Confessions of a Klutz

Confession One: I was a klutz. 

I thought I’d grow out of it, but evidently I didn't.

It's not fun to look like a fumbling toddler when you're twenty-six.


Confession Two: I had a standing appointment at the local ER. 

It wasn't by choice that I knew all the doctors names—it was necessity.

But that was about to change.


Confession Three: I hated the sun yet I lived in LA where it always shone. 

I supposed that was one plus to being sent to New York for the next eight weeks.


That was until I got there.


Arm veins, dimples, and THE sexiest voice known to man were my weakness,

and he had every single one of them.


Confession Four: He was my new boss. 

I could control myself though, right?


The city of dreams…a klutz's worst nightmare.

Eight weeks. A klutz. And a drool worthy boss.

What did you get when you crossed a klutz with a GQ model lookalike?

I was about to find out.