Every day at 5am, a big-hearted socialite returning from her night out, and an uptight divorce attorney starting his day cross paths in the lobby of their apartment building, where sparks fly and walls begin to crumble.


Walk of Shame

Georgie & Andrew's Love Story

A Sexy Standalone Romantic Comedy



  • This book is not available in paperback, per decision of the publisher, Penguin Random House.
  • Rated R. Steamy, with explicit sex scenes.
  • This book is written in first-person, featuring mostly the heroine's POV.


An Amazon Best Book of the Month and USA TODAY Bestseller


Pampered heiress Georgianna Watkins has a party-girl image to maintain, but all the shopping and clubbing is starting to feel a little bit hollow—and a whole lot lonely. Though Georgie would never admit it, the highlights of her week are the mornings when she comes home at the same time as her uptight, workaholic neighbor is leaving to hit the gym and put in a long day at the office. Teasing him is the most fun Georgie’s had in years—and the fuel for all her naughtiest daydreams.

Celebrity divorce attorney Andrew Mulroney doesn’t have much time for women, especially spoiled tabloid princesses who spend more time on Page Six than at an actual job. Although Georgie’s drop-dead gorgeous, she’s also everything Andrew resents: the type of girl who inherited her penthouse instead of earning it. But after Andrew caps one of their predawn sparring sessions with a surprise kiss—a kiss that’s caught on camera—all of Manhattan is gossiping about whether they’re a real couple. And nobody’s more surprised than Andrew to find that the answer just might be yes.


“You’re late today,” I say, offering him a bite of my donut.

He ignores the donut. “Says the woman who didn’t show at all yesterday.”

“Someone’s keeping track.”

“Someone’s playing games. I don’t like games, Georgiana.”

“Which is why you need to play them, Andy.”

He blinks. “It’s Andrew.”

“Hmm. How about Drew?”

“No.” The word is a growl. “Georgiana.”

“Yes, Andy?”

He exhales, “I’m going to kill you.”

I can’t help the laugh. “See, I don’t think so.”

“Don’t you?”

“Nope,” I say, sucking sugar off my thumb, “You don’t send flowers to someone you’re going to kill.”

“Maybe they were for your funeral.”

I beam up at him. “So are we doing this?”

“Your funeral? God, I hope so.”