The Pact

"I need a ride," I said to a sexy stranger on a Harley.

Three hours later? A six-foot-tall Marilyn Monroe was officiating our Vegas wedding at the Happy Chapel.

But it's not love-it's business-a marriage pact made out of desperation so my career doesn't go up in flames.

Sure, Flynn Winslow is a hot, broody, mysterious man that women all over the globe would sell their souls to land for real, but I have my eyes on the prize and our marriage arrangement will end in three months with no strings a...