His Temporary Assistant

To whom it may concern: I quit.



Preston Michael Shaw.



PMS, as I like to call him.



I don’t need his job. I don’t need his fancy designer suits or his arrogance or his claims that I put a hex on him, because of course a strong, empowered woman needs to put a spell on a man.



As if I want him.



Pfft. He should be so lucky.



I definitely don’t need his irritating demands for caramel-coconut coffee or his fixation on being on time.



Spoiler—I’m not, ever.



I certainly don’t appreciate how his touch singes my skin. Literally.



I need to stop obsessing about him. It’s just hormones.



One roll in the silk sheets and I’ll be over him.



But we can’t sleep together until my best friend—his real assistant—comes back from vacation.



Damn his admirable morals and my flaming panties.



And now I’ve been cursed, because I can’t resist the hottest, most annoying man I’ve ever known…