A sexy, smart, and heart-swooning romance about a girl who has nothing to lose when it comes to flirting with her boss.
This seductive contemporary romance from bestselling authors Meghan Quinn and Sara Ney will keep you on the edge of your seat as you fall in love with the first novel from this dynamic duo. Please note, this book will NOT be in KU.

Dear Mister.. . . no, too formal.
Hey there sweet cheeks. . . no, too forward.
*Clears throat*
To whom it may concern,

Full disclosure; before we move forward with this email, I would like it to be known that I have consumed an adequate amount of alcoholic beverages to intoxicate myself tonight. Three margaritas, two shots, and one beer—because it was free.

I think it’s important to be open and honest with your co-workers, don’t you?

So here I am, being open and honest. Drunk but honest. Or just drunk with lust? You decide.

I have a hopeless, foolish, schoolgirl crush on you when you are the last person on earth I should be falling for. Did you know people around the office call you a sadist? An egomaniac. An insensitive, arrogant prick. But what they don't know is your bark is worse than your bite. And that bite doesn't scare me. The fact is, I’d love that bite of yours to nip at my bare skin while we’re both wearing nothing but sheets.

For once I want you to look at me as more than one of your employees.

And as long as we're being honest, that navy blue suit you wear? With the crisp white shirt? It really makes me want to loosen your tie and show you exactly who's boss.

Love,
Sincerely,
Yours

The space between us couldn’t be any smaller, and the only thing stopping me from shoving my greedy tongue down her throat is the flash of movement in my peripheral vision.

Everyone is watching.

It’s like we’re a bad accident on the side of the goddamn road, and no one can take their eyes off it, instead going slower to inspect the damage.

No one moves.

No one speaks.

No one but Peyton. “Go ahead and do it.”

Her voice is small, but it carries just enough to reach my ears.

“Do what?” I spit out almost sarcastically.

“Kiss me.” She’s daring me, but I’m not an idiot.

I rear back like she’s kicked me in the nuts, putting space between us, hissing, “Are you fucking insane?”

Another laugh. “That’s what I thought. McBossypants and his proper, Mr. Goody-Two-Shoes manners.”

“We. Are. At. Work,” I bite out, words halted.

“I’m not at work—I only came in to clear out my desk. You’re the only one at work here.”

So glad she can be nonchalant. “You just cannot help needling me, can you?”

“Needling you? What are you, seventy?” She’s laughing at me. “No, I’m not needling you—obviously not.” She taps her chin. “You’re adorable when you get yourself worked up into a snit.”

A snit.

What the fuck.

No. I do not get myself worked up into snits; I’m commanding and in control of my impulses—unlike some people, apparently.

“I like it,” Peyton adds, crossing her arms.

“You need to stop.”

“Does it make you uncomfortable when I’m honest?”

“No. I prefer when people lie.” I haven’t rolled my eyes this hard since I was thirteen years old.

“Well, if it’s opposite day, I love that I’m not working for you anymore, and I’m glad I never get to see your grumpy face again.”

Wait. Huh?

I have no idea what to fucking say; but she’s in my face, staring expectantly—and so is everyone else.

Through my clenched teeth, I say, “People are watching.”

She tilts her head. Smiles. “They are.”

“You should probably go back to your party.”

I’ve said nothing that I came down to this floor to say—that she quit and doesn’t deserve a fucking farewell party. That she’s unprofessional—well, okay. That part I did say—that her blue dress makes her look smoking hot to the point of distraction.

And I think about her way more often than I should, even before I realized RoamingHands was her.

And I think about her way more often than I should.

And that I’m so goddamn mad at her for putting me through the wringer, for making me feel more than is appropriate for an employee, and that because I’m equal parts furious and turned on—because she’s fucking hot—I’m tempted to cause a scene. And I never cause scenes.

How has she made me behave like someone I'm not? I barely know myself anymore.

And why is it that not only am I flustered, but I want to bend her over a chair and spank her to teach her a lesson? view abbreviated excerpt only...

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