Our meet cute was one big sip of ugly.
He pushed my hell-no buttons, wearing an indestructible smirk.
I offended his warped morals in front of his starry-eyed minions.
Then I got my sweet reward for doing the right thing.
I found out I'd be calling Roland Osprey “boss.”
A filthy rich tabloid king. Emphasis on filthy.
A gorgeous villain who sold his soul—if he ever had one.
A tyrant who stole my sensitive, uplifting music magazine.
Welcome to my bait and switch.
Apparently, disasters come in threes.
His perfect vests that leave me delirious.
The way he stares at my lips—painted for torment with an arsenal of lipstick.
Our shared love for sad songs that makes me cry.
So does the big fat secret assignment he drops on my head.
I hate that he has a good cause.
I wish I could hate the wicked ways he makes me feel divine.
When my guard slips, I'm in free fall.
One all-consuming kiss in an alley seals our epic mistake.
How many times can one damaged grump make me sing the blues?
How do you ever fall out of love with the bad guy?