With ailing family to support, Evie Sage's employment status isn't just important, it's vital. So when a mishap with Rennedawn's most infamous Villain results in a job offer—naturally, she says yes. No job is perfect, of course, but even less so when you develop a teeny crush on your terrifying, temperamental, and undeniably hot boss. Don't find evil so attractive, Evie. But just when she's getting used to severed heads suspended from the ceiling and the odd squish of an errant eyeball beneath her heel, Evie suspects this dungeon has a huge rat . . . and not just the literal kind.

When Aethelthryth—“Ethel” to her modern-day Manhattan neighbors—finds her sworn nemesis Lazlo Enyedi with no memory of who or what they are, an ancient hunt becomes an unexpected chance at forbidden passion. He’s crashing on her couch, solving her sudoku puzzles, and looking at her like she’s his eternal flame (minus the whole bursting-into-ashes part). As his memories slowly return, Ethel realizes she might be in danger of losing more than just her head…

Declan Hardy, All-American heartthrob and retired NFL billionaire, is my complete opposite. He's commanding where I'm cooperative. Spontaneous while I am deliberate. Loud when I stay quiet. The only thing we have in common is that both our names are on my father's will.

This isn’t a story about a love triangle. There is no triangle involved. This isn’t a story about an accidental pregnancy. Although having a baby with her...I would. This isn’t a story about lies and deception, even though at times I’ve lied to myself. No, this is my story. A story about sacrifice. A story about a man who fell in love with the wrong girl. A story I wish I never had to tell. I learned a long damn time ago, the only way to achieve my dreams was to avoid distractions - at any cost.

What’s a broke tea witch to do when she’s about to lose her beloved café? No idea, but chugging magic mojitos and drunk-summoning the Devil was definitely the wrong call. Now, I’m stuck with the house guest from Hell—literally—and we couldn’t be more opposite: a homebody who brews healing teas and reads romance novels to her cats versus a sexy-as-sin playboy with a pitchfork tattoo on his butt and a fondness for public day-drinking. In the nude. Ergo, the pitchfork discovery.