Table Of ContentTable of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Acknowledgements
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-one
Twenty-two
Twenty-three
Twenty-four
Twenty-five
Twenty-six
Twenty-seven
Twenty-eight
Twenty-nine
Thirty
Thirty-one
Thirty-two
Thirty-three
Thirty-four
Thirty-five
Teaser chapter
THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP
Published by the Penguin Group
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s
imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business
establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and
does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
JUST THE SEXIEST MAN ALIVE
A Berkley Sensation Book / published by arrangement with the author
PRINTING HISTORY
Berkley Sensation mass-market edition / October 2008
Copyright © 2008 by Julie Koca.
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without
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375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.
eISBN : 978-1-436-29003-6
BERKLEY® SENSATION
Berkley Sensation Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group,
a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.
BERKLEY SENSATION and the “B” design are trademarks belonging to Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
http://us.penguingroup.com
To my grandfather
for inspiring me to start the journey,
and to my husband
for being my partner along the way.
Acknowledgments
First and foremost, I would like to thank my film agent, Dick Shepherd, who
believed in this story, and me, from the very beginning, and without whom none
of this would have happened.
I would also like to express my deepest appreciation to all my family and friends
for their love and continuing encouragement.
I am forever grateful to my earliest readers who took the time to read this story
back when it was called The Andrews Project, and especially to Ami Wynne,
Brian Guarraci, Brendan Carroll, and Karen Schmidt for their thoughtful input,
and to Mason Novick for his advice on the value of conflict in romantic
comedies.
A special thanks to my literary agent, Susan Crawford, whose passion and
enthusiasm are truly inspiring, and also to my wonderfully supportive editor,
Wendy McCurdy; her assistant, Allison Brandau; and everyone at Berkley.
Finally, and most importantly, I want to thank my husband, Brian, for tirelessly
reading every draft, being my toughest critic, and making it all possible.
One
TAYLOR DONOVAN MAY have been new to Los Angeles, but she certainly
recognized a line of bullshit when she heard one.
It was 8:15 on a Monday morning—frankly, a bit early, in Taylor’s mind
anyway, to be dealing with this latest round of nonsense coming from her
opposing counsel, Frank Siedlecki of the Equal Employment Opportunity
Commission. But hey, it was a gorgeous sunny morning in Southern California
and her Starbucks had already begun to kick in, so she was willing to play nice.
Frank’s call had come in just as Taylor had pulled into the parking garage of
her downtown L.A. office building. After answering, she had let her opposing
counsel go on for several minutes—without interruption, she might add—about
the righteousness of his clients’ position and how Taylor and her utterly
nonrighteous client should consider themselves lucky to be given the chance to
make the whole lawsuit go away for a paltry $30 million. But at a certain point,
one could only take so much nonsense in one Monday-morning phone call.
Luscious Starbucks or not.
So Taylor had no choice but to cut Frank off mid-rant, praying she didn’t lose
the signal to her cell phone as she stepped into the lobby elevator.
“Frank, Frank,” she said in a firm but professional tone, “there’s no way we’re
going to settle at those numbers. You want all that money, just because your
clients heard a few four-letter words in the workplace?”
She noticed then that an elderly couple had gotten into the elevator with her.
She smiled politely at them as she continued her phone conversation.
“You know, if the EEOC’s going to ask for thirty million dollars in a sexual
harassment case,” she told Frank, “at least tell me somebody was called a ‘slut’
or a ‘whore.’ ”
Out of the corner of her eye, Taylor saw the elderly woman—seventy-five
years old if she was a day—send her husband a disapproving look. But then
Frank began rattling on further about the so-called merits of the plaintiffs’
position.
