”

“Sounds fair. If I get to strip off your panties and feast on you while you sit on my desk, I should probably give you something to eat in return.”

“Gavin.” The scene plays out in my imagination like a homemade sex tape. All of the questions about our future fade away. We’ll find our way out of this mess. We always do. But first, I have a lunch date.

“Yes, Kayla?”

“I’m not planning to wear panties.”