I needed a job. What I got was an impossible boss, a hurricane, and a first kiss I can’t stop thinking about. I was supposed to have my life figured out by now—finish my novel, land an agent, become the next big thing. Instead, I’m stuck in a series of dead-end side gigs and drowning in self-doubt. So when I land a job as the personal assistant to the Margot Montgomery—literary icon and professional cynic, I think I’ve hit the survival-job jackpot. What I didn’t expect? Margot to be equal parts brilliant and impossible, buried under enough regret to fill a whole library. My job manage her calendar, keep her writing, and definitely don’t catch feelings. Spoiler alert—I fail spectacularly. Somewhere between the long days organizing her chaos, the unexpected moments of vulnerability, and the hurricane that traps us together in a motel room, I stop seeing Margot as a job and start seeing her. And once I do? There’s no unseeing her. Falling for someone like Margot Montgomery feels risky, maybe even reckless. Convincing her that we might have a story worth writing together? That could be impossible. Then again, impossible stories are the ones worth writing.