Running away from home at 17 wasn't easy. Let's face it, though, nothing before or in the ten years since has ever been easy for me. And I'm doing okay—sorta. I just need to keep scraping by, living under the radar. Staying out of people's way, off people's minds. When a man walks through my open patio door, stepping boldly into my home and my life, I should be scared, frightened, terrified. I must be more broken than I realized because I'm none of those things. I'm intrigued—and I'm wondering if the way to take control of my life is by giving in to him.

When Jess Montell meets Trace West at a hockey game, she doesn’t know his name or occupation. What she does know is there’s an instant attraction that’s impossible to ignore—or forget. And forgetting is exactly what she wants to do when she learns he’s not just a successful Wall Street suit but the heir to one of New York’s biggest Mafia families. The last thing Trace needs is a romantic anything with law enforcement, and parole officer Jess has trouble written all over her. Too bad he likes trouble.

Dirty rich one night stand. That's all it was supposed to be. He's the powerful attorney, now world-renowned after coming off the trial of a century which was publicized across the country. And I'm one of the reporters that sat in his courtroom. I watched him, studied him, got to know him from afar which isn't hard since I know his exact brand of confidence, arrogance, and wealth. I know his type. I've dated his type. Which is why when I happen to come face to face with him, when sparks fly and heat simmers between us, I know what happens if I say yes to Reese Summer.

I never finish a project late. Ever. So, when sassy, stilettoed Vivian Vandemark swaggers in with a roll of red tape to shut down my construction site, you can imagine my reaction. Although, it involves a sledgehammer and perfectly good drywall, so maybe you can’t. She doesn’t look or act like any government employee I’ve met, and I’m determined to uncover her secrets. When I lean in, I lean in hard. But so does Vivian. Now that we’re incinerating the bedsheets, we’re in way over our heads. What started out as physical infatuation quickly morphs into more.

Everything goes as planned...until Nate and I wake up the next day, hung-over, wearing identical golden wedding bands, and with no memory of what happened the night before. Cue major hyperventilation. But it's okay. Nothing that a quick marriage dissolution can't solve...until the pregnancy test stick comes back with two pink lines...