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Mr. Absolutely Not! A Romantic Comedy The Seattle Svenssons #1

Armed with comfy pants, overpriced coffee, and a highly anxious emotional-support corgi, I prepare to face him. Corporate boss. Villain. I step into his office. His perfect mouth twists into a sneer. There is no heart of gold beneath that suit, just a big black pit. He’s a shark in the frothy waters of high- stakes finance. He might be the quintessential asshole CEO, causing all in his path to quake in fear, but he’s never had to face down a basic bitch in her thirties.

I am exactly like the other girls—I adore Starbucks, greige home decor, and making snarky jokes with my bestie. I’ve even inherited a stalker from an ill-advised singles party. Yeah, the stalker is… a problem, one I’m hoping will just go away if I ignore it.

I can’t ignore him, though. He’s all broad shoulders and snide comments, picking apart everything about me as he circles me, going for the kill. He would never fire me, though. There’s no fun in that. He wants me to quit, to have a mental breakdown. Well, he can get in line behind my crazy gold-digging sister, my guilt-tripping mother, and the aforementioned stalker.

He pins me with his gaze. I brace myself, waiting for the verbal blow to come… Instead, he says, “I need a date tonight, and unfortunately, it has to be you.”

This is a full-length, enemies-to-lovers romantic comedy, complete with smokin’ hot-but-morally gray heroes, a smidge of suspense, and of course the perfect happily ever after!

Excerpt After a cold shower, I wrap a towel around my waist as I step out then lather up to shave. I’m just rinsing off the straight razor when something slimy and rough runs against my leg. I strangle a curse as the pudgy corgi stumbles back, tripping over the bath mat. “Mandy!” I bellow, wrenching open the slightly open door. “Mandy!” “Scram,” I tell the animal. “Out.” It runs under the vanity and stares at me. Dammit. “Mandy!” Her footsteps are soft over the carpet as she hurries to the bathroom. “Salinger? Salinger, what the—” The door opens a crack. “Eep!” She jumps back out of view behind the door. “Your dog, that’s what.” The animal lets out a whine. “Oh, Pepper, come. Come!” The dog ignores her. “Get in here now and get that animal.” Mandy makes that squeaking nose again. The corgi sneezes. “I can’t. You’re not wearing any clothes.” She’s still hiding behind the door. “Mandy…” Warning laces my voice. The door creaks open. Mandy, hand over her eyes, takes a hesitant step inside. “It’s under the vanity.” I point. Mandy walks into a wall. “Oof.” Groping around with her free hand, she begs, “Pepper, come on. You know you can’t be in here. We talked about this, remember?” Her hip bangs into the side of the vanity. “Ow!” “A few feet to the left.” I run some product through my hair. I’m not one of those men who rolls out of bed, washes their hair once a week with dish soap, and calls it a day. It takes time to look like someone you would trust with billions of dollars. “Pepper!” Mandy’s voice is pleading. “Pepper, please just get out of there.” “Christ.” Grabbing the robe that hangs on the back of the door, I shrug it on, sidestepping her as she walks straight into the glass door of the shower.

“Uncover your eyes.” I tie the belt. “Nuh-uh.” “Mandy.” Her fingers spread slightly, and her brown eyes peer at me. “I’m wearing a robe. Get your animal. This is absurd.” Mandy’s still peering through her fingers, and she gropes under the vanity, trying to grab the dog. It. Does. Not. Want. To. Leave. It makes a wheezing sound as she finally drags it by its back feet out from under the vanity. “I’m so sorry about that, Salinger.” Mandy’s corgi side-eyes me as Mandy tries to scoop it up with one arm. “You see me every day,” I remind the dog. Its lip curls up. “Mandy.” I point to her dog. “She went out before I brought her up.” Mandy sounds out of breath. “No. It looks crazy.” The whites of the dog’s eyes are showing, and her ears are laid back against her head. “That’s just how she is,” Mandy says. “She’s not going to freak out at the charity function. Is she? Do you have medication for her or anything?” Kneeling down in front of the dog, Mandy whispers, “Let’s try and keep it together. I’ll take you to Olive Garden for a personal plate of pasta, no garlic. But not ’til after the event because I know you’ll get an upset tummy.” “This is going to be a fucking disaster,” I say to the ceiling. “And where is my date?”