Billionaires of Manhattan

I'm Vicky, the dog whisperer. (Not really, but that's what my elderly neighbor says whenever I walk her dog, Smuckers.) When she dies, she surprises everybody by leaving a corporation worth billions to Smuckers...and she leaves Smuckers to me. Suddenly, I go from running my Etsy store to sitting in an elegant Wall Street boardroom with Smuckers in my lap. And my neighbor's son, Henry Locke, aka New York's most eligible bachelor, glaring across the table at me. Rumor has it Henry's a business genius who's as talented in the bedroom as he is in the boardroom.

When my manager assigns me the task of finding a new wake-up call service for our CEO, I think, how hard can this be? Answer: practically impossible. It turns out that no wake-up call company in the world will take him on as a client. They’ve all had enough of his surly personality. So, in an effort not to lose my job, I secretly start making the calls myself, every day at 4:30 am sharp. OMG yes, you read that right - four freaking thirty in the morning.

Max Hilton is my high school nemesis turned billionaire. And tomorrow I deliver his lunch order. In a cat costume. You know he’s going to love it. Turns out it wasn’t curiosity that killed the cat - it was mortification. I’m almost ready to quit my lunch delivery job, but then my roommate tosses me a copy of The Max Hilton Playbook: Ten Golden Rules for Picking up the Hottest Girl in the Room. It’s the book that catapulted him to stardom. And it’s my new bible.

I’m no Prince Charming, and the last thing I want is a Cinderella. My instructions were simple: Scour the city for a fake fiancée who’s not my type at all. Have her on my jet Monday morning, dressed for a yacht vacation. I need a woman believable enough to convince a certain client that I’ve changed my playboy ways...yet too annoying to tempt me - no emotional entanglements, thank you very much. This is business only. If she’s unfazed by my looks and wealth, all the better. Should be easy. Right? Apparently not, because my people go and hire Tabitha. My hairdresser.

I may be a shy letter carrier, but when my beloved apartment building is threatened by a mysterious and reclusive billionaire, I’m willing to push the envelope. I’m going to march right up to Malcolm Blackberg’s fortress of fierceness and deliver a cease-and-desist notice he can’t refuse. Except as soon as I get inside his gilded doors, things go sideways - I’m mistaken for Malcolm’s court-ordered emotional intelligence coach, as if I’m acting out a wacky postal carrier cosplay.

Francine is stunned when she discovers she's been married - for the last 10 years - to Benny, her surly, nerdy frenemy she worked with one summer in Vegas. How in the world did they end up married? Though there was a certain drunken night....She's surprised to find that Benny is now a cold, wolfish billionaire. And yes, he'll sign the paperwork - for a price: She has to spend the next three weeks playing his adoring wife.

Some faceless international billionaire owns the company where I work. They say he’s a notorious rake. A jet-set bad boy. And…oops! I may have imitated him after a company wide conference call…which he heard, thanks to an unfortunate butt-dial.