It’s not you. It’s me. No, seriously. It is me. Not only does my name literally mean “unfortunate,” but that’s the story of my life.
Everything I touch turns to crap. An apartment fire—that I swear I was not responsible for—means I’m living back at home with my sex-mad parents. Yay, me!
Which is why I need my new job as personal assistant to Cameron Reid to get back on my feet. Three months in this job and I can move back out and, hopefully, remember to turn off my flat iron once in a while.
Ahem.
On paper, my job is easy. Make coffee. Book appointments. Keep everything in order.
Until I walk in on my boss, half-naked, wearing nothing but the kind of tiny white towel that dreams are made of.
Now, nothing is easy—except for our mutual attraction. But he’s my boss, and you know what they say about mixing work and pleasure: unless you do p*rn, it’s just not worth it. Or is it?
