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.