Hate to Love (Lucky in Love Book 4)

High powered attorney Levi Hall doesn’t have time to date. He also doesn’t make a habit of signing up for ridiculous reality shows that put him in a house with a stranger for twenty-four hours to see if they want to keep dating, but here he is.

Charlotte Kelly is counting on this show to bring her the love of her life. Which is a lot of pressure, but she thrives in this kind of environment. It’s why she spends her days taking down nasty corporations on behalf of her clients.

Thrown into a house filled with cameras filming their (almost) every move, they have to choose: keep fighting, or see if there’s more to each other than meets the eye?

“ABSOLUTELY NOT.”

“Look at that—something we finally agree on.”

“Oh, go to hell, Levi.”

He smirks, the curve of his full lips just as distracting as they’ve always been. “That would mean living with you, and apparently we’re doing that for the next twenty-four hours. It seems, my dear, I’m very much already there.”

I hate him. Hate him so much.

And I can’t believe Levi Hall, of all people, is ruining this for me. My one chance at finding love. It sounds dramatic, I know, but between working eighty-hour weeks and caring for my father, there is absolutely no time for dating. Not that there are any guys out there worth my time. So this experiment was supposed to be my silver bullet. Twenty-four hours with a stranger in a house.

Only the stranger is very much not one.

In fact, he may well be my greatest enemy.
Reaching deep, I take a deep breath and center myself, then turn my best attempt at doe eyes on the show’s producers. “See, we already know each other.”

“You don’t think they’ve figured that out?” Levi interrupts, the very timbre of his voice sending fury streaking through my veins.

“Wasn’t talking to you, jerk.” I whip my head back to Rhiva and Ulman, dropping all pretense and going for the kill.

“How is there nothing in the rules that says participants can’t know each other first?”

They glance at each other, then me. Rhiva shrugs. “There just isn’t.”

Ulman waves the contracts we signed in my face. “These are iron clad.”

“For…reasons,” Rhiva adds.

Ulman glares at Rhiva. “Obviously. Ones we don’t need to talk about. And it means you’ll be staying in the house together, for twenty-four hours, even if you don’t like each other.”

Levi gestures at them and raises a thick eyebrow. “I gotta say, Counselor, they’re not wrong.” If there was an award for the most holier than thou attitude given, Levi Hall would win it. Hands down.

I roll my eyes. “Don’t talk down to me, Counselor. I’m the one who wins the cases, remember?”

His cheeks tinge pink so subtly that if I hadn’t known him for a decade, I would have missed it.

It’s beyond gratifying.

“Nevertheless,” he moves on, ignoring my flawless jab, “given the new information you’ve presented, we’d like twenty-four hours to review the contracts in more detail.”

“That’s not possible,” Ulman states.

“Anything is possible,” Levi replies smoothly, his manner suggesting he rarely hears the word no.

Except when I wipe the floor with him in the courtroom.

His eyes flick to me for the briefest of seconds as he holds his hand out for the contract we both signed.

Which we did willingly, I might add. To my abject and continuing horror.

The participant, Charlotte Kelly, agrees to remain on the premises with the other participant for twenty-four hours. During this time, both participants agree to be filmed. Participants may not leave the premises. Premises include the following…


It’s a contract a first-year law student could get through: simple, but effective.

One that I thought—erroneously, I now see—might have the power to change my life. To finally open the door to me living again. Really living. Not just going through the motions that I promised my mother before she died.

“For the final time, Mr. Hall, what’s done is done.” Rhiva folds their arms and squares their shoulders.

Levi glares at the two of them, not stepping down from the fight in the least. He can look all he wants; I reviewed that thing to within an inch of its life before I signed it, and it’s locked down tight. I had to fight tooth and nail to get the emergency clause written in that guarantees they’ll alert me if something goes wrong with my father or sister, so I’m well-versed in the contract’s language.

His desire to review it again is almost admirable. Almost. One thing the man clearly hasn’t mastered is the art of admitting defeat.

Must be nice. Wonder if that’s a man thing, or just a Levi thing?

Regardless, I’m over it. With a look at Rhiva and Ulman, and a dismissive snort at the man my clients have repeatedly called Satan himself, I deliver my first closing statement of the day. “Get over yourself, Levi. We’re stuck together.”

Grabbing my overnight bag, I swivel and make my way across the asphalt into the house, my hips sashaying for all they’re worth.

The show starts now.