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I’m a production assistant for a major movie studio, and I happen to be damn good at my job. So how the hell did I end up as his personal assistant?
Johnny Braylock—even his name makes him sound like a total prick.
He thinks his chiseled abs, massively broad shoulders, rock-hard biceps, and movie star smile can get him whatever he wants…and rumor has it, the tool he’s packing in his pants gets him any girl he wants.
I used to have the biggest crush on him. It was an embarrassing crush. It was one of those crushes where I had a giant poster of him in my bedroom, and I used to tell my mother that one day I would marry him…
That’s before I actually met the 6’1’’ two-hundred pound Welsh God face to face. That’s before he opened his mouth and revealed his true "alpha male", cocky, a*****e self. Apparently, because he’s an ex-marine, a gorgeous movie star, and an MMA fighter means I’m supposed to worship the ground he walks on.
Despite being my teenage movie star crush, the man drives me absolutely, positively nuts. I hate him. It’s quite possible that I hate him more than I’ve hated anyone in my entire life. I hate him twenty-three hours of the day.
It’s that freaking twenty-fourth hour that gets me every time. Why the hell is he so beautiful? Why is his accent so sexy? Why do his insults simultaneously sting and make my body react in unspeakable ways?
And why the hell do I keep coming back…and back…and back for more.