New York, Actually: A sparkling romantic comedy from the bestselling Queen of Romance

Contents

Cover (#ucf744d26-c000-57df-9259-a77c778d27e4)

Praise (#ulink_2a5752c1-e031-5d33-bbf3-c5b9f7ad4dc0)

Dear Reader (#ulink_754449e5-7699-501b-b3ac-0232393c2e5e)

About the Author (#u9b84a8ca-0eb7-58c6-93cc-9f3a4060ba7b)

Title Page (#u16c4e8d0-c17f-5d12-aee0-febd88771ddc)

Dedication (#u93b72340-1ac7-5201-8151-2f836155e2b0)

Epigraph (#u55979f90-07c8-5447-aab6-9794d14af0d6)

One (#ulink_78ed2de3-0fa3-53d6-801e-823ca4cef5d5)

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Thank You (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)

One (#ulink_718aad20-9312-5cc1-9cf6-52e6ad6512fe)

Dear Aggie, I bought my girlfriend an expensive coffee machine for her birthday. First she cried, then she sold it on eBay. I don’t understand women.

Yours, Decaffeinated.

Dear Decaffeinated, the important question to ask yourself in any relationship is what does your partner want? What makes them happy? Without knowing all the details it’s impossible to know exactly why your girlfriend cried and sold the coffee machine, but the first question that comes to mind is—does your girlfriend drink coffee?

Molly stopped typing and glanced at the bed. “Are you awake? You have to listen to this one. It’s obvious he is a coffee drinker and the gift was really for him. Why do men do that? I’m so lucky to have you. Of course, if you ever sold my coffee machine on eBay, I’d have to kill you, but that won’t be the advice I’m posting online.”

The body on the bed didn’t stir, but that wasn’t surprising given the amount of exercise they’d both had the day before. The hours they’d spent in each other’s company had left her sweaty and exhausted. Her body ached, a reminder that although her fitness levels had increased since she met him, his stamina still surpassed hers. His relentless energy was one of the many things she admired about him. Whenever she was tempted to skip an exercise session, all it took was one look from him to have her reaching for her running shoes. He was the reason she’d lost weight since arriving in New York City three years earlier. Some days she looked in the mirror and barely recognized herself.

She looked slimmer and more toned.

Best of all she looked happy.

If someone from her old life walked in now, they probably wouldn’t recognize her.

Not that anyone from her old life was likely to show up on her doorstep.

Three years had passed. Three years, and she had finally rebuilt her shredded reputation. Professionally, she was back on track. Personally? She glanced at the bed again, feeling something soften inside her. She hadn’t imagined ever getting close to anyone again, certainly not close enough to let them into her life or her home, and definitely not her heart.

And yet here she was, in love.

She allowed her gaze to linger on the perfect lines of his athletic body, before returning her attention to her email. She was lucky so many men struggled to understand women. If they didn’t, she’d be out of a job.

Her blog, Ask a Girl, attracted a large volume of traffic and that, in turn, had attracted the attention of a publisher. Her first book, Mate for Life, Tools for Meeting Your Perfect Life Partner had hit the bestseller lists in both the US and the UK. That, in turn, had led to a second book deal, all under her pseudonym Aggie, which meant that she had both anonymity and financial security. She’d turned misfortune into a fortune. Well, maybe not a fortune exactly, but enough to enable her to live comfortably in New York City and not to have to limp back to London. She’d left one life and moved on to a new one, like a snake shedding its skin.

Finally, her past was exactly where it should be. Behind her. And she made a point of never looking in her rearview mirror.

Happy, she settled herself more comfortably in her favorite chair and shifted her focus to her laptop.

“Okay, Decaffeinated, let me show you where you’ve been going wrong.”

She started typing again.