Do Over

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. Then again, he's the high school quarterback. He's used to performing when the clock's running out. Me? I perform well under pressure, too. But not when Will Lotham is about to kiss me.

One hundred years ago when I was young and impulsive (okay, it was five, alright? Five years ago...) 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. That's right. I'm a meme. A really gross one. You're seen the pictures. And if you haven't—don't ask. And don't look! As face recognition software online improves, I get tagged on social media whenever anyone shares my pictures. You try getting a thousand notifications a day, all of them pictures of your tatas. So. I'm done. It's time for revenge. Let him see how it feels! But how do you get embarrassingly intimate pictures of your jerkface ex who double-crossed you five years ago? Especially when he's a member of the U.S. House of Representatives now? Getting sweet between the sheets with a congressman is pretty much every political roadie's dream, right? I'm one in a crowd. Except to this day, he swears he didn't do it. Pursued me for months after I dumped him five years ago. Begged me to take him back. And I almost did it. Almost. I was weak and stupid and in love a hundred years ago. Okay. Fine. Five. But I still have the upper hand. Second chance romance has all the emotional feels, doesn't it? I can't wait to punch him in the feels. All I need to do is sleep with him once, take some hot-and-sweaty pics of him in... delicate positions, and bring him down. That's it. Nothing more. Pictures first. Revenge after. And then I win. At least, that's how it was supposed to happen. But then I did something worse than sexting. I fell in love with him. Again.

I'm not to 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. That's right. Feisty.-More from New York Times bestselling author Julia Kent as Fiona "Feisty" Gaskill gets her chance at love-drop-kick included.

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. I am broke. I am disgraced. I am alone. I am a sucker. But the worst part? I have to go back to my hometown and live in my bedroom filled with relics from my childhood. Lisa Frank never made me so mad before. Just when I needed a rescue, I got one-in the form of help from my biggest rival. He can't bring back my money. He certainly can't bring back my reputation or my pride. But there's one thing he can bring back to me. A sense of hope. Maybe even love. Ian sees something in me no one else does, and he's relentless about making me see it, too. As we grow closer, I'm starting to see that while my entire life used to be a lie, the truth is staring me in the present-and it's a truth I like very, very much, hot eyes and gorgeous smile and all. But I have to be careful. I can't be too-That's right. Hasty.

An all-new STANDALONE from New York Times bestselling author Julia Kent It all started with the wrong Help Wanted ad. Of course it did. I'm a professional fluffer. It's NOT what you think. I stage homes for a living. Real estate agents love me, and my work stands on its own merits. Sigh. Get your mind out of the gutter. Go ahead. Laugh. I'll wait. See? That's the problem. My career has used the term "fluffer" for decades. I didn't even know there was a more... lascivious definition of the term. Until it was too late. The ad for a "professional fluffer" on Craigslist seemed like divine intervention. My last unemployment check was in the bank. I was desperate. Rent was due. The ad said cash paid at the end of the day. The perfect job! Staging homes means showing your best angle. The same principle applies in making a certain kind of movie. Turns out a "fluffer" doesn't arrange decorative pillows on a couch. They arrange other soft, round-ish objects. The job isn't hard. Er, I mean, it is-it's about being hard. Or, well... helping other people to be hard. Oh, man... And that's the other problem. A man. No, not one of the stars on the movie set. Will Lotham—my high school crush. The owner of the house where we're filming. Illegally. In a vacation rental. By the time the cops show up, what I thought was just a great house staging gig turned into a nightmare involving pictures of me with an undressed star, Will rescuing me from an arrest, and a humiliating lesson in my own naivete. My job turned out to be so much harder than I expected. But you know what's easier than I ever imagined? Having all my dreams come true.