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 crap. An apartment fire-that I swear I was not responsible for-means I'm living back at home with my sex-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. Ahem. 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 for 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?