The Beaufort Poker Club

Every girl dreams of meeting her celebrity crush. Unfortunately, my dreams weren't coming true. I was on national television, standing in front of my celebrity nemesis, and ten hours earlier, I had his tongue down my throat.

I died nine months ago. My heart was still buried six feet under. Being labeled a widower at thirty was too kind. I was a ghost. Eat. Sleep. Work. Repeat. Until she crashed into my life without warning.

I loved being a wedding planner. I hated the best man. Babysitting a billionaire at my best friend's wedding was the last thing I wanted to do. Especially after he broke into my office, helped himself to my champagne, and proposed the most ridiculous deal possible.

I was drowning. I had four kids under one small roof, a job that barely made ends meet, and not nearly enough hours in the day. Then I walked in to clean Room 328, startled the cute computer nerd, and had the best twenty minutes of my life. But that was all it could ever be—stolen moments with a man who was too good for my past or present.

I was done with internet matches and swiping left and right. The dating pool needed a lifeguard. But just when I decided that love wasn't in the cards for me, the boy I'd always had a crush on walked into my ER and flashed a smile that told me he wasn't letting me slip away. I just had to keep his sister's secret a little longer.

The day I decided to leave Kyle Kingsley was the day I was no longer afraid of dying. I was afraid of living. I'd had it all—or so everyone thought. I had been trapped in a gilded cage by a deadly monster, and finally escaped. But so did he. Trusting again was harder than healing, especially when the nightmare wasn't over yet.