The devil—aka her new besties—made her do it.

Newly divorced, forty-five, and desperate for a reboot, Carly drops the last of her cash on a self-help seminar. But instead of the promised inspiring message, the speaker tells the audience to find power through lifting up men. Which Carly used to believe…until her ex dumped her for a younger woman.

Carly isn’t the only one who rebels. The four women who walk out become instant friends.

As they’re drowning their disappointment with cocktails, a surprise from Carly’s past walks into the bar. It’s Andrew, the thirtysomething son of her frenemy. He’s handsome, funny, vulnerable, and far too young to make his deliciously shocking proposal.

But Andrew has worshipped Carly from afar for years, fascinated by her beauty, sense of style, and confidence. Now that she’s divorced, he knows fate has brought them together.

Carly’s new friends urge her to accept his forbidden proposal, unaware of the consequences of sleeping with her powerful frenemy’s son.

Letting go of her inhibitions to enjoy a no-strings night with a sexy younger man might be just what Carly needs. Returning to the real world with a secret that could destroy her fledgling career? Not so much.

Crush on this spicy age-gap one-night novella featuring new friendships, bubbly banter, and fantasies come true. Unlike Carly, you won’t regret it in the morning.

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Tropes

• Age gap (she’s older!)
• Longstanding crush
• One-night stand

Chapter 1 look inside

Rule 1: Make Your Own Luck

ANDREW

My dad always said you make your own luck. And in the end, I guess he did. He worked so hard making luck that he dropped dead of a heart attack at thirty-nine.

But I’m a glass-half-full kind of guy, and I figured even though he missed a lot—graduations, weddings, the birth of a grandchild—he did more before forty than most guys did by the time they were eighty. He created a company and a family. He rang the bell at the stock exchange. A theater at a private high school bore his name.

(Though that was because my brother accidentally torched the old one while installing an unauthorized “upgrade” to the lighting system.)

And my dad found true love.

Which was more than I’d done by thirty-two.

I glanced down at my half-full glass of heart-healthy red wine. The Rolex Submariner that peeked out of my Brooks Brothers shirt sleeve. My own lanky frame, kept fit with daily runs and weekend soccer.

Was it worth it, prolonging my lonely life?

Shit, that was dark. And I was never dark.

I stared through the enormous windows of the luxurious hotel bar to the dramatic rocky Monterey shore.

Considering the privilege of that view, a stable job, and a comfortable condo in San Francisco, anyone would call me a lucky guy.

A dark-haired woman passed me at a fast clip. “Fucking garbage,” she muttered. “Treat him like a god, my ass.” I watched her beeline to the bar. She was pretty despite her scarily steely expression. A few years older than me. Maybe that was how she knew what she wanted. Or didn’t want, I guess.

Me? I had all the things a guy my age should want. But something was missing. And I had no clue what it was.

My own company? No, thank you. Even as a teenager, I’d been aware of how much stress that caused my dad. I preferred to work for someone else. Less pressure, almost as lucrative. Instead of hustling on the weekends, I played recreational soccer at Golden Gate Park.

Marriage and kids? Pass. Dad worked his ass off to support four kids and our mother. And when he died, he left me the responsibility of my two little sisters and my grieving mother. Been there, done that, not interested.

I was living exactly the life I wanted. You’d think I’d be happier.

Maybe I needed a dog.

I lifted the glass of red wine and sipped it, wishing for the fiery burn of whisky. Wishing I weren’t alone in a bar on a Sunday night. Wishing for…god knew what.

Raucous laughter caught my ear, and I glanced over my shoulder.

The dark-haired woman sat at a high-top table. She’d been joined by a group of well-dressed women somewhere between my age and my mother’s. The dark-haired woman laughed the loudest, and a blond woman giggled beside her. A woman with her back to me had a mane of red curls that bounced when her shoulders shook.

But what stopped my otherwise-healthy heart was the woman leaning forward beside her, legs crossed in a slim skirt.

I knew that face. That caramel-brown hair with honey highlights swinging over her shoulder, almost kissing the tabletop. Those lush lips painted in the same warm color as always, somewhere between red and pink. Brown eyes that sparkled with intelligence.

I glanced at her left hand. She didn’t wear that monstrosity of a ring anymore. Even the pale imprint of it had faded like it had never weighed her down.

God. Damn. Me.

This wasn’t preparation or foresight. It was pure luck to meet up with her here.

And I was going to take that ball and run with it.

I signaled to the bartender, pointing over my shoulder at their table. “Send them a round on me.”

Thank You!

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All my love,

Michelle

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