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One hot mess. One hot boss. One too many hot encounters…

It’s not you. It’s me.

No, seriously. It is me. Not only does my name literally mean “unfortunate,” but that’s the story of my life.

Everything I touch turns to cr*p. An apartment fire—that I swear I was not responsible for—means I’m living back at home with my s*x-mad parents. Yay, me!

Which is why I need my new job as personal assistant to Cameron Reid to get back on my feet. Three months in this job and I can move back out and, hopefully, remember to turn off my flat iron once in a while.


On paper, my job is easy. Make coffee. Book appointments. Keep everything in order.

Until I walk in on my boss, half-naked, wearing nothing but the kind of tiny white towel that dreams are made of.

Now, nothing is easy—except our mutual attraction. But he’s my boss, and you know what they say about mixing work and pleasure: unless you do p*rn, it’s just not worth it.

Or is it?

EXCLUSIVE EXCERPT: Catastrophe Queen

Emma Hart

29 January 2019

An all-new Romantic Comedy is coming tomorrow from author Emma Hart, and I have a sneak peek for you.

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“Are you seriously bringing me coffee with bare feet?”

I wriggled my toes and put the cup down. “You told me to change my shoes, and I don’t have any others with me. It’s this or I risk spilling coffee all over your desk again.”

Cameron moved the mug and coaster a couple of inches away from me. “We both know you don’t need to be wearing heels to do that.”

“I know, but it reduces the risk even further. That’s a plus.”

“You know, there’s a reason people say not to mix work and pleasure. Getting coffee from someone with bare feet might be it.”

I laughed and moved so he couldn’t see my toes. “I’m not sure what that has to do with work, but if I’m ever in your kitchen, I can guarantee I’ll be barefoot.”

His lips quirked. “And pregnant?”

“Unless it’s immaculate conception, not likely.” I raised an eyebrow. “Is this one kiss and you’re laying out a future?”

“Not with you standing there with bare feet, I’m not.” He snorted. “I hate feet.”

“All right.” I held up my hands with a shrug. “I’ll go put the heels back on. I hope you’re willing to carry me to the ER when I inevitably trip over a paperclip and break my leg.”

“Just walk really, really slow.” He paused. “How did you make it up the stairs?”

“Divine intervention.”

“You took them off and put them back on, didn’t you?”

I sighed. “Yeah.”

His laugh was low and sent a little shiver down my spine. “Why are you even wearing heels? You wear flats every day.”

“You notice that?”

“Of course I do. I look at your shoes so I don’t get caught staring at your ass.”

My eyebrows shot right up. “You’ve been staring at my ass?”

“I’m not even going to justify that with an answer.” He shook his head. “Just like you weren’t talking to my belly button the other day.”

I sat down in the chair reserved for clients and pointed at him. “Hey. It’s not my fault. It’s like a honing beacon down there.”

He stared at me flatly. “Why the heels? Is it because you thought I’d fire you for wanting to get me into bed?”

“What is this? Is it open season for flirting here now?”

“Would you prefer I ask you to get out of my office?” He raised one eyebrow. “Or is it because you’re not good at flirting?”

“How do you know I’m not good? I could be a master flirter for all you know.”

He said nothing. Just blinked at me.

I sighed again. “Fine, I’m a terrible flirter. Comes with the disaster side of me. Honestly, I’m running out of good things to say about myself.”

Cameron leaned back with a smirk. “You’re a great sidekick when someone’s being hit on.”

“Ooh, yeah, that’s what every man wants. For the girl he’s dating to be good at stopping other women hitting on him.” I paused. “Actually, that’s not such a bad thing. But sidekick isn’t a great term for it. And we’re not actually dating, but whatever.”

“We could be dating.”

“We’d have to go on a date to be dating.”

“So let’s go on a date.”

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