Everyone thought I had it together. That I was tough and powerful and a take-no-prisoners woman at the top of my industry. And I was. At work. I always sealed the deal, nabbed the contract, and I never failed to get someone to sign on the dotted line. At work, I was the best. My personal life, however, was a wreck. A giant, lonely wreck. Until, Cole. Cole was about as far away from my city girl polish as one could get. A retired hockey player, he wore jeans to my power suits, cowboy boots to my heels, ate simple food to my gourmet. Hell, he even lived on a ranch half the year. And yet . . . he also challenged my mind. Never gave me an inch. Not to mention, he was gorgeous, kind, incredibly insightful and always, always, called me on my B.S. He’d done it when I’d been his agent, and continued to do it every time we talked. He was everything I’d dreamed of . . . and also, everything I was terrified to have.

I lived my life in temporaries. Temporary relationships. Temporary production contracts. Temporary lengths of time in different locations around the world. No ties. No strings. That was better for everyone. Except, Pierce didn’t see it that way, didn’t understand we’d had our temporary fun and it was time to move on. Fifteen years my junior, Pierce was a talented young director, lovely on both the inside and out, great sense of humor, and frankly, he had the best set of abs I’d ever seen on any human. But the key word in the previous statement was young. And circling back to temporary. Except, Pierce had gotten it into his head that he didn’t want temporary. He wanted me and not just in his bed. He wanted me in his life . . . permanently. The scariest part? I was worried I might want that too.

I didn’t do second dates. Not ever. Like never, ever. No judgment, no censure or self-loathing. I took what men were willing to give for one night and moved on. Except for Damon Wood. He was beyond hot and I definitely liked him. But I hadn’t had him. Because I knew if I did once would not be enough. Damon was a photographer by trade and since I was a former model, our paths had crossed plenty. He was professional, sexy as sin, and could have me in stitches at the exact wrong, or depending on the shot he was after, the exact right moment. So aside from his killer personality and gorgeous body, his photographs of me were my favorites. As in I cherished them. More than that, I dreamed about him—about Damon in my bed, against a wall, on the kitchen counter, the shower. And maybe . . . I dreamed about him in my life. As thus, I’d never dipped into the pool that was Damon Wood and never would. No way, no how, no—But then our paths crossed unexpectantly. Then I had a weak moment. Then he ended up naked in my bed. And then . . . he wouldn’t leave.

First came the director yelling, “Action! Next came the actual acting. Last came . . . the end scene. Or at least, that was what I liked to call my job as a publicist to Hollywood’s elite. If my client hit it big, I was the one who’d made that possible. And while being on call twenty-four seven meant I was chronically single, I was fine with that. I’d been in a serious relationship once and had ultimately discovered that I wasn’t cut out for commitment or being tied down or living in a small town. I needed lights and excitement, paparazzi and enough traffic that the air always smelled faintly of exhaust. I definitely didn’t need one Aaron Weaver—my ex-boyfriend and current occupant of my former home and very, very small town in Utah—tying me down or making me feel like the world’s biggest jerk, just because I wanted my life to be something more than open fields and cow patties. But then I had to leave L.A. and go home to my father, to my small town . . . to Aaron. And I discovered there might be much more to him than I’d ever expected. In fact, I discovered that I might have missed out on the best end scene of my life by letting him go at all.

He’s a movie star. I’m just a girl from a small town. He lives in L.A when he’s not traveling the world. I live in Utah, and the furthest I’ve been is a few states away. He’s beautiful. I’m . . . just me. Talbot Green is the man who has everything—fame, money, adoring fans—and I’m just a girl from a small town, childhood friends with his publicist, and looking forward to spending a few days in warm and sunny California. Then I saved his life. In front of the paparazzi. And suddenly, my face is everywhere—on social media, on TV, on magazine covers. Suddenly, I’m not just a girl from a small town, who’s living a small life. Suddenly . . . I belong to Talbot Green, at least in the eyes of the media. And also . . . perhaps in the eyes of Talbot himself. But maybe, just maybe, he belonged to me right back.