New Release – Walk of Shame by Lauren Layne


The City’s HOTTEST Cold War is here!


a Love Unexpectedly novel
Lauren Layne
Releasing April 18th, 2017


Sparks fly between a misunderstood New York socialite and a cynical divorce lawyer in this lively standalone rom-com from the USA Today bestselling author of Blurred Lines and Love Story.


Pampered heiress Georgianna Watkins has a party-girl image to maintain, but all the shopping and clubbing is starting to feel a little bit hollow—and a whole lot lonely. Though Georgie would never admit it, the highlights of her week are the mornings when she comes home at the same time as her uptight, workaholic neighbor is leaving to hit the gym and put in a long day at the office. Teasing him is the most fun Georgie’s had in years—and the fuel for all her naughtiest daydreams.

Celebrity divorce attorney Andrew Mulroney doesn’t have much time for women, especially spoiled tabloid princesses who spend more time on Page Six than at an actual job. Although Georgie’s drop-dead gorgeous, she’s also everything Andrew resents: the type of girl who inherited her penthouse instead of earning it. But after Andrew caps one of their predawn sparring sessions with a surprise kiss—a kiss that’s caught on camera—all of Manhattan is gossiping about whether they’re a real couple. And nobody’s more surprised than Andrew to find that the answer just might be yes.





And who is he, you ask?

Andrew Mulroney, Esquire.

I know this because we moved into the building on the exact same day, and right before we got into a horrendous fight over whose movers should have access to the building loading dock first, he handed me his business card.

The thick white card stock declared that he had a fancy law degree to go along with the fancy suit he was wearing on a Saturday.

Andrew handed it over with such superiority, I actually wished for a half second that I had a business card of my own that would somehow be better than his. Like, lined with gold or something. No, platinum. With a diamond in the corner. It would be too heavy for him to hold, and he’d drop it, thus having to kneel at my feet to pick it up.

But then I realized it was just as well that I didn’t have a business card.

Because it would say . . . what? Georgie Watkins, professional party girl?

Anyway, I digress. Despite the high temps of that swampy July morning, the encounter had been the start of an epic cold war.

Me, the socialite in apartment 86A against the uptight esquire in apartment 79B.

I’m not entirely sure I’m winning the war, but I’ll never tell him that.

I let my gaze drift over Andrew, even though his appearance rarely holds any surprises. The man’s a lesson in sameness, like some sort of anal-retentive version of Groundhog Day.

There’s always the black mug with some healthy gunk inside held in his right hand, Tom Ford briefcase and Armani garment bag in his left, containing what I know to be a perfectly tailored three-piece suit.

Andrew’s coppery hair is perfectly styled, although I’d swear that there’s some natural curl in there threatening to disrupt his perfect order. I imagine that annoys him, so it therefore makes me happy.

Let’s see, what else about my nemesis?

He’s got a hard, unfriendly jawline that’s perfectly shaven.

Dark brown eyes, cold and flat. Black gym bag over one shoulder.

I suppose you could say he changes up his attire, because he does alternate between black and gray gym shirts. But considering that they seem to be the exact same fit, both colors molding perfectly to his impressively sculpted upper body, we’re not giving him any points for variety there.

Same goes for the lower half. The black shorts worn in summer have given way to sleek black sweatpants now that October’s upon us, but they’re both black and Nike, so we’ll give him no credit for changing it up there either.

The shoes, though . . .

I do a double take.

Well, well, well . . .

Instead of the usual black gym shoes, the man’s shoes are red. I don’t know how I missed it before.

I drag my eyes back up his body with a grin, and he gives just the slightest roll of his eyes to indicate that he’s noticed my slow perusal and isn’t fazed in the least.

“You went shopping, Dorothy!” I say happily.

He stares at me. “I don’t shop.”

Of course not. Far too frivolous.

“No, that makes sense,” I say, pointing at his feet. “Glinda would have given these to you.”

Andrew looks down at his Rolex watch. “I’ve got to go. Have a good day, Mr. Ramirez.”

“You too, Mr. Mulroney,” Ramon says with a deferential nod. “Enjoy your workout.”

“Yes, do,” I say, turning and watching as Andrew moves toward the front door of our building. “What’s on the schedule today? Treadmill, or just skipping down the Yellow Brick Road?”

Andrew Mulroney, Esquire, doesn’t respond. He doesn’t even turn before pushing through the revolving doors and stepping out into the still-dark autumn morning.

Now come on. Tell me that wasn’t at least a little bit fun, despite the ungodly hour.


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About the Author

Lauren Layne is the New York Times bestselling author of over a dozen romantic comedies.

A former e-commerce and web marketing manager from Seattle, Lauren relocated to New York City in 2011 to pursue a full-time writing career.

She lives in midtown Manhattan with her high-school sweetheart, where she writes smart romantic comedies with just enough sexy-times to make your mother blush. In LL’s ideal world, every stiletto-wearing, Kate Spade wielding woman would carry a Kindle stocked with Lauren Layne books.




Review & Sale – Blurred Lines by Lauren Layne



Lauren Layne
Released Aug 25th, 2015
In a novel that’s perfect for fans of Abbi Glines and Jessica Sorensen, USA
bestselling author Lauren Layne delivers a sexy take on the timeless
question: Can a guy and a girl really be “just friends”?

When Parker Blanton meets Ben Olsen during her freshman year of college, the
connection is immediate—and platonic. Six years later, they’re still best
friends, sharing an apartment in Portland’s trendy Northwest District as they
happily settle into adult life. But when Parker’s boyfriend dumps her out of
the blue, she starts to wonder about Ben’s no-strings-attached approach to
dating. The trouble is, even with Ben as her wingman, Parker can’t seem to get
the hang of casual sex—until she tries it with him.


The arrangement works perfectly . . . at first. The sex is mind-blowing, and their
friendship remains as solid as ever, without any of the usual messy romantic
entanglements. But when Parker’s ex decides he wants her back, Ben is shocked
by a fierce stab of possessiveness. And when Ben starts seeing a girl from
work, Parker finds herself plagued by unfamiliar jealousy. With their
friendship on the rocks for the first time, Parker and Ben face an alarming
truth: Maybe they can’t go back. And maybe, deep down, they never want to.

ONLY $0.99
Don’t forget to Pre-Order

Amazon | B & N | iTunes | Kobo

BFF K’s Review of Blurred Lines



Blurred Lines by Lauren Layne features one of my most favorite tropes. I adore a good friends to lovers story and this one delivers on every level. Ben and Parker are besties. They’ve been besties for ages, but never more. They take such pride in their “friends only” status that they don’t even realize they’ve been in love with one another for quite some time!

Blurred Lines is not a suspenseful novel full of twists and turns on every page. It’s a fairly predictable storyline. But, the characters are enjoyable, relate-able and well developed. What the story lacks in complexity, it makes up for in sweetness and light. Its an absolutely delightful story about best friends who discover so much more and it’s definitely worth a buy, especially at this sale price.

Lauren Layne is quickly becoming one of my go-to-authors. Her books consistently deliver high quality, enjoyable romance with strong characters. I highly recommend both the Kindle and Audible versions of Blurred Lines!














“Milk?” she asks again.

I take another bite of cereal, and it takes all of my self-control not to look pointedly at the bowl of cereal I’m eating. Of course we have freaking milk.

“In the fridge,” I say with a friendly smile. She smiles back and she’s got deep dimples in each cheek. Cute. I can see why Ben likes this one.

She walks past the table to the fridge, and I cringe when I see the fact that she has airhead monogrammed on the butt of her baby blue sweatpants. Really? Really?

Airhead has apparently forgotten that she wanted milk and instead pulls out one of the cans of Starbucks iced coffee that I keep stocked for Monday mornings when I need an extra pick-me-up, which is every Monday, because, well, Mondays are just the worst, aren’t they?

Airhead pops the tab and takes a sip without asking, which I guess is kind of annoying, but I’ve never really been one of those girls who likes to waste energy getting bitchy about stupid things, so I let it go.

“Hey, so I’m Parker,” I say.

“I’m Liz. Are you dating Ben’s roommate?”

Considering I know for a fact that Liz is the latest in a rather impressive streak of one-night stands, dating seems sort of a presumptuous word choice, because how does she know I’m not just a onetime sleepover guest like her?

This, too, I let pass without comment.

I mean, what else is the girl supposed to ask: Did you get drunk and sleep with a guy you barely know, like I just did?

Plus, I have a fun surprise for her.

“I am the roommate,” I say, keeping my smile friendly. I’m wearing my oldest pajamas and haven’t even pretended to have tried to take off last night’s mascara, which is now all over my face. I’m pretty sure I don’t look threatening.

But I’d be wrong.

Liz pauses halfway in, drinking my precious iced-coffee beverage, and her previously curious expression turns wary.

I mentally shrug. Ben tends to use my unisex name to full advantage by avoiding female pronouns when referring to his roommate while a booty call is in progress. He picked up this approach after several hookups that failed due to the fact that some girls still subscribe to the old girls-and-guys-can’t-be-just-friends axiom.


Ben ambles into the kitchen, his sweatpants matching the style of his girl toy’s, although his are dark UO green, and instead of a tacky phrase on the back, they just have the Oregon Duck, our old college mascot. We graduated a couple years ago, so the frat-boy attire’s a little sad, but I can’t judge him too harshly since my entire workout wardrobe consists of old college shirts.

He yawns and smiles. “Morning. Have you girls met? Liz, Parker, Parker, Liz.”

Ben’s either unaware of the fact that Liz is giving him a dark look or he no longer cares now that he’s gotten laid.

Here’s the other reason I don’t exactly get my rocks off thinking about Ben in a romantic light: He’s kind of a player. As a friend, I can love him for it, but on the romantic front? Never. Ever. Not even with every possible STD test.

“Hey, what happened to the must-wear-shirts-in-the-kitchen rule?” I ask, shoveling another bite of increasingly soggy Wheat Chex into my mouth.

“No such rule exists,” he says, with a wink for Liz-slash-Airhead. Her expression softens lightly, and I resist the urge to slap a little sense into the poor girl. I want to tell her that his winks are a dime a dozen, but what’s the point? She has airhead printed on her sweatpants for God’s sake.

“There is too a rule about shirts in the kitchen,” I insist. “House rule number fourteen. Speaking of which, where are my house rules?”

“Hard to say,” he says, opening the fridge and glancing at its meager offerings before pouring a cup of coffee instead. “But I may have used them to mop up OJ the other day. Or maybe as a coaster for my beer.” He snapped his fingers. “Oh wait, no, I remember. I just plain threw them out the old-fashioned way.”

I point to the doorway. “Shirt. Now.”

He glances at Liz. “She can’t concentrate when my abs are on display. We have to give her anti-swoon pills.”

Liz giggles even as she shoots me a searching look, as though she’s trying to determine whether I really will swoon over Ben’s admittedly impressive upper body. The guy’s like a machine. He misses workouts only on the worst of his hangover days.

“Do you wanna grab some breakfast?” Liz asks Ben.

Aww, poor Airhead. She doesn’t know the name of the game.

About the Author

Lauren Layne is the USA Today Bestselling author of more than a dozen contemporary romance novels.
Prior to becoming an author, Lauren worked in e-commerce and web-marketing. A year after moving from Seattle to NYC to pursue a writing career, she had a fabulous agent and multiple New York publishing deals. 
Lauren currently lives in Manhattan with her husband and plus-sized Pomeranian. When not writing, you’ll likely find her running (rarely), reading (sometimes), or at happy hour (often).