"I don't fuck girls who can't listen," she carefully whispered, pulling back to gauge my narrowed reaction before she continued, "Maybe be a good girl next time." And just like that she went to pull away. Well, that was before I wrapped my toned legs around her torso and roughly pulled her back into me. Again, I hate being told no. ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ After getting involved with Noa Vitali, a mafia boss to whom her older brother was an underboss to, Lunden Spade finds herself striking up an explicit deal, piquing both of their interests. Will Lunden find her limits being pushed entirely too far for her liking? And more importantly... Will she like it?

When aspiring writer Marcie is hired as the personal assistant to her all-time favorite author, Rosalind Lindbergh, she expects to be learning the ins and outs of the industry - not fending off red-hot feelings that aren't exactly "workplace appropriate." Season 1 of Romancing The Writer *** Willing to do anything to prove she has it together, unemployed writer/perpetual screw-up Marcella Harper somehow manages to land her second-place dream job: personal assistant to her personal hero, best-selling author Rosalind Lindbergh. Brutally dumped less than 24 hours after her first day, Marcie discovers that there may be no better distraction than her new job ... and new boss. After all, Marcie has had a crush on über-famous, ultra-hot Roz since high school. And - although she promised Marcie their relationship was strictly professional - Roz might just be returning her awkward, bumbling advances. When lines begin to blur and career prospects end up on the line, Marcie is sure of one thing: either she gives up on her dreams, or her dream woman. "You know, they have tutorials online for this kind of thing," I tell her. "You know, I hired a personal assistant for this kind of thing," she retorts. And then, we both stand there, awkwardly close. We watch the coffee sputter, then begin to pour. Neither of us utters a word. And, when it's done pouring, neither of us reach for it. "Are you ... not gonna take your coffee?" I finally ask. It's quiet. Tentative. "Oh. Right."