| Author: | Virna DePaul | ISBN: | 1230002421124 |
| Publisher: | Books That Rock | Publication: | August 3, 2018 |
| Imprint: | Language: | English |
| Author: | Virna DePaul |
| ISBN: | 1230002421124 |
| Publisher: | Books That Rock |
| Publication: | August 3, 2018 |
| Imprint: | |
| Language: | English |
She won’t be his flavor of the week. But just a taste won’t hurt…right?
Jenna
I love Lee Bowers. And that sucks.
He’s my brother’s best friend, but a bookish nerd like me would never fit into his celebrity-chef, serial-heartbreaker world. I don’t do risks. Lawyering feeds my bank account. Anonymous food blogging feeds my soul.
But one night, in a red-wine-fueled funk, I pour out my feelings in a blog post, safe behind my anonymous mask. And realize too late my drunken fingers hit “Publish” instead of “Delete.”
Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I am screwed.
Lee
At first, I wanted to skewer the popular food critic who brutally lampooned my restaurant—apparently while simultaneously ogling my butt. But you know what? She’s right. The only hands-on time I’ve spent in the kitchen lately involves a hot blonde and, um…a zucchini.
Somewhere between my I’m-gonna-sue fury, and unexpectedly cuddling with Jenna after a night of soul-searing sex, I accidentally discover that blogger’s identity. And my whole life does a screeching 180.
I love Jenna Harrison. And I’m going to prove it to her, one anonymous, sexy text message at a time.
She won’t be his flavor of the week. But just a taste won’t hurt…right?
Jenna
I love Lee Bowers. And that sucks.
He’s my brother’s best friend, but a bookish nerd like me would never fit into his celebrity-chef, serial-heartbreaker world. I don’t do risks. Lawyering feeds my bank account. Anonymous food blogging feeds my soul.
But one night, in a red-wine-fueled funk, I pour out my feelings in a blog post, safe behind my anonymous mask. And realize too late my drunken fingers hit “Publish” instead of “Delete.”
Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I am screwed.
Lee
At first, I wanted to skewer the popular food critic who brutally lampooned my restaurant—apparently while simultaneously ogling my butt. But you know what? She’s right. The only hands-on time I’ve spent in the kitchen lately involves a hot blonde and, um…a zucchini.
Somewhere between my I’m-gonna-sue fury, and unexpectedly cuddling with Jenna after a night of soul-searing sex, I accidentally discover that blogger’s identity. And my whole life does a screeching 180.
I love Jenna Harrison. And I’m going to prove it to her, one anonymous, sexy text message at a time.
