From the author of the bestselling phenomenon, the Kissing Booth, comes another sizzling story about an overachieving girl who unknowingly kisses the one guy she shouldn’t the night before her new internship begins. One summer internship. Two complete opposites. And a connection neither expected... Annalise Sherwood has worked herself to the bone to get a place on a prestigious internship program and nothing is going to stop her now. Work hard, play later, that's her motto. She figures one night letting her guard down won't hurt, though - especially when it ends with the best kiss of her life. But to Anna's horror, she discovers that the mystery guy she kissed that night is none other than Lloyd, the company CEO's son. Born with a silver spoon in his mouth, he's everyone's favorite guy and a total charmer, swanning around like he owns the place. And from the moment they meet again, he rubs Anna up the wrong way. As the summer and the internship wane on, Lloyd seems to be finding any excuse to annoy Anna, and she's not afraid to give it right back to him. But when a lot of late night working brings them unexpectedly closer, she begins to wonder if there's more to him than she originally thought.. Praise for the Queen of Rom Coms: "Beth Reekles became a sensation." — Today on The Kissing Booth "The lighthearted comedy is perfect for summer."— Teen Vogue on The Kissing Booth "A holiday in the sun filled with heart and soul."— Kirkus Reviews on Beach Cute "An entertaining blend of humor, romance, and drama." — Publishers Weekly on Beach Cute "A messy romance during a prestigious London internship."— Kirkus on Love & Lattes "Swoon." — Booklist on Love & Lattes Beth Reekles is the author of The Kissing Booth series, which inspired the Netflix films. She first published The Kissing Booth on Wattpad in 2010, at age fifteen, and it accumulated almost 20 million reads before it was published in 2012 by Random House Children's Books. A self-confessed nerd and rom-com fan, she is now a full-time author living in South Wales and shares movie reviews on her Instagram. 1 The club flashes blue, acid green, lilac, and back to electric blue. The bass thrums through my chest, my bones, and all the way to my fingertips, lifting me onto the balls of my feet with my arms in the air. Everyone’s swaying, shimmying, and singing at the top of their lungs to a Harry Styles song that slides seamlessly into a remix of Olivia Rodrigo’s “good 4 u.” For an icebreaker evening, this isn’t half bad. And this place is definitely a lot better than the Pizza Express where we spent an awkward, stilted two hours earlier this evening, swapping details of our A levels and college courses and our preferred pizza toppings. (A necessary evil, given that the restaurant was booked for us by our new employer so we could all “get to know” each other ahead of working together on the Arrowmile internship program this summer.) Tonight is about anything but the impending internship. Which is really saying a lot, because it’s taken over my life for months, between the application process and the agony of waiting to hear if, out of five thousand applicants, I would be one of the fifteen who made it. As of today, I am officially one of those fifteen. Tonight, we enjoy a taste of freedom and excitement before Monday, when we start one of the most coveted, prestigious internship programs in London. Tonight, I let my hair down for once. For me, that involves some rum and Coke, half a glass of prosecco, and dancing on the sticky floor of a too-­loud club with fourteen relative strangers. Four of whom have double-­barreled names, and three of whom are students at Cambridge. All of whom seemed pretty okay at Pizza Express, and right now feel like my new favorite people in the whole world. There are hands on my hips, the brush of a body behind mine. Broad, masculine. One of my new roommates and fellow Arrowmile intern for the summer, Elaine, a tall, bony girl with long blond hair, catches my eye and waggles her eyebrows, apparently in approval of my new dancing partner. I glance over my shoulder, staring for a moment in the flashing lights before deciding I don’t recognize him; he’s not part of our group. I turn back to Elaine and shrug, not minding the attention until I’m grabbed by one of the interns, who, laughing, pulls me away from my dance partner and into a ramshackle conga line back to the bar. By the time I’m jostled to the front of the group, someone’s bought a round of tequila shots and Elaine is pressing one into my hand, a lime wedge balanced on top of the glass. Someone else holds out a salt shaker to me. I follow their lead and lick the back of my hand holding the shot, spill some salt there, and pass it on to the next person. Across the room at the other end of the bar, there’s a guy. And, God, but he’s a cute guy. Dark, curly hair and chiseled cheekbones accented by a light scruff of stubble, and full lips.