Résultats de "Julia Kent" dans Toutes les catégories

Dad gave me my late mother's engagement ring, platinum and diamonds galore. Shannon wouldn't care if I slid a giant hard-candy ring on her finger instead of a three-carat diamond designed to impress. But my future mother-in-law, Marie, will pass out when she sets eyes on that rock, which will give us two minutes of blessed silence ... I was going to make it perfect, from the color of the tablecloth to the freshness of the roses. And it was perfect...until Shannon swallowed the ring.

A random meeting between a rural Ohio chick and a rich Boston musician kickstarted all sorts of random acts of love and adoration—and got even more complicated when his bandmate entered the picture.

Mallory (Fluffy), Persephone (Perky), Fiona (Feisty), and Hastings (Hasty) come from the small town of Anderhill, Massachusetts, with lives that take sudden turns, as they get surprise “do-overs” when it comes to second-chance love. This boxed set features New York Times best-selling author Julia Kent’s first three books in the series, starting with the prequel, Little Miss Perfect. A romantic comedy, binge-listen, get ready for a massive laugh-fest escape!

Ten years ago, my high school crush found me during senior finals week in the student parking lot with my car decorated with items you find behind a drugstore counter and a "Most Likely to..." banner that would make a pro blush. And by "pro", I don't mean golf. In under an hour, everything I knew about myself was turned upside down and inside out, just as our high school career was in its final hours.

No wedding catastrophe can faze Katie Gallagher because when you plan for the worst, you deliver the best. The best wedding ever. Her company, Wedding Protectors, Inc., promises happily ever afters. Guaranteed. Whatever it takes. But always-prepared Katie? She's steering clear of her own HEA. Love is her job. Not her destiny. So when she falls for silver fox and self-made millionaire Patrick Cooper, she breaks a rule so taboo, it doesn't technically exist: Never fall for the bride's father.

God damn! Charlotte, my ex-girlfriend, had to be here, of all places. At a bachelorette party where I was a stripper, dressed in a cop uniform with pants that suddenly got way too tight. And she had to be so fine. “Ooooh, honey, you’re one big officer,” said a sultry voice behind me as I watched Charlotte in the other room, chatting with the bride.

I never thought my perp walk would lead to true love. Then again, I never thought I’d be arrested on RICO charges and hauled away in zip ties on camera for the world to see, minutes after closing the most amazing deal of my career. And all of it in front of my biggest rival, billionaire wunderkind Ian McCrory.

You ever really think that you'll win the lottery? Meet Mr. Right? How about two Mr. Rights? Somehow the universe is handing me everything I want (except for that lottery part...), and I don't like it. Not one little bit. Because just when you get all your dreams handed to you on a silver platter, that's when an airplane dumps its sewage on your house. Or your mama's diabetes takes a bad turn. Or your mobile phone gets stuck in your hoohaw. (What? It happens...)

I'm not too proud to admit that finding Mr. Right involves swiping right. Right? Welcome to dating in avocado toastland. Here I am, on my first blind date, ever, courtesy of a smartphone app and my two annoying best friends. So what is Chris "Fletch" Fletcher doing, walking across the room, looking at his phone like he's pattern matching a picture to find a real person he's never met before? Oh. Oh, no. The guy I drop-kicked in seventh grade cannot be my blind date. The guy who earned me this infernal nickname.

When I was young and impulsive (okay, it was only five years ago, alright?) I let my boyfriend take, let's just say...compromising pictures of me. (Shut up. It made sense at the time.) Surprise! The sleazy back-stabbing jerk posted them on a website and, well, you can guess what happened. I’m a meme. Now I get tagged on social media whenever anyone shares them. You try getting a thousand notifications a day, all of them pictures of your tatas. It’s time for revenge. But how do you get embarrassingly intimate pictures of your jerkface ex who double-crossed you five years ago?

I swear I am not the kind of person who gets her cell phone caught in places that require an ER trip and an OBGYN. But apparently, I am. I’m also not the kind of person who spends all her time thinking about the guy who got away. But apparently, I am, too. Starting a new life in Boston isn’t supposed to include repeatedly embarrassing myself in public, meeting a crazy blond woman who has ties to the band Random Acts of Crazy, and definitely isn’t supposed to include wallowing in a past I thought I’d left behind four years ago.

I guzzled another flute of Champagne and froze, the liquid in my throat, waiting to be swallowed. Tyler was here. We’d met a few times before, in passing. He was the substitute bass player for the band; I was the lead guitar player’s girlfriend’s best friend. In that weird sort of social circle thing where Venn diagrams get laid over different groups, Tyler and I were bound to be in the crossover once in a while.

I was ready to propose and I got upstaged by a snake. Not a real one. My bandmate. A case of mistaken identity almost derailed my proposal to Amy, but in the end, love prevailed. And my hand hurts from the punch, but it was worth it. She’s worth it. But I really need an ice pack now. Though a kiss from Amy and that yes are even better.

He is addicted to his phone and his new role as CEO. I’m addicted to getting some on my own honeymoon. One of these things is not like the other. I am pretty sure a serial killer’s lair is the only place in the world where I could stash my new husband so he can’t manage the acquisition of our new company. And that seems a little drastic. But only a little. All I want is one week alone with him. Hours in bed, legs tangled together in ecstasy, room service and long walks on the beach in Hawaii.

Who needs a SWAT team to escape from their own wedding? Me. My Momzilla turned us into hostages at our own ceremony, so Declan and I are getting married the good old-fashioned way, just like everybody else. By calling in his private security team, stealing away before the ceremony by helicopter, connecting to his corporate jet and heading for Las Vegas.

I'm thrilled to be the maid of honor in my friend's wedding, but the best man, Andrew McCormick, is a chauvinistic pig with a god complex. And I can't stop kissing him in closets.

How do you top the perfect wedding to the perfect man in the best hometown with the greatest best friends ever? With an even better reception. And how do you top the best reception ever? With the picture-perfect honeymoon in Fiji. Except when our past comes back to haunt us, things don’t go quite as planned.

Kell Luview has decided to make Rachel Hart his wife after two perfect years together, and the man has plans. Big plans.

The last ever-loving thing I ever thought I’d become is a hypocrite. A big, fat one. Joe doesn’t even want me to meet his parents. Trevor’s fine with it, but only if they keep thinking I’m his girlfriend. And only his girlfriend. He doesn’t want that pesky little thing called truth to get in the way. Both of them are my boyfriends. Both.

We skipped right over the whole fiancée thing and went straight from girlfriend to wife. At least, I think that's what happened. I woke up after my brother's Vegas wedding reception with my luscious girlfriend in bed with me. We're both wearing wedding rings. So is her coworker, Josh. And our Vegas chauffeur, Geordi. Who the hell am I married to? Unraveling this mystery will be as difficult as figuring out why Amanda and I are having panic attacks over the thought of being husband and wife.