The Brewer Family Series

The Brewer siblings have built a billion-dollar empire, but success in business doesn't make falling in love any easier. Whether it's a marriage of convenience, an accidental Vegas wedding with your best friend's brother, or a relationship with your new assistant, each Brewer discovers that the greatest fortune in life can't be measured in dollars.

If Renn Brewer would’ve asked me to marry him, I would’ve said no. Why? One, his reputation precedes him. His name is in the headlines at least once a month. Two, he’s not just my brother’s best friend. They’re teammates. And three, I’m in my self-care era. Unfortunately, a version of me equates self-care with bad choices.

The gorgeous CEO of Brewer Air is my boss and, thanks to a bet, my new husband for six months. Why? Because I begged. I have a grandmother to support, a stack of bills higher than my five-foot frame, and as a cherry on top, I need to find a new place to live. Soon. Sure, Jason Brewer’s bright green eyes and chiseled jawline steal my breath. His smirk makes me weak. The former military hero’s protective nature is as sexy as watching him control a boardroom or fly a plane.

I hate Ripley Brewer. So, why am I cuddling on his lap, peering into his ocean-blue eyes while cameras record our every move? My best friend needs my help to save her career, and I would do anything for her. Besides, filming a reality show sounds fun … until Ripley shows up to play the role of my fake boyfriend. As always, we nearly come to blows within minutes of seeing each other. The playboy billionaire accuses me of a setup, but I insist I’d rather live in a world without carbs than spend a minute with him.

Crushes are harmless—unless they involve your best friend’s grumpy, off-limits brother. Gannon Brewer is the epitome of my type. He’s at least ten years older than me, emotionally unavailable, and highly disagreeable—a walking red flag in a tailored suit. But do I listen to that? No. In fact, when his office plants start dying, I convince myself that I can ignore the pheromones and save the philodendron. Now I’m in his office every week, dodging sinful smirks and heated stares, reminding myself to reach for the watering can—not him. But one “ivy incident” changes everything.

Someone should tell Tate Brewer that one-night stands aren’t supposed to come with a sequel. I’ve learned the hard way—don’t be reckless with anything, least of all my heart. But after one too many vodka sodas, saying yes to a much younger, devastatingly smooth stranger for one wild night seems like the perfect way to forget my brutal divorce. I even gave him a fake name. What could go wrong? You’d be surprised. Because instead of being my spicy little secret, Tate is now the chief marketing officer at my new job.