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How to end up in Christmas kissing lessons with your downstairs enemy…
Break apartment rules? Guilty.
Send holiday cards to the downstairs neighbor's grandma? Done.
Accidentally become said neighbor's fake girlfriend for a family Christmas photo? Wait, what?
I, Bonnie Miller, am no troublemaker. I’m just an anxious girl trying to keep my emotional support pup in a no-pets apartment building. But my downstairs neighbor is determined to be my personal Grinch and get us both evicted.
Just when I think things can’t get any worse, Elliot Eaton offers me a deal I can’t refuse. Suddenly I’m playing girlfriend and giving mistletoe kisses to my sworn enemy, all to keep my home.
Who knew that breaking one little rule would lead to a fan-mistletoe-tastic holiday?
She's stuck in the broken office elevator under the mistletoe—with the office flirt.
Tolkien fan Amanda isn't just the most efficient worker at the advertising firm, she's also the iciest. At least toward Calvin the consultant and perennial player. He's sown so many wild oats, he could qualify for a farm loan.
So, right before Christmas, when they're stuck in the rickety elevator of Winters Plaza, and the mistletoe above them is demanding a connection, Amanda has no interest.
That is, until he mentions he is desperate for a wedding date—in New Zealand, where her favorite movies were filmed. Suddenly, being a fake girlfriend doesn't sound quite so bad.
Plus, it might give her a chance to give Calvin a little taste of his own medicine.
But, as the wedding party progresses, secrets about Calvin's real character come to light, and the ice queen just might thaw as their chemistry ignites.
Italy is for lovers…and mortal enemies too.
If I can travel Europe with my estranged sisters for three more weeks, I get four million dollars. Okay, I know what you're saying. Poor baby, right? A free European tour isn't exactly a sacrifice.
Unless you have to travel through Italy with Matteo Banelli and his annoying dog that keeps knocking you over. (Hey, I'm short and the dog is big, okay?)
Matteo is everything I despise—cocky, patronizing, and critical. Sure, he's attractive, and his accent may be charming, but it's not like I'm going to fall head over heels because he knows how to make authentic homemade pasta and randomly shows up at my hotel with my favorite gelato.
Or even because he can rip off his shirt and dive into the Tiber after me when his stupid dog knocks me over the Saint-Angelo Bridge. (Seriously. Not my fault that I'm short.)
Italy may be for lovers, but Matteo will always be my enemy.
Now if I can only convince my heart.