Losing my job wasn’t on my to-do list for this work trip.
But here I am—unemployed, craving a decent iced latte, and one bad mood away from a full-on identity crisis.
No job? This too shall pass.
No plan? Story of my life.
No boyfriend? Please. Men are exhausting.
At least, that’s what I tell myself, right up until a grumpy ball of hotness offers to help me at the airport.
Tuxedo in disarray. Jawline perfectly chiseled. Smolder for days.
He looks like heartbreak suited in expensive cologne. The kind I could get drunk on.