

He spotted a note on his counter with a small pile of money. He walked into his kitchen and nearly wept with joy when he spotted the empty sinks and counters.

It looked damn good, he decided as he gave himself a mental pat on the back for coming up with such a great plan.

The rug was vacuumed, the furniture polished, dirty clothes, and food wrappers were gone. Not only was it clean, but it smelled like lemons. Tomorrow, he promised himself as he walked into his apartment and froze. He had four months to fix this and he had no idea how he was going to do it, but he knew that he was about to make the biggest mistake of his life.He glared at the freshly cleaned floor mat, pissed that woman had wrecked his hard work and was tempted to go back outside and stomp around in the dirt just so he could cover those freaky looking puppies again, but he was too damn tired at the moment to try. He should have seen this coming, should have stayed focused, and he really should stop thinking about the small woman that he should probably fire. After years of doing a job that had slowly destroyed her will to live, she needed a change, something different, something that gave her a clue about what she was supposed to do with her life, but more importantly, she needed to figure out how she was supposed to keep a secret that could destroy the only thing that mattered to her.ĭevyn was so close to having everything that he’d ever wanted when everything suddenly went to hell.

She should probably mention that she had no idea what she was doing, but since that would probably result in her new boss, Devyn MacGregor, CEO of Carta Hotels and the incredibly handsome man that didn’t look like he knew how to smile, firing her, Andi Dawson decided that it would be in her best interest to keep that fact to herself. The one person that you can’t live without. From bestselling author of the Neighbor from Hell series comes a heartwarming romantic comedy about the only thing that matters when you’re about to lose everything that you’ve ever wanted.
