City Lights, Starry Nights

Sizzling hot chemistry and surprises await this overzealous city girl and small-town, grumpy doctor.

Evicted!

Newly graduated, Evie finds herself broke and jobless with zero options.

That is until her friend from college convinces the older brother to hire her. 

The problem?

The job is in Sugar Creek Falls, a small town in the middle of farm country—the complete opposite setting for this born-and-raised city girl.

But when she arrives and learns her new boss is the same gorgeous guy who got her fired, sparks ignite. 

And not the good kind.

This job is just a means to get where she wants—a stepping stone to bigger things in bigger cities.

Or that’s the plan.

Until their chemistry can no longer be ignored and Liam teaches her skills beyond office management.

When life shifts in Evie’s favor, her past catches up. Surprises and unveiled threats become real. And she finds herself facing choices where neither of them wins.

City Lights, Starry Nights is a fish-out-of-water, small-town romance featuring a spontaneous heroine and a grumpy, domineering doctor with a heart of gold. But grab those fans because these two heat up the pages! Guaranteed HEA.

Excerpt Chapter 1

“Give me one reason not to fire you on the spot.”

I toss the middle-aged man a sweet saccharine smile that doesn’t match the presto beat the marching band is performing against my chest. “Because you need me.”

His lips flatten to a thin line, but he knows the advantage point goes to me. He’s too short-staffed to send me home. At least, that’s what I’m banking on.

“I’m watching you. One tiny slip and you’re gone.”

“Understandably so.” I give a curt nod and hold the tray up. “Throats are drying as we speak.”

His cheeks flare red, and that tiny vein on the side of his head that pops when I’ve done something upsetting pulses. Perhaps I should dial back my snark, but I can’t seem to help myself. Asking for extra shifts is clearly off the table, so I may as well partake in what little amusement I can.

Without a word, he leaves me to attend to the guests milling around the large banquet room. It doesn’t take long for the tray to empty, and after a quick exchange for a full one, I’m back serving. I work toward the far corner and stop short. Holy cow. I live in Chicago. I just graduated from Northwestern University. There isn’t a shortage of good-looking men. But—and this is a huge but—I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone this freaking gorgeous. 

The man dreams are made of runs a hand through his tousled, light brown hair as he scours over notecards. I stand in awe and watch the strands fall perfectly into place when his hand returns to his hip. I can’t tell if his shoulders are normally that broad or if it’s the effect of the tailored-fit, dark navy jacket. His suit isn’t designer. I’m well versed in those brands, but he definitely wears this off-brand fine. He had to have gone out of his way to have it fitted.

By the way he keeps reviewing the notecards, I’m guessing this must be the keynote speaker Job had prattled on about. The man certainly checks the gorgeous box. I see why Job wanted to play doctor. And from how my insides heat, that’s a game I certainly wouldn’t mind joining. I stare transfixed as he works his jaw and continues to read through the notes. My, my, what a strong jawline it is. A short-trimmed beard splays across the hardened edges that look cut from stone. The jawline is as perfect as Rob Patterson’s—The Batman kind of good, not the sparkling one.

Why are strong jawlines my kryptonite?

My feet unlock and pad across the floor directly toward Dr. Perfect. Because, face it, if anyone needs a drink, it’s this guy. Or that’s my reasoning for singling him out anyway.

A few people smile and take a glass as I close in. Nervous I’ll run out when I reach him, I sidestep around a large gathering and move forward, my eyes trained on the doctor the entire time. He keeps fidgeting while studying the notecards, as if preparing for some qualifying entrance exam. The dude needs to calm down. These people are his colleagues, for Christ’s sake. It shouldn’t be this intimidating speaking in front of them, especially with his looks. Seriously, who cares what comes out of his mouth when he looks that pretty?

I’m within a foot from him when he tears his gaze away from his notes. Mossy green eyes settle on mine, causing my breath to hitch. There’s a familiarity about his features I can’t quite pinpoint. Confidence spills over me when those beautiful eyes sweep along my body with what I assume is appreciation. That is until his eyes widen in horror and cause me to misstep. Sure, my stockings may have a hole in them, but I don’t look horrendous. Do I? No. Job would never let me come out here otherwise.

I close the distance between us when a jarring sensation hits my back, causing me to trip forward. The tray slips from my hand as champagne flutes bounce off the doctor’s chest and crash to the floor. Champagne droplets spray across our faces and soak our entire front sides. Or maybe I’m soaked from leaning against him. My gaze rakes along his firmness before rising to meet his. There’s a momentary pause where it just seems to be us.

The intensity in his stare burns into mine, leaving me captivated. Desire licks and swirls my insides. We’re so close I can see the flecks of brown peppering his green irises. Those unique eyes dilate with heat, and I swear the air surrounding us is hot enough to combust.

Or maybe I’m imagining it because the moment ends as he drops his hands from my shoulders and steps back. We both glance down at the floor. I cringe at seeing his notecards soaking in a sea of champagne. 

“Son of a bitch!”

Panicked from his outburst, I drop to my knees at the same time as him, crashing the top of my head into his chin.

“Jesus, woman, are you trying to take me down single-handedly?”

“I’m so sorry. He bumped into me, and I—”

“Leave it.” Dr. Perfect bats my arms away. “You’ve done enough damage.”

I stop helping and rise to my feet. “I’m sorry, but this wasn’t my fault. That guy bumped into my back.” I look around for the instigator to back up my claim, but all I find are widened stares and people murmuring. There is no guilty or remorseful-looking guy anywhere in the mix. Coward.

“You clearly aren’t qualified to be serving anyone. They should fire you.”

My head whips back to Dr. Perfect. Or should I say Dr. Grump? I open my mouth to tell him what I think of his entire existence, but my boss interrupts before I unload my wrath.

“What have you done this time?” The angry tone says it all—I’m fired. Turning to Dr. Grump, Bossman switches to the suck-up voice he has perfected over the years. “My sincerest apologies, sir.”

The overhead speakers crackle as another guy dressed in a suit rushes around the corner. He stops short in front of us and chuckles. “Whoa.”

Dr. Grump is not amused. He shakes his notecards. “Is this the type of employees you hire? Incompetent ones?” The guy scoffs as he tries wiping off the excess champagne, which only smudges the pencil marks further. It serves him right for using something erasable. Who even uses lead anymore? Isn’t it bad for your health?

“Miss Thornhill, grab your belongings and leave the premises. We’ll mail your last check to you.” My boss offers another apology to the asshole, who just stands there speechless and nodding, as if he agrees.

“But this was an accident. Didn’t you see the guy who bumped into me?” I’m pretty sure Dr. Grump tried warning me before it happened. Why punish me?

“I’m tired of your excuses. Leave before I call security.”

Oh, this is rich. I scowl at my boss and slice my icy glare toward the asshole. “Word of advice, asshole: permanent ink.” With those parting words, I spin toward the prep kitchen and march out with my head held high. I refuse to let them see the desperation brewing inside me.

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