Isla Turner's Top Ten Reasons To Stay Away From Jessie "Freakin" Beckett

I like control.

And I think arrogant cheating men are the devil.

Its why I cofounded Dirty Exes PI, to pin down scoundrels with the tip of my stiletto heel.

My names Isla and I have a confession to make.

I think football players are sexy.

This poses a problem since enemy number one just happens to want to take down my entire company with his massive quarterback hands. Did I mention he has massive hands already? Stupid, who likes big hands anyways? Not this girl!

He wants to destroy me.

I want to end him.

I never lose.

Besides, I've come up with a fool proof plan, I'm a woman on a mission, a woman who likes order, and lists, so I've conjured up a list of ten reasons Jessie Beckett is the absolute worse (I may have been drinking wine, but it was the only way to power through).

10. His eyes crinkle when he smiles. I hate it. It's distracting and I think he does it on purpose just to appear friendly to the elderly. He's satan in sheeps clothing.

9. He has too many abs. I know it seems an unusual thing to be upset about, but theres just too much muscle? It's...disgusting. When he's shirtless I look away and I pray. You know, for his digestive system, theres only one way you get that much muscle, protein shakes, gross.

8. He helps orphaned children. I think it's a ploy for attention, theres no way it's genuine.

7. He's too competitive, which means you always have to have your A game.

6. His kisses are too, passionate (trust me I hate that I even know) it's like you're the sole focus of his entire world which would be fine if you weren't getting kissed on camera in front of hundreds of thousands of Patriots fans!

5. He's arrogant. So. Arrogant. The guy doesn't even need words, he just gives off this smug look and sea's of people part or just pass out completely.

4. His megawatt smile makes my face hurt. No botox in that forehead, it's all huge and ready for the next picture op.

3. He's secretive. Which makes him sketchy, he doesn't want people prying and he thinks I'm the biggest one of them all!

2. His pantry is pathetic, no color, nothing exciting, or fun, and his cereal is all, well dont get me started on his cereal. I actually took care of this point, but it still makes my eye twitch.

1. He had the best fake proposal I will probably hear. Ever. Which just makes him the ultimate bad guy, who does that to a girls heart? When she knows full well it's not real? He's a horrible, horrible human being and I can't wait for everyone to see what I'm talking about when they read Dangerous Exes!

Summary

Isla made one teeny little mistake. Now she and her PI company, Dirty Exes, are being targeted by one seriously angry and furiously sexy ex-quarterback. Jessie freakin’ Beckett. But there’s no way some NFL superhunk is going to take her business away. If only he didn’t make her so hot—and bothered.

Jessie wants payback for a ruined reputation. His plan? Top secret. His hard-to-hide arousal for Isla? Not so much. Especially when they let down their guards and sneak a kiss. Like any juicy scandal, it goes so viral, so fast, that only a good lie can combat the bad press. Mortal enemies in a fling? No way. Um…this is love!

Actually…could it be?

Isla’s not faking it. Jessie can’t. As the game of let’s pretend gets real, Jessie forgets all about revenge. That’s the problem. His plan is already out of his control. Now it could undo everything they’ve been trying to build. Coming clean may be the only thing that can save it.

Excerpt

I was a planner.

I had one Erin Condren planner for work, and another for home and recreational activities like my biweekly running and yoga sessions.

I even mapped out my meals on the front of my fridge in different-colored chalk for each day of the week. I’d never faltered in my routine, I never forgot to highlight, to color code. It was my life.

Until Jessie.

He was the wrench you throw in the perfectly good engine, causing it to sputter to its death.

I picked up the binoculars again, despite Blaire’s heavy sigh. “He’s just … staring right back at us. Leaning against his stupid Tesla like he owns the world. Why is he even driving a Tesla?”

“Why are we mad about his car again?” Blaire asked in a bored voice.

I glanced over my shoulder. “Don’t you have a date with your perfect man-bun-wearing millionaire hotel-empire-owner slash bartender?”

“I love that you actually included the slash.” Blaire laughed. “And yes, yes I do.” She walked over to me and jerked the binoculars from my death grip. “Give it a rest, he’s just trying to get into your head. He’s still pissed about everything that was leaked to the press.”

“That wasn’t our fault and you know it.” I put my hands on my hips. “That was his blood-sucking wife trying to make us and him look bad.”

I’m a professional.

I’m in control.

Breathe in and out.

Everything is fine.

I’m co-partner of one of the premier PI companies in Hollywood.

I’m the Beyoncé of catching cheaters with their pants down.

Everything.

Was.

Fine.

“Right.” Blaire nodded slowly. “But in the end it just made him look stupid in front of the entire world—in front of a world that he’s trying to make a better place through all of his charity endeavors, which means, even though he’s not a terrible person, everyone now thinks he is.”

A headache pulsed behind my temples, I rubbed my head and tried to think of a solution. It’s what I did. I fixed things. I fixed broken marriages, relationships, and if a client was too far gone and in a free fall, I handed them a safety net and made it better.

Yet every time I thought of Jessie Beckett I either wanted to inflict violence on his person, or just … huh, I guess all I really wanted was to fight him.

I was tall.

He was muscular.

I would lose.

He would laugh.

Plus it would mean touching him.

I shivered.

“Cold?” Blaire grinned.

“You’re still here?” I said, confused.

She shoved me toward the door. “Go talk to him, throw up the white flag, and move on. Thanks to the news, we didn’t get the short end of the stick and have a client load that’s going to force us to take on another employee.”

I sagged a bit. “Right, you’re right. Okay, I’ll just tell him it’s over. How hard can it be? He has to be bored out of his mind anyway. He’s been there all day.”

Blaire smiled and then gave me an encouraging nod before walking to her car. I gulped at Jessie and stared him down, all six foot four of him.

There were so many things wrong with him as a human that I was offended just thinking about them.

For one, his eyes were too knowing, like he’d already done a search on every single part of your body that responded to male touch and memorized it just in case he got the chance to corner you.

His light eyes against tan skin, dark hair that was a bit longer in the back curling at the ends and making a girl think about giving them a tug.

And don’t even get me started on his muscular build.

It said one thing, in bold colors above his head, that he put physical perfection above all else and wanted everyone else to not only know it, but comment about it, appreciate it—he basically had a big giant freaking “You’re Welcome” sign hovering over him. And it irritated me.

It irritated me that when I’d tried to get close to him during our investigation, he didn’t play into my hands as easily as I was used to with most of our targets.

And to be honest, it stung a bit that when I dumbly threw myself in his face in order to distract him from Blaire—he looked at me like I was a sad excuse for bait. I’d never had a guy react to me in that way, typically it was easy to distract them, tempt them to default to their cheating tendencies, catch them on camera, and be done. But Jessie … Jessie hadn’t even blinked in interest—if anything, I annoyed him. Which in turn annoyed me, made me try harder to push his buttons, until he relented and we became friends.

He gave me another small wave.

I steeled my gaze and made the slow, painful walk across the street.

From friends.

To enemies.

In one final swipe.

Bastard.

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About the Author

Rachel Van Dyken is a Wall Street Journal, USA Today, and #1 New York Times bestselling author known for regency romances, contemporary romances, and her love of coffee and Swedish fish. Rachel’s also recently inked a deal for her Wingmen Inc. series—The Matchmaker’s Playbook and The Matchmaker’s Replacement—to be made into movies.

A fan of The Bachelor and the Seattle Seahawks (not necessarily in that order), Rachel lives in Idaho with her husband, a super cute toddler son who keeps her on her toes, and two boxers. Make sure you check out her site, www.RachelVanDykenauthor.com, and follow her on Twitter (@RachVD).

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