Avery Flynn – författare

Hadley Donavan can’t believe she has to go home to Nebraska for her sister’s wedding. She’s gonna need a wingman and a whole lot of vodka for this level of family interaction. At least her bestie agreed he’d man up and help. But then instead of her best friend, his evil twin strolls out of the airport.

If you looked up “doesn’t-deserve-to-be-that-confident, way-too-hot-for-his-own-good billionaire” in the dictionary, you’d find a picture of Will Holt. He’s awful. Horrible. The worst―even if his butt looks phenomenal in those jeans.

Ten times worse? Hadley’s buffer was supposed to be there to keep her away from the million-and-one family events. But Satan’s spawn just grins and signs them up for every. Single. Thing.

Fine. “Cutthroat” Scrabble? She’s in. She can’t wait to take this guy down a notch. But somewhere between Pictionary and the teasing glint in his eyes, their bickering starts to feel like more than just a game …

MUST HATE DOGS

Do you hate dogs? Only want to talk about yourself? Is having a sense of humor something you’ve never been accused of? Think eating for pleasure is a complete waste of time? Agree that tipping is for suckers? Then you’re the date for me.

Dixon Beckett is the kind of guy who loves his mama, treats women right, and never ever wants to fall in love again. That’s why he’ll do anything to win a bet to be the last single man standing by Christmas.

He’s got a plan, too. Create the most no-good, horrible, very bad dating profile in existence. Only someone actually responds to his ad …

The rules say he has to go on six dates with the first (or in his case, only) person who answers—even if that person is Fiona Hartigan: hater of dogs, non-lover of any delicious food, and zero sense of humor.

But something feels off about this pariah. In fact, Dixon is almost positive Fiona is just pretending to be awful. Pretending to be the most horrible date in existence. And she’s most definitely pretending to not be as interested in him as he is in her.

The more Dixon Beckett starts to unravel the mystery of why Fiona answered his ad in the first place, the more he starts considering the most vile, awful, terrible idea ever … falling in love.

As the only Beckett cousin who is still unattached, I’m a shoo-in to win the bet with my cousins to be the last man blissfully not in love by Christmas. Of course, I know they’re still going to make me follow the rules of our bet and go on six dates with the same woman—but I’ve figured out a way out of that too. I’m getting married. Is it love? Not even close. Chelle Finch needs a temporary husband and I need to win this bet. We agree to put a ring on it knowing that in six months this marriage of convenience will end in divorce. Except, somehow dating my wife has me realizing that I don’t ever want to take this ring off if it means losing her.

What does the guy who can talk his way out of anything have to do to sweet talk his temporary wife into forever?

So I may be in the Last Single Man Standing competition with my cousins, but five minutes around Kinsey was all it took to take myself out. Who cares about bragging rights when you’ve just found the woman you’re going to marry? Sure, she may work for my biggest competitor. Sure, she’s not dating right now. Sure, she’s my sister’s best friend and I’ve been sworn off her. But somehow she agrees to go on six fake dates to help me save face in this competition.

What does the guy who never uses his words have to say to convince the girl of his dreams that they’re perfect for each other?

Ever have one of those days where life just plain sucks? Welcome to my last three months—ever since I caught my can’t-be-soon-enough-ex-husband cheating with his paralegal. I’m thirty-five years old, and I’ve lost my NYC apartment, my job, my money, and frankly, my dignity.

But the final heartache in the suck sandwich of my life? My great aunt Maggie died. The only family member who’s ever gotten me.

Even after death though, she’s helping me get back up again. She’s willed me the keys to a house in the burbs of all places and dared me to grab life by the family jewels. Well, I’ve got the vise grips already in hand (my ex should take note), and I’m ready to fight for my life again.

Too bad that bravado only lasts as long as it takes to drive into Huckleberry Hills. And see the house.

There are forty-seven separate HOA violations, and I feel them all in my bones. Honestly, I’m surprised no one’s “accidentally” torched the house yet. I want to and I’ve only been standing in front of it for five minutes. But then my grumpy neighbor tells me to mow the lawn first and I’m just … done. Done with men too sexy for their own good and done with anyone telling me what to do.

First rule of surviving the burbs? There is nothing that YouTube and a glass of wine can’t conquer. Well, unless it’s your hot neighbor.

Brooke Chapman-Powell takes her position as the Earl of Englefield’s personal secretary very seriously. This job is what keeps her sister in the university for the deaf and the town from completely shutting down. But the earl is dying, and they have only one hope: an American, from some place called Salvation, Virginia.

Now she will have to teach the in-all-likelihood-uncouth-and-lazy half American how to be a proper earl if they hope to save the village. God help them all.

Nick Vane has about two gazillion things that land higher on his to-do list than becoming an English earl. Things like naps. Hosting poker nights. Oh, and raking in the profits from his latest invention. But accepting the title that his grandfather has denied him since birth? It doesn’t even register. But Miss Prim-and-Proper won’t give up, and before he knows what’s what, he is on a plane to London.

He has too much pride to go down easily, and she’s got too much propriety to ever break the rules. They are as different as a cocktail fork and a bread knife—and the clash between them lands these two in the most unexpected positions.