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Thirty-six, and somehow I'd become the supporting character in everyone else's love story. I never left my village in England except for university. Never took the risk. Then one phone call from New York and one piece of news I couldn't outrun sent me across an ocean for a three-month trial at Hotel on Ninth Street. And my one shot at finally starring in my own life. I lasted exactly six minutes before a gorgeous, glowering stranger slammed into me, drenched my shirt in coffee, and stalked off without so much as sorry. Of course Deacon Black is the hotel's most important guest. Of course he's there every week. And of course he's a fiercely protective single dad whose entire life is built around never letting anything — or anyone — shake his daughter's world. I'm leaving in three months. He doesn't do temporary. Falling for him is the worst possible use of my brand-new fresh start. So why does it feel like walking away is the biggest risk of all? A standalone, spicy, single dad, billionaire romance.