My boss hired me while I was drunk out of my mind at a party. Wobbling around, whining about being unemployed.
But . . . it was no charity. I'm qualified over-qualified for this job. Seriously, I'm really, really good. So good that that I got drunk (again) and fell into Simon's bed.
Mr. Simon Cox. Uptight. Freakishly organized. Too proud. And way too rich. All the things I'm not. All the things I never want to be. Imagine his reaction when he enters my Brooklyn apartment that looks more like a pig sty than a home.
Anyhow, he came over to ask for a favor. And he came prepared . . . with a contract in hand. The fake fiancee contract. All I have to do is sign on the dotted line and get fake engaged. Is this why he hired a drunk mess like myself? And is now the best time to disobey my boss?
