Mr. Big Shot: +One, Book 3 is now available on Amazon, and as always, free to read with your KU subscription!

For Nicholas Coletti, escorting interesting people to business dinners and charity galas isn’t the worst way to spend his evenings, but it’s not exactly a fulfilling career, either. So, when one of those events leads to a job opportunity, he’ll do whatever it takes to land a position with one of the city’s biggest marketing firms.

Fully aware of his reputation for being cold and ruthless, Rhys Quinton didn’t get to where he is by worrying about what people think of him. It’s that no-nonsense attitude and his willingness to take risks that built RQ Creative Marketing into the corporate giant it is today. Well, that, and one simple rule.

Never mix business with pleasure. 
​
It’s a principle that has never failed him, and one he’s never considered breaking. Until now. Because all it takes is one look, and he knows he won’t be satisfied until Nicholas is his.

The elevator came to a stop, and I exited the cab, pausing just inside what appeared to be a waiting room when I realized Fletcher hadn’t followed. “Aren’t you coming?”

“Just you.” He smiled as the doors began to close again. “Good luck.”

Swallowing hard, I turned back to survey the room. A couple of leather sofas and matching armchairs comprised two separate seating areas along one wall. The opposite wall was occupied by a coffee bar and a U-shaped desk made of gleaming chestnut. 

A door next to the elevator accessed the stairwell, while a narrow corridor to the left led to a restroom, both labeled with large, bold signs. As far as I could tell, there were no other offices or meeting rooms on the floor.

Windows that stretched from the baseboards to the ceiling allowed an abundance of natural light to fill the space and offered spectacular views of the city. The back wall directly ahead of me, however, had no windows. Only a few pieces of framed art and a single black door with a gold lever-style handle. 

I stared at the door, my brain whirling with questions.

Was Mr. Quinton expecting me? Should I knock? Did I just take a seat and wait for him to come out of his office? Fletcher was still his assistant. Why wasn’t he there to…assist?

Before I could spiral too deeply into my panic, the door swung open, and an insanely attractive man stepped up to the threshold.

I had seen pictures of Rhys Quinton online, of course, but those photographs hadn’t done him justice. For starters, despite the veins of silver that ran through his dark hair at the temples, he appeared younger in person, especially for someone so well-known and respected in the industry. 

His broad shoulders and powerful frame obstructed most of the doorway, and even from the distance, I had to tilt my head back to meet his gaze. Eyes the most intense shade of steel gray stared back at me, and I fought the urge to squirm under the scrutiny. 

Mentally shaking myself, I surreptitiously blotted my palm on my slacks and crossed the room to offer my hand.

“Nicholas Coletti,” I said, pleased when my voice didn’t waver or crack. “It’s an honor to meet you, Mr. Big Shot.”

The moment the words left my mouth, my head started to spin, and my vision blurred at the edges as I felt the blood drain from my face. While my conscious mind had been practicing what I would say, my subconscious had been thinking that “big shot” had been an appropriate description of my potential employer. Clearly, wires had gotten crossed, and the result had been nothing short of mortifying.
“Mr. Quinton,” I hurried to amend, hoping my face wasn’t as red as it felt.

I wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d walked back into his office and closed the door in my face, but by some miracle, that didn’t happen. While his expression remained utterly impassive, he took my hand and gave it a firm squeeze. 

The handshake went on longer than social etiquette dictated, and when he finally let go, a small part of me felt disappointed at the loss of contact. Which was completely insane, but I chalked it up to nerves. 

He didn’t speak, didn’t step back or usher me inside his office. He just turned and retraced the path to his desk, where he settled into a padded office chair and waited. 

Caught off-guard, it took several seconds for my brain to catch up, and my feet to start moving. I didn’t know if I should close the door behind me or not. I looked to Rhys for some sort of indication, a clue as to what I should do next. He simply continued to stare at me with that infuriatingly blank expression.

I closed the door. 

From there, I hesitated, wondering if I should remain standing or choose one of the twin chairs in front of his desk. Still, Rhys didn’t speak. He didn’t move. He just sat there, his fingers linked together atop his desk, and watched me. 
​
Was this part of the interview? Was he testing me? 

The past four-ish months have been...interesting. There were a lot of good things that happened. A trip to Orlando. A trip to Puerto Rico. A beautiful and extravagant wedding in Houston.

​(Not mine. I got married in a tiny church 20 years ago with less than a dozen people present. The entire thing, including my dress and the rings, cost less than $150.)

 
There was also some not so great stuff that happened. Depression, made worse by Seasonal Affective Disorder. A slipped lumbar disc. A torn LCL (that's the ligament on the outside of your knee.) And can we just talk about the price of eggs for a second?! I wanted to make an angel food cake, but I didn't want to take out a second mortgage. 

Beauty and Bad Blood is still coming. I will finish it. Just not yet. I know I said it would "definitely" be out in November, but well, here we are. Shortly after my last update, I just hit a wall. Ran smack into it like Wile E. Coyote.

This would be around the time I was having what my therapist likes to call a "Major Depressive Episode." 

At her suggestion, I did something I've never done before. I agreed to show myself the same grace and kindness I'd offer to any of my friends who are struggling. I also decided to try an experiment and just write whatever popped into my head. No matter what story, what series, whatever, I would just...write.

​A novel concept, I know. 

This resulted in 7 new story ideas, 4 new WIPs, one completed novella, and another that is almost finished. 

I am currently working on cleaning up Mr. Big Shot, Book 3 of the +One series, and it will be headed to my editor soon. I don't have an exact release date yet, but probably sometime within the next two weeks.

Then, I'll be wrapping up Walking a Tight Trope, the next book in the Blackhaven Manor series. More details on this later, but you can anticipate its release in March. (She says, knowing her track record with deadlines is shit.)

After that, I will be diving back into Beauty and Bad Blood with new enthusiasm. Now that the brain fog is lifting, I know exactly where I went wrong and what I need to do to move forward. I do not know when this book will release. I'm not even going to give an estimate. I feel like I jinx myself every time I do. 

I'm also not going to promise regular updates because, let's be honest, I suck at it. I will, however, definitely post once the books go live. You can also get a notification right to your inbox by subscribing to my newsletter. I'm lazy, and I only send out newsletters when I have a release or an event, so you will never be inundated with emails from me.

Until Next Time!
XoXo - Arden

It was a long time coming, but the second +One book is here. If you missed the first one, no worries. The books in this series can be read as standalones. 

Ex-Boyfriend Material is a light, sweet, friends-to-lovers romance. Patrick and Evan were so much fun to write, and I hope you enjoy getting to know them! 

Evan Lewis doesn’t get people. It’s like everyone is talking in riddles, and no one ever says what they really mean. He’s tired of being alone but navigating the nuances of the dating scene is nothing more than an exercise in frustration.

Luckily, he knows just the person to turn to for help.

The first time Evan walked through the door of his café, Patrick Donovan should have staked his claim then and there. At the time, though, the guy had needed a friend a lot more than he’d needed a date. He never regretted the decision, at least, not until Evan asks for his help in pursing someone else. Now, it’s time to put up or shut up.

There’s just one problem. 

He’s good at temporary, but he has no idea how to be in a committed relationship. Worse, he has one week to figure it out if he wants to prove to Evan that he can be more than just ex-boyfriend material.

~ PATRICK ~
​

I’d just started three fresh pots of coffee when the front door opened, ushering in a gust of wind…and my favorite customer. 

“Hey, Evan.” The rain had slowed to a drizzle, but water droplets still clung to his ebony hair and darkened the shoulders of his gray polo. “What can I get you?”

“Hey,” he echoed, his smile making his eyes sparkle. “I’d like a chicken club panini and a mango green tea, please.” 

I grabbed one of the to-go cups and scribbled his name across it. “You got it. Anything else?”

“That’s it.” He settled quietly onto his usual barstool at the counter and folded his hands together in his lap. 

It had been more than a year since Evan Lewis had moved to our little community, but I could still remember the first time he’d walked into my shop. It had been raining then, too, and he’d been soaked from crown to sole when he’d stepped through the door. He’d apologized profusely for tracking water across the floor, even though every other customer had done the same all day. 

I’d given him a towel, a cup of coffee on the house, and we had talked until closing.
From the moment I’d seen him, I’d been enamored. Tall and lean with big, green eyes framed by thick lashes and set into an angelic face, he was breathtaking. Sure, he was a little strange, and so literal it hurt sometimes, but I’d quickly and easily learned to navigate his idiosyncrasies. In fact, I found the way he just blurted out whatever he was thinking kind of charming. 

I’d had every intention of asking him out that first night, especially after I had learned that he liked men. The more we had talked, though, the more obvious it had become that what he had really needed was a friend. 

Thus, I had checked my libido and taken a step back, letting his actions guide my own. He’d been so shy back then, so reserved, it had taken months to really get to know him, but not once had I ever regretted my decision. 

“So,” Evan said, “I met this guy today.”

Until now.
​

In celebration of the release of One Good Thing, I'm giving away a $25 Amazon Gift Card and an advanced copy of my upcoming release, Purrfect Harmony. 

Use the form below to enter. Contest ends February 28th at midnight CST.

When Greyson Forrester receives an invitation to his cousin’s wedding, he knows he can’t refuse—even if the groom is his ex-fiancé. If he doesn’t go, people might think he still cares, which he doesn’t, thank you very much. Showing up alone isn’t any better, but he has neither the time nor the inclination to jump back into the dating scene. So, what’s a guy to do? Hire a fake boyfriend, of course!

+One isn’t a dating agency. Fine. He’s not looking to make a love connection, just survive one week with even a shred of dignity intact. Then, Jace Harkin walks through the door, and Greyson knows he’s in trouble. Jace is the total package—successful, witty, gorgeous—but falling for him wasn’t supposed to happen. Yet, every smile, every touch, every whispered endearment pulls him in a little deeper until the line between reality and fantasy begins to blur. 
​
Too bad it can’t last. After all, it’s just make-believe, right?

Without waiting for a response, Jace Harkins strolled into the office with an easy, self-assured gait. “You summoned me?”

Sweet baby Jesus, his voice could melt the panties off a nun. Deep and smooth with just a hint of a southern drawl, it pierced right through me, and I kind of forgot how to breathe for a second. 

While his tone radiated sarcasm, the smile on his face when he looked at his sister belied his irritation. I’d thought he had a great smile from his photograph, but it was nothing compared to the real thing. Damn, that picture really hadn’t done him justice. 

“You’re late.” From behind the desk, Anna grinned back. “But since you brought coffee, I’m willing to forgive you.”

Too busy staring at the way his black T-shirt stretched around his bulging biceps, I hadn’t even noticed the drink carrier in his hands. Coming forward, he took one of the plastic cups and placed it on the desk with an unopened straw as he rattled off some complicated name that sounded like it was made of sugar and glitter. 

After thanking him, Anna reached for the drink with one hand while motioning toward me with the other. “Jace, I’d like you to meet Greyson Forrester. Mr. Forrester, this is Jace Harkin.”

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Forrester.” Instead of offering his hand, he nodded at the remaining drinks in the carrier. “I wasn’t sure what your poison was, but you’ve got some options. There’s plain black, an iced caramel macchiato, and a vanilla cold brew.”

I didn’t normally drink coffee, but his gesture was sweet, and I found myself not wanting to disappoint him. “Uh, whichever one tastes the least like coffee.” 

His laugh made my stomach flutter and my pulse skip, and I nearly melted into the floor when he winked at me. “Ah, not a big coffee fan, huh? No worries.” He took one of the plastic cups from the carrier and passed it to me. “Try the macchiato. I think you’ll like it.”

I thanked him as I opened the straw and stabbed it into the lid. Since he was still watching me, I bent my head and took a polite sip. He was right. I did like it. I could practically feel my glucose levels rising, but it was just the right blend of coffee, milk, and sugar. 

“Not bad,” I declared with a smile. “It’s actually pretty good. Thanks.”

Jace nodded as he eased his hip down on the corner of the desk. “So, Mr. Forrester, what is it you do?”

“Please, call me Greyson.” My nerves had mostly settled, making it easier to speak to him without hyperventilating. I couldn’t put my finger on exactly what had changed, but there was just something about him that felt…calming. “I own a shop in Wakefield. The Apothecary.”

He leaned back a little and folded his arms across his chest. “Like a pharmacy?”

I tilted my head from side to side and flopped my hand around in the universal symbol for “kind of, but not really.” I did sell remedies out of my shop, but they were homeopathic and made with organic ingredients. 

“I carry a lot of things in my store. Natural remedies. Organic bath products. Lotions. Lip balms. Things like that.”

As I spoke, I raked my gaze over the numerous tattoos that inked his arms. Part of me wondered how much they’d hurt. Another part of me—namely the part behind the zipper of my jeans—just found them sexy as hell. I’d expected skulls and flames, and while those things were represented in the art, there were also flowers, dragonflies, and an adorable pixie with dark hair and tattered wings. 

They weren’t random. That much I could tell. Some of his tattoos were dark and eerie, others surreal, and some just cute, but they all flowed together like parts of a story, like pieces of his life.

“That’s amazing,” he answered, forcing me to pry my gaze away from the ink. “I’d love to see it sometime.”

His smile was warm, his tone genuine, and I preened a little, surprised by how much this stranger’s approval meant to me. “I’d like that.” I leaned to the side to look at Anna. “Your sister said you’re a business owner as well.”

He glanced over his shoulder, then shook his head as he turned back to me. “Yeah, something like that.” 

He didn’t elaborate, so I let the subject drop and floundered for something else to say. Eventually, I settled on honesty. “I’m guessing this is the part where you’re trying to decide if you’ll take the job or not. So, what else would you like to know?”

His gaze raked over me slowly, intimately, and I fought the urge to squirm under his scrutiny. “Tell me in three sentences or less why you’re here.”

I could do that. No rambling. No apologizing. 

“My ex and my cousin are getting married. I can’t get out of going to the wedding, and I don’t want everyone thinking I’m pathetic. I need someone to pretend to enjoy my company so I can get through it with even a shred of dignity intact.”
​
There, I’d said it. Now, all I could do was wait and hope it would be enough to convince him.

FLIRT is now available from Amazon! Read it free with Kindle Unlimited! 

EXCERPT

The off-limit places turned out to be a library, a large office, and the master suite, all on the upper level. Not being able to enter the library hadn’t stopped Cameron from pressing as close to the glass squares on the French doors as possible to see inside, though. The room was beautiful, a proper library straight from a fairytale with wall-to-wall bookshelves that stretched all the way to the ceiling.

“Would you like to go in?”

Cameron squeaked—actually fucking squeaked like a cartoon mouse—and spun around so quickly he lost his footing and stumbled backwards. The doors rattled in their frame, and he winced when one of the knobs dug into his hip. Heart pounding, throat tight, he lifted his head, his gaze locking with amber eyes so deep he felt as though the floor shifted beneath him.

Never had he experienced such a visceral reaction to mere eye contact, and it did nothing to ease the tightness in his throat or the thundering of his heart. Right then, those eyes sparkled with humor and a hint of mischief. Realizing he should say something instead of just staring like an idiot, he opened his mouth, but every thought he’d ever had abandoned him.

A war started between his body and his mind, and while his brain scrambled to catch up, his body took great pleasure in betraying him. His hands trembled, his legs shook, and a soft gasp escaped as his eyes drank in the sight of the man standing close enough to touch.

Thick, brown hair—wet and limp, likely from a recent shower—fell over a smooth brow. High, defined cheekbones created a perfect symmetry to his angular jaw and square chin, and the shadow of scruff, just a smidgen past five o’clock, added a ruggedness to the otherwise beautiful face.

A thin, white V-neck did little to hide his broad shoulders or muscular chest. The sleeves strained around defined biceps encased in smooth, bronzed skin, and even the fingers wrapped around a black, porcelain coffee mug flexed with a strength that made Cameron’s knees weak. The loose ash-gray sweats hung low on his narrow hips, but the baggy cotton couldn’t completely conceal a pair of thick, toned thighs.

“Take your time,” the stranger teased, his voice a flawless combination of husky and smooth, like raw honey chased by a shot of aged whiskey.
Cameron shivered, even as the heat of embarrassment stung his cheeks. Coughing twice to clear his throat, he pushed away from the library doors. “Sorry, you startled me.” Yes, that sounded reasonable. He held out his right hand. “Cameron Stone.”

The man stared for longer than necessary, a smirk playing at the edges of his mouth. Then he shifted his coffee cup to his opposite hand and took Cameron’s in a lingering embrace that felt too intimate for strangers.

“Asher Dare.”

Cameron had guessed as much, but he figured it would be rude to say so, especially after he’d just been caught checking out the guy. Instead, he settled on saying, “Nice to meet you. Your home is really amazing.” Taking his hand back, he shoved it into the pocket of his dress slacks and curled his fingers into a tight fist. “Why are you selling?”

For a long time, Asher didn’t speak, and Cameron fought not to squirm under the guy’s casual scrutiny. His expression gave away nothing, his features carefully arranged into a mask of neutrality that made Cameron more nervous than outright hostility.

What the hell is he thinking?

“I’m not selling,” Asher finally answered.

“So…the estate sale?”

His T-shirt strained when he lifted his shoulders. “I was bored, and needed a change.” He took a sip of his coffee, then ran his tongue over his full, pink lips. “I needed to make room for something new. This seemed like the simplest way.”

While he tried to match the guy’s indifference, Cameron could feel his brow scrunch together between his eyes. The way he’d said it sounded as though he didn’t really care about the money from the sale. He simply wanted to get rid of a style he no longer found appealing to clear space for new, likely more expensive, things. He made it sound a lot like boxing up a closet full of winter clothes to make room for a summer wardrobe.

“Oh.” Not intelligent or articulate, but it was the best he could do.

“Would you like a tour?”

Cameron couldn’t be sure, but he thought the man might be teasing him. “Thanks, but I’ve already seen everything not restricted.”
​
“You sure?” Yes, there was definitely a teasing lilt to his voice. “We could start with the master suite.”