Loving the Enemy

Thanks for the fun…Andre.

That’s what the note with orange juice and a muffin next to my bed says when I wake up.
That’s it. No phone number, no text.
I don’t even know his last name or where he lives.
I mean - really? We nearly make the king-size bed in our hotel room break down (twice!) and my ONS from last night doesn’t even bother to say goodbye?
Gosh, I hope I never see this jerk again.
But it seems like the Universe has different plans for me.
Because when I start my new job, guess who’s my new boss?
Right, Mr. I’m-so-handsome-and-I-know-it.
Getting a tooth pulled is fun compared to being his assistant.
He’s cold, arrogant and demanding, and nothing I ever do seems good enough for him.
If I didn’t desperately need the money, I’d quit right away.
That is until… the unthinkable happens.

When the fifth pregnancy test shows two lines, I must face the truth:
I’m carrying Mr. Bosshole’s baby!
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