Waking up next to a billionaire jerk wasn't on my to-do list- yet here I am, living the nightmare. The first time I met Noah Parker, he asked if I was an escort. Apparently, when you're a billionaire sports agent, finding half-naked women in your hotel room is just a typical Tuesday. Still, it didn't stop me from hurling a stiletto at him. He's fine-good reflexes. Then informed me I'm the one in his hotel room. Which is how I end up sharing a room with Mr. Jerk. Platonically. Mostly. Nothing happened-except for a few inappropriate thoughts and some very steamy dreams. He's volcanic-level hot, okay? But still, a jerk. Like when he fired his assistant in front of me and offered me the job five minutes later. Only a 5-star, card-carrying, world-revolves-around-me, A-hole would be so brazen. But he's also paying me triple what my newspaper job did. Giving me access to A-list athletes. Now I'm stuck working for Mr. Jerk, while he keeps showing up in my fantasies, uninvited. They say Noah Parker always gets what he wants. But he's not getting me.