Subject: Congratulations! We are thrilled to offer you an advance on your next book!

The moment I got that email, I swore my days of being a broke indie author were officially over.

I bought a new house, traveled, splurged on things I definitely didn’t need… and, um—kind of forgot to actually write the book.

By the time my deadline rolled around, I had almost nothing to show for it. My endless “Just need a little more time for my muse” excuses weren’t cutting it anymore.

So, I swallowed my pride and came clean—while hatching a plan to get “inspiration” and pay back some of the advance at the same time. The plan? Get a job at the very publishing company that gave me the deal, so I could:

1) Make money to keep a roof over my head.

2) Start repaying the advance.

3) Gather firsthand material for the office romance I was two years late delivering.

It sounded like a good idea… until I actually got the job.

Until I realized the CEO of the publishing house was an arrogant, cunning wolf in a bespoke suit—

The same man I told to f*ck off two nights ago.

The same man I may have thrown a drink on (but that’s a story for another day).

Now I swear being his so-called “intern” is an exercise in hell… and from the way he’s circling me, I have no intention of being his prey.