A Navy SEAL who wants seclusion. A diva who craves the spotlight. The deal they make could give them both what they need...if they don't kill each other first! Reality TV has never been so hot.
Clay "Dirtman" Hagan's retirement plans are simple. Buy the dilapidated beachfront cottage he found listed for a song, fix it up, and live out his days in solitude. Everything is set until an anonymous bidder drives up the price of his future paradise.
TV talk show host Tasha Jones is flying high, u...
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A Navy SEAL who wants seclusion. A diva who craves the spotlight. The deal they make could give them both what they need...if they don't kill each other first! Reality TV has never been so hot.
Clay "Dirtman" Hagan's retirement plans are simple. Buy the dilapidated beachfront cottage he found listed for a song, fix it up, and live out his days in solitude. Everything is set until an anonymous bidder drives up the price of his future paradise.
TV talk show host Tasha Jones is flying high, until one word--CANCELED--sends her crashing down. Now she's looking to resurrect her career with a new home renovation show, if they can get around the obnoxious buyer standing between her and the perfect property.
When her competition turns out to be none other than the a-hole from her embarrassing drunken one-night stand, the battle for the property really heats up as the insults--and the sparks--fly. The producer notices the chemistry between them and decides the viewers will too and the concept for "Hot House" is born.
If Clay agrees to have the self-centered star and her cameras in his house for the duration of the show, he gets to walk away with the property in the end. If Tasha can put up with living in the house with the Neanderthal control-freak during the construction, she gets a hit show and her career back.
It shouldn't be hard since the director loves when they argue on camera, which is good since they agree on nothing. Well, almost nothing. They do agree they hate each other and neither wants a repeat of their one night together . . . So why does it keep happening?
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