I needed a job. What I got was an impossible boss, a hurricane, and a first kiss I can't stop thinking about.
I was supposed to have my life figured out by now-finish my novel, land an agent, become the next big thing. Instead, I'm stuck in a series of dead-end side gigs and drowning in self-doubt. So when I land a job as the personal assistant to the Margot Montgomery-literary icon and professional cynic, I think I've hit the survival-job jackpot.
What I didn't expect? Margot to be equal parts brilliant and impossible, buried under enough regret to fill a whole library. My job description: manage her calendar, keep her writing, and definitely don't catch feelings.
Spoiler alert-I fail spectacularly.
Somewhere between the long days organizing her chaos, the unexpected moments of vulnerability, and the hurricane that traps us together in a motel room, I stop seeing Margot as a job and start seeing her. And once I do? There's no unseeing her.
Falling for someone like Margot Montgomery feels risky, maybe even reckless. Convincing her that we might have a story worth writing together? That could be impossible.
Then again, impossible stories are the ones worth writing.