One week of (fake) romantic bliss? The challenge is simple. The chemistry between them isn’t.

Soon, Callie and Dash are caught up in the act of a lifetime - and the sparks are anything but make-believe. Can these opposites find a way to attract? Or will a weekend in Palm Beach, a scheming ex, and a frisky goat be the formula for trouble?

Find out in another laugh-out-loud Billionaire Bachelor story from “the reigning Queen of romantic comedy” Lila Monroe!

Billionaire Bachelors Series:

1. Very Irresistible Playboy

2. Hot Stuff

3. Wild Card

4. Man Candy

5. Mr Casanova

6. Best Man

7. Maverick Mogul

8. Renegade Roomie

9. Baller Boss

10. One-Week Wingman

11. Charming CEO

1

Callie

“I’m looking for Orgasm?”

“Aren’t we all?” I grin at the Lululemon-clad customer who’s just arrived at the counter, but she just stares at me blankly. “It’s OK,” I add, since she’s not in a joking mood. “I have exactly what you need.”

I head behind the counter to fetch the lady the orgasm she so desperately needs. From afterglow to allure, and everything in-between, anyone listening in might think that I’m the gatekeeper to a secret underground kink club or the owner of a sex shop empire. Close. See, working the makeup counter at New York’s classiest department store—I’m not selling sex, but something just as wild, transformative, and liberating.

Beauty. Or, as I like to look at it: Confidence. Because if you haven’t had a real orgasm to put that satisfied glow in your cheeks, then I’ve got the next best thing. And there’s nothing like stepping out into the world feeling like your best, most gorgeous self to make everything else fall into place.

I’m bending down to grab the blush when the customer adds, “I’ll need all of this stuff, too.” She proceeds to rattle off a list of products as long as my credit card bill. My eyes widen in excitement. I love helping out with a shopping spree. Plus, more products means a bigger commission for me.

Win win.

“Coming right up!” I quickly bustle around, collecting her haul. “Special occasion?” I ask, friendly. The shoppers at Fleishman’s Department Store are usually ladies of leisure, and this one is no exception, from the spotless white tennis outfit to the diamond studs glinting at her earlobes.

The woman sniffs. “No, they’re for my daughter. She got her father’s looks,” she adds with a sigh. “She needs all the help she can get.”

Yikes. I bite back a retort. “Well, she’s lucky to have you to buy all of these for her,” I say tactfully instead, as I pull out sheets of our trademark peach tissue paper to wrap the goods. “I would have loved it if my mom funded my makeup habit! It might have saved me from making some truly heinous choices in the drugstore aisles. Neon-green Wet ‘n’ Wild mascara, anyone?”

The woman frowns. At least, I think she’s frowning. It’s tough to read facial expressions on a forehead that’s been Botox’d into submission. “You think I’d let her pick her own? She’s twelve.”