For some reason, my new boss has it out to get me.
Innocent little me?
I'm just a petite, talented, darling little thorn in his side. Okay, my words, not his.
But he can't fire me unless I quit—long story.
The joke's on him, because I couldn't even quit chewing gum, let alone my dream job.
So I thought I had it handled.
I could survive the new boss, along with his icy dreamboat eyes and buns of steel (how he got a stick so far up a rear that tight remains a mystery).
I could even endure sharing an office with heartless Mr. Heartthrob.
But then I drunkenly made the challenge that changed everything.
I told him I could make an interview with an arrogant jerk like him sell.
His answer? Prove it.
If I fail, he gets what he wants and I quit. If I succeed, he backs off for good.
Even if I'm seeing there's more to him with each interview, the plan is still simple.
Nail the story, keep hating the boss, and finally get him off my back.
At least it seemed simple until we were eating cheap takeout pizza and watching rom-coms together in his bed.
What was that plan again? Write the story, nail the boss, then he gets me on my back?