One visit to my father in prison—convicted for a murder he didn't commit—and I've attracted the attention of the last man I'd ever want knowing that I exist.

We were friends, she and I. Best friends. It was easy, simple, and comfortable; that was our dynamic. We had a system, an understanding, an unspoken arrangement. We were there for each other through thick and thin. We had an unbreakable bond. Nobody understood our friendship. Because a guy and a girl couldn’t just be best friends without emotions getting involved, right? Without noticing, everything shifted, and I was experiencing all these new feelings....

Mabel "Maybe" Willis died a virgin at the very young age of 24. She leaves behind her parents, Betty and Bruce, her brother, Evan, a laptop filled with one too many Jason Momoa memes, and a Kindle library with more books than one human being could ever finish in a lifetime. Cause of death: a text message. Okay. So, I didn't die. But I may as well have. One minute, I'm a woman trying to find her way in the world, and the next, I'm the sender of six of the most embarrassing text messages that have ever been sent in the history of time - or the cell phone. Whatever.

One minute you’re a struggling graphic designer in L.A. who's finally coming to terms with being single forever, and the next, you're flying to New York in a private jet to get engaged to your ex-boyfriend’s older brother. At least...that’s what everyone thinks. Forced to clean up his playboy image in order to protect his company, Beckham Sinclair, the city’s most eligible billionaire bachelor, wants me to be his fake fiancée and personal assistant. Now I'm spending every spare second with a man I thought I’d never see again.

Hi, my name is Bree Camden, and I’m hopelessly in love with my best friend and star quarterback Nathan Donelson (so is half of America, judging by the tabloids and how much the guy dates). The first step is admitting it, right? Except, I can never admit it to him because he clearly doesn’t see me that way, and the last thing I want is for things to get weird between us. Nothing but good old-fashioned no-touching-the-sexiest-man-alive platonic friendship for us! Everything is exactly how I like it! Yes. Good. (I’m not crying; I’m just peeling an onion.)