“I love this author, her writing is crisp, clear, flawless, and her story-telling is brilliant.”
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Falling in love happens accidentally, in the span of a heartbeat, igniting desire, vulnerability and dreams of happily ever after.

An Excerpt from Her Foolish Work Flirtation:

At least her name is memorable. Imogen Smith. I watch her step out of the car and swing the door shut. She looks like the photograph Kate sent. Blonde hair, slim and on the taller side. She proceeds to remove her luggage from the boot. My employees know they are permitted one backpack, which must be light enough to take anywhere. She has four suitcases. Four.


I step off the porch. “I wouldn’t bother removing the rest of your belongings.”

She smiles, and my chest tightens. “Pardon?”

Imogen Smith has shiny blonde hair, inquisitive blue eyes, and enough makeup to gloss the front of a fashion magazine.

“You don’t need all that baggage.”

She closes the boot and taps on the car. The compact car pulls away and shoots down the driveway.

“The driver didn’t even get out?” I’m frowning and cannot keep the irritation out of my voice.

She shrugs, picks up all her suitcases, and approaches the porch. “Uber drivers don’t usually assist with bags.”

Stopping in front of me, she puts down her luggage and sticks out her hand. “Hi there. I’m Imogen. My friends call me Immy. As I’m sure you know, Kate sent me to help with the event this weekend.”

I hold back what I want to say and instead say, “You mean to put together the event.”

She retracts her hand and asks, “And you are?”

“I’m part of the Bespoke Event team. Sent to greet you.” I want to remain anonymous and not take on the emotional work of curating my mother’s wedding.

She moistens her lips. “Kate said the company doesn’t have any employees as of yet.”

Instead of giving her my full name, I use my legal name. “That’s right. I’m Lorimer. Technically, I work for Bespoke Adventures.”

She smiles, and her perfect white teeth make me think of an American. She probably spent her adolescent years wearing braces and her twenties using whitening products. But it has worked for her. She is stunning.

She pushes a stray curl away from her face. “That’s such a coincidence. I live on Lorimer Street in Brooklyn.” Her light, airy tone and disarming dimples get under my skin.

I raise my eyebrows. “I’ll show you the house.” I ignore her insane luggage.

Struggling up the steps, she says behind me, “I’m relieved you’re not Alex Stern. I heard he is somewhat of an egomaniac. Kate warned me not to overpack, but I wanted to be prepared for anything. I did worry if he came, he’d lose his mind.”

I want to lose my mind but hold the door for her instead. “It’s company policy to pack light, pack smart, and be ready for anything.”

She shrugs. “I know. Kate is a good friend. She told me to pack light, but I can be a little indecisive and wanted the right clothing.”

I attempt to keep my voice neutral. “You describe yourself as indecisive?”

She puts her luggage down in the foyer. “I know it’s not a good trait, but it’s who I am. I’m working on it, though.”

I shouldn’t ask, but I can’t help myself. “How so?”

She squints at me, saying, “What do you mean?”

I flick my hand. “How are you taming your indecisiveness?”

She crosses her arms. “Learning to be comfortable with myself, I guess.”

I rub the back of my neck. “By tacking on, ‘I guess,’ you made your point hesitant or indecisive.”

She shrugs again. “I guess.”

I hold up both of my hands. “Stop. I suggest getting rid of ‘I think, I guess’ and any other prevarication in your speech. Start with that.”

“I like you, Lorimer. You’re straightforward. And I’m happy to have someone to help me sort out this event.”

“You’re mistaken. I’m not here to help you. I’ll show you the space and you’ll figure it out from there. Follow me. We’ll start with the ballroom.”

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