Am I friends with JP Cane? Ha! That's laughable. Besides the fact that he’s adopted some far-fetched notion from the movie When Harry Met Sally that says men and women can't be friends and work together, it’s safe to say we're not friends. He's annoyingly loud, obnoxiously handsome, and has made an art out of poking all my hot buttons...multiple times a day. So you can imagine how disgruntled I am when I not only have to fly to San Francisco with him for work, but stay in the same penthouse. Yup, we're sharing the same air, 24-7. We're talking full-fledged working roommates.

Five hockey players, a cabin in the woods...and little old me, Winnie Berlin. Sounds like the start of a fantasy, right? But it's not. It's my reality. It all started when I got lost in the middle of the Canadian Rockies. A wicked thunderstorm sent my car mud sliding into a ditch, and for a girl whose survival skills involve finding the nearest Starbucks, I was in deep trouble. Forced to abandon my car in search of help, I stumbled upon a cabin in the middle of nowhere.

I thought I was trying out to be the Zoric's newest model, but Luka was auditioning wives. The last time I saw Luka Zoric, he left me stranded in his bed. This time, I'm the one holding the cards.

The quintessential question asked to every couple. And the answer is usually some bubbly, lovey dovey tale of being struck in the bum by Cupid’s arrow. My meet cute (well, not so meet cute) is slightly different. I was trolling a wealthy neighborhood in Beverly Hills, searching for someone to take me as their bride, you know, to make my arch nemesis jealous who consequently just fired me.

In the morning, she was gone and had taken my solace with her. I left for the military that day, vowing never to return to Pennsylvania. When my father dies, I’m forced to go home to bury him. At least I'll finally be rid of his farm, which is grown over and tangled with memories I've fought to forget. And that’s when I find her. She’s even more beautiful than I remember and has the most adorable kid I’ve ever seen. Years have passed, but my feelings are the same, and this time I refuse to let her go. They say you can't bury the past, and they're right.

I’ve sworn off men to focus on my dream job that starts on Monday. But my best friend talks me into a final night of fun—a blind date. I only agree because the guy is going to work as a doctor in Africa. It’s the best date of my life. Dr. Africa makes me laugh and swoon, and I want to give him a thorough physical examination. He turns into Dr. One Night Stand, and I’m not sad about it. Monday morning, I’m enthusiastic and excited, until I bump into...you guessed it.

Rex “TW” McMurtry’s perpetual singlehood wouldn’t bother him so much if all his ex-girlfriends didn’t keep marrying the very next person they dated, especially when so many of those grooms are his closest friends. He may be a pro-football defensive end for the Chicago Squalls, but the press only wants to talk about how he’s always a groomsman and never a groom. Bartender Abigail McNerny is the gal-pal, the wing-woman, the she-BFF. Abby is convinced no one on earth could ever entice her into a romantic relationship...except that one guy she’s loved since preschool.

For the first time ever in one collection, you can indulge in four sexy, feel-good standalones from #1 NYT Bestseller Lauren Blakely: an office romance, a friends-to-lovers romance, a second-chance romance and an enemies-to-lovers romance!

Cruel. Heartless. Quarantined. The ruthless boys of Everlake Prep never saw lockdown coming. But the virus isn’t their number one enemy. I am. And as if being confined to a boarding school for the elite wasn’t bad enough, now I’m stuck in isolation with the boys who hate me most too. With the virus escalating and my dad’s name splashed through the news, my entire world is falling apart. What he did has cast a dark shadow over me. And the Night Keepers want to make me pay for his crimes.

Carter Beckett is the NHL’s resident bad boy, top player both on the ice and in the bedroom, and quite possibly the sexiest man to ever grace my field of vision. But worst of all? He knows it. He’s arrogant, self-centered, and the man doesn’t seem to know what a filter is, let alone how to use one. He’s had everything served to him on a silver platter, including endless strings of women, and apparently, I’m up next. I have the solution to all my sexual frustrations in a drawer at home, and it’s far less complicated than Carter Beckett.