conversations.from: human
conversations.value: What could be a title for a book about span>Another, Realistic, Dana with the genre: Christian Books & Bibles, Literature & Fiction?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: A title for this book could be 'Irresistibly Yours'
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Do you know the first four paragraphs for this book?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Irresistibly Yours
  He hated that his new penthouse apartment, with all its shiny appliances and stunning skyline, didn't have a backyard.
  Hated that you couldn't do something as simple as go out to buy a tube of toothpaste without having to share the sidewalk with a hundred other people.
  The beer was overpriced, the food was overpriced, and there were always a dozen sushi places within a half-block radius—but it was damn near impossible to find decent barbecue.
  He hated the subway. Hated the cabs. He even hated the fancy car service that he could easily afford, because it reminded him that he had nowhere to go.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Do you know five more paragraphs?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Not like they'd been writing long love letters that he'd spritzed with his cologne or any bullshit like that, just emails here, quick texts there. She reached out whenever she had boyfriend problems, and he'd just been grateful to have someone in his life willing to talk about something other than football.
  Mollie was a friend...
  The bartender fluttered down a white, monogrammed cocktail napkin in front of Jackson as he stirred the drink, before straining it into a chilled glass.
  And what shit it was that Jackson's life had turned into this—the highlight of his day was a well-made cocktail.
  Jackson took a sip of his drink as he surveyed the room with a bored eye. It was early on a Wednesday evening, which meant that most of the clientele were the after-work business crowd: men in perfectly tailored suits, women in classy pencil skirts with perfectly coiffed hair.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Add another sentence about York.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Not like they'd been writing long love letters that he'd spritzed with his cologne or any bullshit like that, just emails here, quick texts there. She reached out whenever she had boyfriend problems, and he'd just been grateful to have someone in his life willing to talk about something other than football. 
  Mollie was a friend... one of his best friends, perhaps, but her email invitation to catch up over drinks now that he was in New York had caught him by surprise. 
  The bartender fluttered down a white, monogrammed cocktail napkin in front of Jackson as he stirred the drink, before straining it into a chilled glass. 
  And what shit it was that Jackson's life had turned into this—the highlight of his day was a well-made cocktail. 
  Jackson took a sip of his drink as he surveyed the room with a bored eye. It was early on a Wednesday evening, which meant that most of the clientele were the after-work business crowd: men in perfectly tailored suits, women in classy pencil skirts with perfectly coiffed hair.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Do you know the last three paragraphs? Start with the sentence 'Pretty'.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Pretty. Very pretty. Her shoulder-length blond hair was tousled and sexy, her eyes brilliantly blue. And that mouth...
  Jackson calmly lifted his drink to his lips as he met her eyes, only to feel a little jolt as their gazes collided. Jackson felt a punch of lust in his gut, followed by something else...something low and dangerous, not unlike an eerie siren trying to tell him that something was very, very amiss.
  Slowly, the woman lowered herself to the barstool next to his. He watched in horrified arousal as she reached out, plucked his drink from his hand, raised it to red, red lips, and took a deliberate sip.