When your mean boss asks you if you’re ready to admit defeat—and move out of his caryou wonder where you went wrong in life.
Two weeks ago, I was an optimistic office girl with a Pinterest vision board and a dream.
Now? I’m standing in a billionaire’s penthouse office, trying not to throw a donut at his smug, perfect face.
McCarthy Svensson is my new boss-slash-personal tormentor.
Though he thinks he’s my only protector.
He’s wrong. He’s way worse than the merry-go-round of ex fiancés who may or may not be stalking me, including ex-fiancé number one of three, who fakes his death then pops up out of a casket. Alive.
Yes, I have a messy dating life.
I like to think it makes me unique and quirky!
He doesn’t seem to think so.
When he growls, “I’m not helping you until you admit you need me,” I slam a binder against his chest and smile sweetly.
“Pick your fake girlfriend, buddy. Deadline’s midnight.”
He smirks. “As long as she’s nothing like you.”
Cool.
Now all I have to do is convince this ice-cold bastard that I’m exactly what he needs
No not like that! I’m trying to save his reputation and my job.
And I’m not saving either if I keep letting him finger me in the back seat of his limo…gulp.
