Confession One: I was a klutz.
I thought I’d grow out of it, but evidently I didn’t.
It’s not fun to look like a fumbling toddler when you’re twenty-six.
Confession Two: I had a standing appointment at the local ER.
It wasn’t by choice that I knew all the doctors names—it was necessity.
But that was about to change.
Confession Three: I hated the sun yet I lived in LA where it always shone.
I supposed that was one plus to being sent to New York for the next eight weeks.
That was until I got there.
Arm veins, dimples, and THE sexiest voice known to man were my weakness,
and he had every single one of them.
Confession Four: He was my new boss.
I could control myself though, right?
The city of dreams… a klutz’s worst nightmare.
Eight weeks. A klutz. And a drool worthy boss.
What did you get when you crossed a klutz with a GQ model lookalike?
I was about to find out.