Billionaire Bossholes

I have a confession. I hate bachelorette parties. A night of awkward dancing, penis-shaped straws and being told “you're next, Kaitlyn!” Even worse: It's hosted at a super swanky Miami club where I stick out like a sore thumb. Couldn’t get any worse, right?

The first time I met Noah Parker, he asked if I was an escort. Apparently when you’re a billionaire sports agent, finding strange half-naked women in your hotel room is…normal? That didn’t stop me launching a stiletto at him. He’s fine—good reflexes. Still, he walked into my hotel room—claiming it's his—and has no plans on leaving. Neither do I. Which is how I end up sharing a bed with Mr. Jerk. Platonically…more or less. Nothing happened, I just might have had a few naughty thoughts and some very pleasant dreams. He’s hot, all right? A hot jerk.

I lie down for just a second…. The next thing I see is the chiseled and extremely grumpy face of my billionaire client, Theo Barnes, looking down at me. If I’m Goldilocks, he has all the grouchiness of three bears. I was overworked and overstressed, juggling photographing his fleet of yachts with my other projects. Add in a super comfy bed on one of his yachts, and I’m out. Now I’m about to be fired.