Cleaning floors in Branson Couture was never part of my career plans.
Neither was almost decapitating the CEO with a mop.
Of course, I didn’t know he was the CEO—my mind only registered “intruder” and “hot”.
Maybe not in that order.

Meet James Branson: infuriatingly hot, obscenely wealthy, and as charming as a door slammed in your face.
He’s the king of high fashion. And, apparently, of ruining my day.
The thing is, he wants to do more than just ruin my day.
In my hasty retreat from the mop-attack I left my design journal behind.
James discovers my designs and offers me truly insane money to work beside him.

Every cell in my body is screaming: “Run, girl!”
James is a master of the boardroom with a heart encased in steel.
This Snarlmaster General has a scowl that could out-thunder a hurricane.

He also holds the key to my dreams in his giant mitts.
But I can’t think about his giant… anything.
In the fashion world, it’s not just designs that get ripped apart at the seams.
Hearts do as well.
But if James thinks I’ll let him unravel mine, he's in for the fight of his billionaire life.

So I have a plan:
Show up.
Do my job.
Don’t think about my boss naked.
Piece of cake, right?

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