“I remember you.” Those three words are usually harmless. But not when they come from the lips of Jack. Jack Offenbach. A man whose lawn I once graced in all my tequila-fueled, veil-wearing glory. Oh, and he’s my new boss. Who doesn’t look too happy to see me. I thought I’d matured beyond sloppy nights out and the sickening scent of the morning after. But I thought wrong. Life was sailing smoothly in one direction until one big gust of what-the-cluck blew me off course. And right back to my hometown. But maybe this new direction is the right one after all. Maybe I’m meant for this job. Maybe I
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