Reeling from a breakup, Taylor reluctantly teams up with her workplace nemesis in order to win back the love of her life, but soon as to choose between winning back Mr. Right or giving into Mr. Wrong.
New York City's hottest bachelors are stirring up trouble in this fun, flirty Oxford Novel, as a love triangle forces a feisty beauty to choose between winning back Mr. Right or giving in to Mr. Wrong.
Taylor Carr has it all - a sleek job in advertising, a stunning Manhattan apartment, and the perfect man to share it with: Bradley Calloway. Even after Bradley dumps her for a co-worker on move-in day, Taylor isn't worried. She'll get her man eventually. In the meantime, she needs a new roommate. Enter Nick Ballantine, career bartender, freelance writer - and longtime pain in Taylor's ass. Sexy in a permanent five-o'clock-shadow kind of way, Nick knows how to push Taylor's buttons, as if he could see right through to the real her.
Nick's always trying to fix people, and nobody could use a good fixing more than Taylor. Sure, she's gorgeous, with mesmerizing silver eyes, but it's her vulnerability that kills him. Now that they're shacking up together, the chemistry is out of control. Soon they're putting every part of their two-bedroom apartment to good use. Then Taylor's ex comes crawling back to her, and Nick figures she'll jump at the chance to go back to her old life - unless he fights for the best thing that ever happened to him.
Determined not to retreat, Taylor turned toward the fridge and pulled out the pitcher of filtered water. When she turned back around, Nick was still standing there, watching her.
She gave him a derisive once-over before reaching up to get a glass from the cabinet. “Don’t you want to change out of the penguin suit?”
When she looked around she saw he was moving slowly toward her, and Taylor was more than a little pissed off to realize that her heartbeat had picked up a little.
The memory of him grabbing her face the other night popped unbidden into her mind, as it had a hundred times since it happened.
It hadn’t been the first time Nick Ballantine had touched her.
It was just the first time he’d touched her when neither of them was seeing someone else.
The distinction was . . . crucial.
Somehow she’d managed to mostly forget about that time she’d asked him out. And the time he’d asked her out.
She’d let herself believe that their bad timing was a sign—fate warning them that they weren’t meant to be anything more than bickering frenemies.
But the other night when he’d touched her, she’d . . . wondered.
Nick stopped a few inches in front of her, not touching, but close enough that she could feel his warmth.
His hand slowly lifted and her mouth went dry, wondering if he would touch her again. Where he would touch her.
It wasn’t until she heard the faint thud of the cabinet closing that she realized he was merely reaching for his own glass.
Wordlessly he pried the pitcher out of her hands, filling his glass, then hers.
When she lifted her eyes to his face again, he was giving her a knowing smirk, and it was exactly what she needed to snap her out of her haze of . . . whatever that had been.