Scarlett Cole's Blog, page 4

The Fates We Tame has a cover!!!

If you follow me on social media, you would have seen the cover to the Fates We Tame.

If you haven't seen it yet, go here - https://www.instagram.com/scarlettcole/

How perfect is the cover for The Fates We Tame, Switch and Sophia's story?

This cover went down to the wire. Like, I was convinced I was never going to find Switch. I even had to deviate from my "eyes front" for the cover model to find one I thought summed up Theo "Switch" Reavis. (And yes, Annette, I borrowed your last name because Switch is such a good man he reminds of your own special Mr. Reavis.)

This story is by far the longest Iron Outlaw. Niro is a little peeved about that. King thinks the president should have had the most. Halo doesn't care, because he's too busy with Ari. But this is just under 100K words long because there was so much to weave into this journey. As always, there are appearances from the rest of the crew, and we get a deeper insight to who Vex is because he's the last of the original 9 bikers to get their story.


It's not long to release day now! It's coming August 15th, (wide for just 2 days on the 12/13th) and I hope you'll consider preordering to help release day go with a bang!
With love and gratitude,

Scarlett 🧡

The Fates We Tame is coming soon!

So, I know you are all eagerly awaiting the trope details for Switch's book, The Fates We Tame. Let's face it, I'm a bit behind in sharing them because it took me SO long to write this book. It's the longest in the series by far.

But, they are worth the wait. And, honestly, I can't wait a second longer to share them with you because they are SO GOOD!

I mean, amnesia ... If you read Halo and Ari's story, The Souls We Claim, you know how it ended for Switch! Waking up with no memory.

I've always wanted to write an amnesia story, but only wanted to do it if I could come up with an original concept, which I did when I asked myself this question: What if the only person who understood what you were going through had no memory too?

And fake marriage!! AND COSA NOSTRA! I swear you are all gonna love Sophia Viscuso. And I'm pretty sure you'll love her brothers 😮😉😍 ... you see three of them up close. Alessio, her eldest brother, and Luca and Leo, the twins!

It's such an incredible mash-up that I'm excited simply writing this newsletter. Oh, and did I mention Cillian's back causing chaos?

Not long now! It's coming August 15th, and I hope you'll consider preordering to help release day go with a bang!
With love and gratitude,

Scarlett 🧡

The Fates We Tame


🖤 MC vs Cosa Nostra

☠️ Amnesia

🌞 Grumpy/Sunshine

🧡 "My Wife"

💍 Fake Marriage

💔 Feuding Families



BLURB:

From USA Today best selling author Scarlett Cole, writing as S. Cole, comes an electrifying amnesia, fake marriage, MC vs Cosa Nostra romance.

Sophia
No one knows why I crashed at high-speed driving a car that wasn't mine.
Except when I woke up in hospital, I had life-changing injuries and no memories at all.
Amnesia makes you a ghost in your own life.
I'm here, but not. I have a family whose names I keep forgetting and an apartment I don't remember choosing.
But I'm alive, and determined to make the most of this second chance.
Which is why when the grumpy biker arrives at the rehabilitation unit, I'm determined to become his friend. Until the family I'm beginning to trust betray me in the worst possible way.
And I can't help but wonder if escaping what they had planned for me was the very reason I ran.

Switch
Getting devastatingly injured while saving the life of a brother in the Iron Outlaws Motorcycle Club was a trade-off I'd make again in a heartbeat.
Even if I'm now a changed man with permanent damage who can't remember the last decade of their life.
Life is uncertain and holds little joy.
Until I meet a bundle of sunshine in rehab who has no memories at all.
Seeing her every day makes life better.
But then I overhear her brothers plotting something terrible, so awful, that it requires me to become the feared biker I once was to help her.
I believe in fate. That the two of us meeting like this was no accident.
Now, I need to believe in myself to get the two of us through this alive.

The Sins We Hide taste....

Have you read the first book in my Iron Outlaws MC series yet?

Try this on for size. Clutch "Landon" is the Vice President of the Iron Outlaws MC and his best friend and President's sister has just come back to the club unexpectedly.

The Sins We HideScarlett Cole


Landon wears a cut with the road name Clutch. When his eyes meet mine, there’s a spark of recognition. Familiarity.
I’ve missed him more than my brother.
A fleeting flash of warmth to offset the aggressive air-conditioning that’s making my nipples peak.
At least that’s what I hope is causing it. Not the man who was a boy I once loved with my tender teenage heart.
His gaze turns to contempt.
His knuckles are bloodied and raw. There’s a cut above his eyebrow, and a hickey is blooming on his neck.
He’s filled out. When I left, he was still a scrawny thing who didn’t fill out his T-shirt. To put some distance between us, I mentally decide to call him Clutch.
As Clutch walks towards me, I realize he’s taller than Uther now. He’s got to be six and half feet with change to spare. He’d fit right in at one of those scripted wrestling events. Bulked up, long hair with an undercut, a beard, and still devilishly handsome.
“We killing her or welcoming her back?” Clutch asks without taking his eyes off me. I’m confused by what I see in them.
“I haven’t decided. Yet,” Uther adds, ominously.
“Why’s she here?”
“This let’s-pretend-Gwen’s-not-here shit is grating on my last nerve. I can speak for myself. Ask me the questions. He barely knows more than you right now.”
Clutch looks over his shoulder to my brother. “Feisty.”

Want more, get it here - http://www.scarlettcole.com/ironoutla...

Clutch is waiting for you 🔥

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Chapter Two

It’s pretty funny that Mötley Crüe’s classic, “She Goes Down,” is blasting as I watch a once attractive, now strung out, young girl on her knees in the corner of the clubhouse sucking off a balding biker with an out-of-control gray beard.
But it proves one thing.
I’m in the right place.
Nobody recognizes me. Because it’s been fifteen years since I was last here as a thirteen-year-old, dancing in my sneakers to Springsteen. I remember that night, wishing Landon would look at me instead of goofing off with my brother.
Witness protection has required a certain amount of practiced anonymity. The art of blending in.
It kept me safe from those who’d do me harm.
At least I thought it did.
Whatever secret my mom had been carrying found us in Cleveland, Ohio, and took her from me. I put her in the ground this morning and drove into the night to get to New Jersey. No cops nor federal marshals had protected us in the end.
And sometimes, the only safe place to be is right in the middle of the vipers’ den.
Or in my case, the home chapter of the Iron Outlaws. It’s everything I remember. Tile floors, a wood-paneled bar, beat-up sofas, and too many girls waiting to become some guy’s property like my mom was once. Cigarette smoke lingers near the ceiling. Bikers, too drunk or high to notice, just let me walk through.
Funny what red lipstick, decent breasts, and a smile can do.
I look around with vague recollections of people I knew fifteen years ago until I see a face like my own. Same high cheekbones, only his blue eyes look arctic, while I’ve been told mine look like a tropical storm. Nonidentical twins who look alike. It would be funny if it weren’t so tragic.
“You with someone?” A voice to my left steals my attention. The stink of sweat precedes him. His patch says his name’s Buck. The gray hair and haggard lines on his face say he’s nearing sixty. A dirty old man believing it’s my relationship status that will stop me sleeping with him, not the fact he looks like the back end of a cement mixer.
“Yes.” It’s a simple enough answer.
“You sure, girl?”
Girl.
Urgh. I’m so over being here already. The scent of tobacco and cheap aftershave makes me want to heave.
I look over to my brother. To the man who hasn’t seen me since I was thirteen. His eyes catch mine. A passing glimpse. A double take. And then he marches to me, fury etched on his features.
But I stand my ground.
This isn’t the first time in the last week I’ve stood my ground with a man whose face and actions said he wanted to murder me. I’m relying on genetics and faith that he won’t kill me until I’ve had a chance to explain.
“I was talking to her,” Buck says, stepping in front of me. I’d like to believe chivalry isn’t dead, that he’d stand between me and my brother to impress me. To win me because I’m precious. To save me. But the bottom line is I know he’s just looking for an easy lay.
My brother simply shoves him out of the way. “She’s my sister, dickhead.”
I raise my hand to wave. “Hey, Uther.”
“What the fuck are you doing here, Gwen?”
I know. Uther and Gwen . . . as in Uther Pendragon and Guinevere. The dog got Lancelot. No one called Dad Arthur, just Prez. It’s what happens when a badass biker sweeps a theatre kid off her feet and knocks her up all in the same day.
It’s also weird because Arthur married Guinevere in the stories, but no one else seems bothered by that.
“I need to see Dad.”
The guy getting the blow job comes with a groan as the woman coughs and splutters around his dick. Mascara-loaded tears leave tire marks down her face.
I feel like gagging with her. It’s gross.
“Why?” Uther leans toward me, his cut flapping open to reveal his gun.
“That’s between me and Dad. I need to talk to the organ grinder. Not the monkey.”
Uther points to the patch on his cut.
President.
Also, he has a road name. King.
“You’re looking at the organ grinder.”
My hands shake. I had a plan. Come here. Tell Dad everything. Hope he realized none of it was my fault but that by the time I was eighteen, I felt so removed from this life, from him, that I couldn’t imagine a life with him in it. What few stories Mom had shared made the life sound horrific. They scared me so much, I never tried to come back, even though I knew where he was.
“What happened to Dad?” I scan the room again. Perhaps I missed him.
“Why are you asking?”
Tears sting my eyes. “I buried mom this morning.”
“She’s dead?”
“Shot.” I lift the hem of my T-shirt just enough so he can see the dressing on my side. “And me.”
“Jesus.” He tugs at his hair before yelling, “Someone get my VP. My office.”
A guy in a prospect cut disappears down the hallway while Uther tips his chin. “This way.”
We walk to his office. It doubles as the place where they gather as a collective.
Church.
The most sacred meeting place in a motorcycle club. A club that believes sacrament is shared in the form of cash, truth, and beatings. Monastic in its brotherhood and satanic in its goals.
I stand on the threshold, terrified that by following him inside, I’ll be part of all this.
“We don’t bite,” Uther mutters, so I step inside.
I run my fingers over the worn leather seat pushed up against a solid table that looks carved from a single piece of wood. I hear the strike of a match, the hiss of a flame, and the crinkle of cigarette ash.
The scent of sulphur and smoke mixes with leather.
“Where the fuck have you been?” he asks.
I get the dance we’re about to do. Information is power. So I don’t answer him. “What happened to Dad?”
“Hit by a truck on his bike. Buried him this morning.”
The words hit me as surely as a physical blow.
I missed getting to see my father by days. Unexpected tears sting the corner of my eyes. I hadn’t seen him in over half my life. I didn’t know him as an adult. And yet . . .
A man stumbles in wearing jeans, a cut, and no shirt. “Fuck, brother. I was balls deep in Suze. What’s so urgent?”
With the cigarette between his fingers, Uther points in my direction.
Landon wears a cut with the road name Clutch. When his eyes meet mine, there’s a spark of recognition. Familiarity.
I’ve missed him more than my brother.
A fleeting flash of warmth to offset the aggressive air-conditioning that’s making my nipples peak.
At least that’s what I hope is causing it. Not the man who was a boy I once loved with my tender teenage heart.
His gaze turns to contempt.
His knuckles are bloodied and raw. There’s a cut above his eyebrow, and a hickey is blooming on his neck.
He’s filled out. When I left, he was still a scrawny thing who didn’t fill out his T-shirt. To put some distance between us, I mentally decide to call him Clutch.
As Clutch walks towards me, I realize he’s taller than Uther now. He’s got to be six and half feet with change to spare. He’d fit right in at one of those scripted wrestling events. Bulked up, long hair with an undercut, a beard, and still devilishly handsome.
“We killing her or welcoming her back?” Clutch asks without taking his eyes off me. I’m confused by what I see in them.
“I haven’t decided. Yet,” Uther adds, ominously.
“Why’s she here?”
“This let’s-pretend-Gwen’s-not-here shit is grating on my last nerve. I can speak for myself. Ask me the questions. He barely knows more than you right now.”
Clutch looks over his shoulder to my brother. “Feisty.”
“Apparently. She’s also got a gunshot wound and buried my mom this morning.”
Clutch looks back at me. The words seem to cut through the drunken haze. “That right?”
I pat the dressing beneath my T-shirt gently. “That’s right.”
“Fuck,” Clutch says as he strokes his beard. “I’m gonna need coffee.” He sticks his head out the door and yells at someone to get some, while my brother glares at me.
He’s older. By eleven minutes. It doesn’t sound like a lot, but it means he was born just before midnight on the last day of winter, while I was born on the first day of spring. And when we were young, my brother was my whole world. But standing here, uncertain if he’s going to kill me and bury me under the patio, I’m not going to tell him that I’ve felt as though a limb has been missing for most of my life.
People talk about the twin thing. Finishing each other’s sentences. An awareness when the other is hurting. Even without his presence, I’ve felt it like a throbbing phantom pain. Mom never talked about him. She would never explain why she made the call to leave Dad, and to leave her other child behind. I tried to ask over the years, but she refused to tell me. Said it was better if I didn’t know, said I’d be safer.
I look at the hammer and gavel on the table and silently curse her for leaving me in this situation.
If I’d known, I might have been able to stop her death.
If I’d known, maybe I wouldn’t be here.

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HOT EXCERPT FROM LOVE IN NUMBERS

Who'd like to see a flirty excerpt from LOVE IN NUMBERS?? You would? Well, your wish is my command. I hope you love Connor and Emerson as they battle over Dyer's Gin Distillery as much as I do.

“The tasting rooms are open every day. We do light lunches and flights of gin. We have cocktail classes, book clubs.” Emerson pushed the door open to the tasting rooms and Connor was immediately impressed.
A long, rustic wood bar stood in the middle of the room with twelve chrome high-back stools in ivory leather flanking each side. One of the walls had been left as red brick, the others were smooth cream. The floor was a terracotta-colored tile, offset by low hanging lights with burnt orange blown glass shades. Floor-to-ceiling windows lined one wall, and the trees in the courtyard outside were hung with thousands of fairy lights, giving the whole place a magical feel.
She turned to Connor. “Take a seat, and let me take care of you.”
Lord, if she only knew just how willing he was to let her take care of him.
He wanted her hands on him, and his on her body. Seeing her, kissing her again, no matter how briefly, only fueled that.
From the moment Connor had pulled his dark gray Mercedes into the Dyer’s Gin Distillery parking lot and turned off the engine, he’d had to cool his heels.
He’d forced himself to study the sign on the wall of the distillery. In shades of sage, white, and gold, it gave the impression of something timeless, something traditional yet with a contemporary flair.
But even as he forced himself to absorb his first impression of a distillery he still considered a potential asset or investment, his mind had wandered to Emerson of the pretty brown eyes and soft hands, who appeared in his thoughts when he least expected it.
He’d thought of her when he was grocery shopping. Buying a steak for one had seemed almost pitiful when he could have been following his father’s retro Steak Diane recipe for two. He’d thought of her while he swam laps in an attempt to assuage some of the anger from his father’s announcement.
And it was the reason he was here. He’d spent the afternoon responding to his father’s bombshell seventy-two hours earlier. Cameron had lost his shit when Connor removed his access to Connor’s team of analysts. It was a petty but painful slap to Cameron, who ran his own P&L and had his own staff. If Cameron thought he was so smart, let him wrap up the quarter without any assistance from Connor’s team.
He’d cancelled his own attendance at any meeting his uncle was in, leading to his father’s intervention. In the end, he’d given his father two alternatives. Either it was okay for him and his uncle to never be in the same room again, or his father had four weeks to figure out whether he wanted to keep Cameron or Connor.
His father let the meeting cancellations stand.
At first, Connor had plans to go to the gym or the pool again to work the frustration out of his system. He’d even been on his way there. But then he’d thought of Emerson and his world had temporarily righted itself.
And watching Emerson as she slipped behind the bar and leaned toward him, he knew he’d made the right call. Her smile had already brightened his mood.
Her long hair fell over her shoulder. “Do you have to drive home? I can lock your car in the owners’ lot with mine.”
He reached forward and tucked it behind her ear, taking a moment to trail his fingers along the smooth expanse of skin. The rest of her skin would be that smooth, he knew it. The dip of her back, the valley between her breasts. And fuck, if the idea didn’t make his dick start to harden.
“Are you propositioning me?”
“Oh,” Emerson said, her cheeks going pink. “No. I just…well, alcohol and all that.”
Connor laughed. “I was just teasing, Emerson. I’m in no rush…for dinner or anything else. I’m happy to go with whatever pace you are at. Yes, I can leave my car.”
Her shoulders relaxed. “Phew. Okay. Good. Right, menu,” she said, pulling up a short menu attached to a brown clipboard. “What do you feel like? I can do pretty much anything on there, except the risotto.”
He scanned the list quickly, more interested in Emerson than his stomach. “How easy is the pizza?” Sure, it would fuck up his macros for a few days, but the idea of pizza and Emerson was the perfect combination for the mood he was in.
“Simple, give me twenty minutes to pop them in the oven and make a salad.”
“Can I come help?”
“Let me do this,” she said. “I’ll be back before you know it.”
He watched her as she walked toward what he assumed was the kitchen. The jeans she wore fitted her to perfection and watching her ass wasn’t going to do anything to ease the ache.
Instead, he focused on what she’d told him about the distillery and their need for investment. Usually it was easy for him to make a decision, to see a path. And he could certainly see several avenues the distillery could take to grow and be successful.
His brain told him a woman he’d only known for ten days shouldn’t even be in the equation. But the more he got to know her, the more his gut told him Dyer’s shouldn’t be involved in his acquisition plans at all if he wanted the two of them to work.
For once, he was conflicted by the morality of his thoughts.
And it didn’t sit well.
He’d always been a business-first guy. Hate the game, not the player. But the idea of doing something that affected Emerson curdled his gut. The idea that she could already be affecting him was equally unsettling, but when she reappeared from the kitchen twenty minutes later, he couldn’t deny it.
They ate their food, discussing innocuous things. And when the plates were cleared, Emerson resumed her place behind the bar.
“Do you always put ice in whiskey?” she asked as she pulled out a number of glasses and placed them in front of him.
The way she asked made him assume there was a correct answer, and his competitive streak wanted to get it right. “Mostly, yes. On the rocks.”
“Hmm. Okay. Do you ever drink gin neat, or always with a mixer?”
He’d obviously failed the first one. “A splash of mixer, unless I’m considering doing business with the producer. Then I’ll try samples without.”
Emerson bit her lip. “Okay.” The words were drawn out slowly…every syllable sounded out.
He reached for her hand and lifted it to his lips, kissing each of her fingertips. “You going to tell me where I’m going wrong?”
She studied where his lips touched her skin. He put the tip of her finger into his mouth and sucked on it, watching her bite her lip.
“Emerson?”
“Urgh, you’re distracting me. Focus, Finch.” She whipped her hand out of his and turned to select a gin. He could see her thought process as she worked, her fingers tapping, reaching for, and then discarding bottle after bottle before she settled on one.
“This is a classic London Dry Gin, which, as you probably already know, is a type of gin which originated in London but can be made anywhere. It’s all about the juniper berries. This glass,” she said, holding up the wide-bowled wine glass, “is a Copa de Balon-style glass from Spain.” She ran her fingers down the stem gently, and he could only imagine her caressing his dick in the same way. “It gives the gin room to simply be.”
He placed his fingers over hers and raised an eyebrow to let her know he knew she was teasing him. When she bit her lip in response, he almost tugged her over the bar so he could enjoy the taste of her again.
Emerson poured a splash of gin in each wine glass and offered a glass to him. “Swirl it gently and then put your nose to the glass. Sniff it, but don’t inhale aggressively. It’s easy to lose the differentiation of the scents with gin, so you need to breathe easy.”
Connor followed her lead. He’d been to tastings before, but not any conducted in the altogether sultry manner that Emerson was carrying out this one.
She closed her eyes and inhaled gently, letting out a small moan of appreciation. Then her eyes snapped forward. “Go ahead,” she instructed, and Connor was suddenly aware that Emerson had mesmerized him into inaction.
He did as he’d been instructed, inhaling gently. The fresh piney, almost sappy scent of juniper hit him first. But with the slower, shorter inhale, he could pick out something else. “What’s the earthier scent?”
“Angelica. Juniper and angelica can often be difficult to separate, but we have a secret way of distilling them that allows both flavors to come through. Now the fun part. Take a sip, and before you swallow, let it roll right around your mouth. Over your tongue. Under it. Coat the inside of your mouth with it.”
Fuck. The words from her mouth, from those full lips. Swallowing. Tongues. Coating their mouths. She looked at him from beneath long eyelashes. Prolonged foreplay had never felt so damn satisfying.
Connor took a sip and let the bite of ethanol and burst of flavors swish around his mouth, watching as Emerson did the same.
Lemons, maybe…dear god, the way her lips pursed and cheeks moved…no, maybe orange, definitely citrus…and the moan she made when she swallowed.
He swallowed, too. The gin was great, the foreplay better.
Connor wished the bar wasn’t between them. He wanted to pull her into his arms, but he settled for leaning across the bar, sliding his hands into her hair, and pulling him to her. When they kissed, he could taste the gin on her lips. Her tongue met his as boldly as the gin had done, bursting with life and flavor.
Her hand went around his neck, tugging him toward her, and he had half a mind to take her on the bar. Only the recollection that they were in her workplace stopped him from acting upon it.
When they finally broke for air, Emerson grinned. “When I said let it roll over the tongue, I meant yours, not mine.”
“It tasted better on yours,” he said. “I needed a second opinion on the citrus.”
Emerson laughed, a sound he’d already come to adore. “You could have just asked. Citrus aurantium, bitter orange peel.”
“And where would the fun be in that?” He reached for her hand again, seemingly unable to stop touching her. “I look forward to doing that again many more times this evening.”
They were silent for a moment, eyes fixed on each other.
“I’d like that, too,” she said at last. “Ready for another?” she said, tilting her head in the direction of the bottles of gin behind the bar.
Connor nodded discretely and adjusted himself below the bar. The woman was effervescent as tonic and as deep as gin. And there was no place he would rather be—no matter how much it would anger his father—than right here with Emerson.
“I’d love one.”

Add to Goodreads TBR: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/5...
Amazon US: https://amzn.to/3kxiV2Q
Amazon UK: https://amzn.to/3iKoH0B
Nook: https://bit.ly/2FV0w12
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Apple: https://books.apple.com/us/book/id153...
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LOVE IN NUMBERS AVAILABLE NOW!

This little beauty is OUT NOW, and I can't wait for you all to read it! I'm beyond excited LOVE IN NUMBERS is out in the world as it involves my two favourite things... Gin and Romance!! I hope you get a chance to read it!

Connor isn’t in the market for messy.
His life is going completely according to plan. He’s set to become CEO of his family’s company, his Ironman time is better than ever, and his regular poker nights with the guys are his one night a month he can stop worrying about counting macros and indulge himself. What he doesn’t need is a relationship with Emerson Dyer—daughter of his father’s lifelong enemy and most-hated rival.

Emerson’s life is nothing but messy.
Since her father died, leaving her CEO of their gin distillery, everything that could go wrong has gone wrong. Emerson is barely holding it together—what she doesn’t need is a complication like Connor Finch. Sure, his abs do look like they’ve been photoshopped, but she has no time to spend counting them. It’s her company’s numbers she should be worrying about. Still, there’s something about the way he makes her feel.

Together, they’re perfect.
Connor knows he and Emerson don’t make sense on paper. Too many differences between them—and one big secret that could destroy Emerson’s family business tells him to cut and run. But for once in his life, Connor doesn’t care about messy or imperfect—because the fact is, Emerson is the one perfect thing he needs in his life. Now if he can only convince her . . .

Add to Goodreads TBR: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/5...
Amazon US: https://amzn.to/3kxiV2Q
Amazon UK: https://amzn.to/3iKoH0B
Nook: https://bit.ly/2FV0w12
Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/love...
Apple: https://books.apple.com/us/book/id153...
Google Play: https://bit.ly/3o1I2NI

Photography: Wander Aguiar
Model: Lucas Loyola
Cover Design: Letitia Hasser at RBA Design

COMING OCTOBER 19TH!!

Love in Numbers (Book One in the Love Distilled series)

Meet Connor Finch and Emerson Dyer in an enemies-to-lovers romance with a twist.

If you follow me on social media, you'll know I've had to take an unplanned absence from writing romance due to a life detour. But I'm back, feeling so much better, and can't wait for you to read LOVE IN NUMBERS! With so many books out each week, I hope you get the chance to read it. And if you do, I hope you love it! I'm so looking forward to hearing what you think of it.

Connor isn’t in the market for messy.
His life is going completely according to plan. He’s set to become CEO of his family’s company, his Ironman time is better than ever, and his regular poker nights with the guys are his one night a month he can stop worrying about counting macros and indulge himself. What he doesn’t need is a relationship with Emerson Dyer—daughter of his father’s lifelong enemy and most-hated rival.

Emerson’s life is nothing but messy.
Since her father died, leaving her CEO of their gin distillery, everything that could go wrong has gone wrong. Emerson is barely holding it together—what she doesn’t need is a complication like Connor Finch. Sure, his abs do look like they’ve been photoshopped, but she has no time to spend counting them. It’s her company’s numbers she should be worrying about. Still, there’s something about the way he makes her feel.

Together, they’re perfect.
Connor knows he and Emerson don’t make sense on paper. Too many differences between them—and one big secret that could destroy Emerson’s family business tells him to cut and run. But for once in his life, Connor doesn’t care about messy or imperfect—because the fact is, Emerson is the one perfect thing he needs in his life. Now if he can only convince her . . .

Add to Goodreads TBR: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/5...

Amazon US: https://amzn.to/3kxiV2Q
Amazon UK: https://amzn.to/3iKoH0B
Nook: https://bit.ly/2FV0w12
Other retailers to follow!!

Photography: Wander Aguiar
Model: Lucas Loyola
Cover Design: Letitia Hasser at RBA Design