FAKE FIANCÉE FOR MY BILLIONAIRE BOSS

I'm running late. Again.

Cursing under my breath, I dodge through the crowded lobby of Vinz Hotels' flagship location, my heels click-clacking against the marble floor like a timer counting down to my doom.

Like I need another thing to stress about today.

"Morning, Penny!" chirps Jake from the front desk. "Cutting it close, aren't you?"

I flash him a harried smile. "Save me a muffin from the breakfast bar?"

He winks. "Already set one aside for you. Blueberry, right?"

"You're a lifesaver!" I call over my shoulder, already rushing towards the elevators.

The glossy doors slide open, revealing my reflection. I wince. My usually sleek brown hair is slightly frizzed, and there are shadows under my green eyes that even my trusty concealer couldn't quite hide. But my coral blouse is wrinkle-free and my pencil skirt hugs my curves in all the right places. It'll have to do.

I smooth my hair and straighten my spine as the elevator climbs. No matter how chaotic my personal life might be, I refuse to let it affect my work. As Head of Events for one of the most prestigious hotel chains in the country, I've got a reputation to maintain.

Even if that reputation includes working for the most infuriatingly handsome man I've ever met.

The elevator dings, depositing me on the top floor. I power-walk towards the conference room, my mind already racing through today's to-do list. There's the charity gala next month, the summer wedding expo to coordinate, not to mention-

"Ms. Goodman."

I freeze, one hand on the conference room door. That voice. Deep, smooth, and cold as ice. It sends an involuntary shiver down my spine.

Slowly, I turn. "Good morning, Mr. Floyd."

Vincent Floyd stands a few feet away, looking like he just stepped off the cover of GQ. His charcoal suit is impeccably tailored, emphasizing broad shoulders and a trim waist. A blood-red tie provides the only splash of color. His brown hair is artfully tousled, and those deep-set eyes regard me with their usual inscrutable expression.

Don't think about those eyes. Or those hands. Or that mouth...

I shake my head slightly, banishing the unwelcome thoughts. "I was just heading into the meeting."

"So I see." Is it my imagination, or does his gaze linger a moment too long? "Try not to make a habit of arriving at the last minute, Ms. Goodman. It sets a poor example for the rest of the staff."

My cheeks flush with equal parts embarrassment and annoyance. "Of course, Mr. Floyd. It won't happen again."

He nods curtly and brushes past me into the conference room, the scent of his cologne-sandalwood and something spicy-teasing my senses. I allow myself a moment to close my eyes and take a deep breath.

Get it together, Penelope. He's your boss, remember? Your incredibly hot, incredibly arrogant boss who you happened to have mind-blowing sex with once upon a time. Ancient history. Never to be repeated.

Squaring my shoulders, I follow Vincent into the lion's den.

________________________________________

Two hours later, I slump at my desk, feeling like I've gone ten rounds with a prize fighter. These quarterly review meetings always leave me drained, but today was especially brutal.

I pull up my calendar, groaning at the sea of color-coded appointments stretching endlessly before me. Someday, I promise myself, I'm going to take a real vacation. Preferably on a tropical beach. With unlimited margaritas.

My phone buzzes, the screen lighting up with a text from Mom.

> How did Reece's appointment go? Everything okay?

Reality comes crashing back. Shit. I'd been so caught up in work drama that I'd almost forgotten about my sister's doctor visit this morning. Guilt gnaws at my insides as I tap out a quick reply.

> Sorry, got stuck in a meeting. Calling her now.

I hesitate for a moment before dialing Reece's number. Part of me wants to put it off, to live in blissful ignorance for a few more minutes. But I've never been one to bury my head in the sand.

She picks up on the third ring. "Hey, sis! I was wondering when you'd call."

"Sorry, crazy morning," I say, twirling a strand of hair around my finger. "How'd it go?"

There's a pause, just long enough to make my stomach clench. "Well, the good news is, I'm not dead yet."

"Reece." My voice carries a warning note. At twenty-four, my baby sister still hasn't outgrown her morbid sense of humor. Usually I find it endearing, but not when it comes to her health.

She sighs. "Okay, okay. The doc says the new treatment is showing some promise, but..." Another pause. "They want to try a more aggressive approach. It's experimental, but they think it could really help."

Experimental. The word hangs in the air between us, loaded with hope and fear in equal measure.

"And the cost?" I ask, already dreading the answer.

"Don't worry about that," Reece says quickly. "I'll figure something out. Maybe I can pick up some more hours at the library, or-"

"Absolutely not," I cut her off. "You need to focus on getting better, not working yourself into the ground. I've got this, okay?"

"Pen..." Her voice wavers. "You've already done so much. The house, the medical bills... I can't ask you to take on more."

My throat tightens. "You're not asking, I'm offering. That's what big sisters are for, remember?"

We chat for a few more minutes, carefully avoiding any more talk of money or mortality. By the time we hang up, I feel hollowed out, like someone's scooped out my insides with a icecream scoop.

I lean back in my chair, staring unseeing at the LA skyline outside my window. The numbers dance in my head, a grim calculation I've become all too familiar with lately.

Between the mortgage on our new house-the dream home I'd promised Mom and Reece years ago-and the mounting medical bills, my savings account is looking decidedly anemic these days. I'm already working every event I can get my hands on, plus freelancing on the side. But it's not enough. Not nearly enough.

A knock at my office door jolts me out of my spiral. "Come in," I call, hastily wiping my eyes.

Jake pokes his head in, brandishing a blueberry muffin like a peace offering. "Thought you could use this. Rough meeting?"

I manage a weak smile. "You have no idea."

He saunters in and plops down in the chair across from my desk. "Want to talk about it?"

For a moment, I'm tempted. Jake's been my work bestie since I started at Vinz Hotels five years ago. He's seen me through breakups, family drama, and more than one Vincent-induced meltdown. But I can't bring myself to unload all of this on him. Not now.

"Thanks, but I'm good," I say, accepting the muffin gratefully. "Just typical end-of-quarter stress, you know?"

Jake's eyes narrow slightly. He knows me too well to buy that excuse, but he doesn't push. "Well, if you change your mind, I'll be drowning my sorrows in overpriced cocktails at Murphy's later. You're welcome to join."

"Rain check?" I ask. "I've got a mountain of work to get through."

He stands, giving my shoulder a gentle squeeze as he passes. "Don't work too hard, Penny. The hotel will still be standing tomorrow, I promise."

As the door clicks shut behind him, I allow myself a moment to slump forward, forehead resting on my desk. Get it together, Goodman. Pity parties don't pay the bills.

With a deep breath, I sit up and reach for my planner. There has to be a solution here. Maybe I can pick up some more freelance gigs, or see about getting a raise...

My eyes land on the date circled in red, two months from now: the Summer Solstice Gala, Vinz Hotels' biggest charity event of the year. I've been planning it for months, calling in every favor and connection I've made over the years to make it the must-attend event of the season.

A crazy idea starts to take shape. The gala always attracts high-rollers, eager to flaunt their wealth for a good cause. If I could somehow wiggle my way onto the guest list instead of working behind the scenes...

No. I shake my head, banishing the thought. It's too risky. If Vincent found out, I'd be fired faster than you can say "gross misconduct."

Still... desperate times call for desperate measures, right?

Before I can talk myself out of it, I pull up the event details on my computer. Maybe I can discreetly ask around, see if anyone needs a plus-one for the night. It's not like I'd be doing anything wrong, exactly. Just networking. Aggressively.

I'm so engrossed in my schemes that I almost miss the ping of an incoming email. My heart drops when I see the sender: Vincent Floyd.

Great. What fresh hell is this?

Bracing myself, I click open the message.

Ms. Goodman,

Please see me in my office immediately. We have an urgent matter to discuss.

-V. Floyd

I stare at the screen, a cold sweat breaking out along my hairline. In the three years I've worked directly under Vincent, I can count on one hand the number of times he's summoned me to his office like this. It's never been for anything good.

As I stand on shaky legs, smoothing my skirt and checking my reflection on my phone screen, a memory bubbles up unbidden...

________________________________________

*Two Years Ago*

The annual New Year's Eve party is in full swing, and the hotel's grand ballroom has been transformed into a winter wonderland. I weave through the crowd, clipboard in hand, making sure everything is running smoothly.

"Champagne, miss?"

I turn, coming face-to-face with Vincent Floyd himself. He's holding out a flute of bubbly, a rare smile playing at the corners of his mouth. The sight nearly stops me in my tracks.

Damn. I knew objectively that my boss was attractive, but seeing him like this-bow tie slightly askew, a faint flush on his cheeks-is doing funny things to my insides.

"I probably shouldn't," I demur. "Still on the clock, you know."

He quirks an eyebrow. "I won't tell if you won't."

Maybe it's the infectious energy of the party. Maybe it's the way his eyes seem to smolder in the low lighting. Or maybe I'm just tired of being the responsible one all the time. Whatever the reason, I find myself accepting the glass.

"To a successful event," Vincent says, clinking his flute against mine. "You've outdone yourself, Ms. Goodman."

I feel myself blushing at the rare praise. "Thank you, Mr. Floyd. I'm glad you're pleased."

"Penelope." My name rolls off his tongue like honey, sending a shiver down my spine. "I think, just for tonight, you can call me Vincent."

One drink turns into two, then three. We find a quiet corner, away from the crush of the party, and suddenly I'm seeing a whole new side of my usually stoic boss. He's funny and charming, even regaling me with stories of his travels and listening with genuine interest as I talk about my family.

I'm not sure who moves first. One moment, we're laughing about some ridiculous demand from a bridezilla client, and the next, his lips are on mine, hot and insistent. I know I should push him away, but instead I find myself melting into the kiss, my fingers tangling in his hair.

The rest of the night passes in a blur of heated touches and suppressed moans. When I wake up the next morning in Vincent's bed, head pounding and shame burning in my gut, I slip out before he stirs.

We never speak of that night again.

________________________________________

I shake off the memory as I approach Vincent's office, my heart hammering against my ribs. It's probably nothing, I tell myself. Just some last-minute changes to the gala, or...

But deep down, I know better. Whatever's waiting for me behind that door, it's going to change everything.

Taking a deep breath, I raise my hand to knock.

I've just made the biggest mistake of my life.

Okay, maybe the second biggest. The first was probably that night with Penelope two years ago, but who's counting?

I stare at the email I've just sent, the words burning into my retinas:

Ms. Goodman,

Please see me in my office immediately. We have an urgent matter to discuss.

-V. Floyd

Urgent matter. Right. More like a catastrophic lapse in judgment that's about to blow up in my face.

I lean back in my leather chair, loosening my tie as I try to figure out how the hell I'm going to explain this to Penelope. My mind drifts back to last night's disastrous family dinner, the source of all my current problems...

_________________________________________________

"Vincent, darling, when are you going to settle down?" Mom's voice dripped with honey-coated venom. "You're not getting any younger, you know."

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. At thirty, I was hardly decrepit. But in my family's twisted worldview, I might as well have had one foot in the grave.

"I'm focused on the business right now," I replied, stabbing a piece of asparagus with more force than necessary. "Vinz Hotels doesn't run itself."

Dad snorted. "The company's doing fine. What you need is a good woman to keep you in line."

I glanced around the dining room, searching for an escape route. No such luck. My younger brother Hudson and his girlfriend Susan were too busy making googly eyes at each other to offer any backup. And my sister Sarah was conveniently absent, probably forewarned about the ambush.

"I don't need anyone to keep me in line," I growled. "I'm doing just fine on my own."

Mom's lips thinned into a disapproving line. "That's not the point, Vincent. Family is everything. Look at your brother-he's found such a lovely girl in Susan."

On cue, the lovebirds broke apart long enough to beam at my parents. I fought the urge to gag.

"That's right," Hudson chimed in unhelpfully. "Having Susan in my life has made me a better person. Don't you want that kind of happiness, bro?"

What I wanted was to be anywhere but there, but I put on a neutral expression: "I'm happy with my life as it is."

Dad leaned forward, his steel-gray eyes boring into mine. "Son, we're worried about you. All work and no play isn't healthy. When's the last time you even went on a date?"

I opened my mouth to lie, but Mom beat me to it. "Oh, I know! It was that lovely New Year's party two years ago. What was her name again? Penelope?"

I choked on my wine.

Penelope.

Images flashed through my mind-silky brown hair, laughing green eyes, curves that haunted my dreams for months. But that was ancient history, a mistake never to be repeated.

"That wasn't a date," I muttered. "She works for me."

Mom's eyes lit up like a shark scenting blood. "Oh? And where is this Penelope now?"

"Still working for me," I said through gritted teeth. "As the head of events for Vinz Hotels. Nothing more."

"Hmm," Mom hummed, clearly unconvinced. "Well, perhaps you should reconsider. A workplace romance could be just the thing-"

"Enough!" I slammed my hand on the table, making the crystal goblets rattle. "My love life is none of your business. Can we please change the subject?"

A heavy silence fell. I looked up to find my parents exchanging one of those loaded glances that never bode well for me.

Dad cleared his throat. "Actually, son, that's why we asked you here tonight. Your mother and I have come to a decision."

Ice trickled down my spine. "What kind of decision?"

Mom reached across the table to pat my hand. I resisted the urge to pull away. "We think it's time for some tough love, darling. You need a push in the right direction."

"What your mother is trying to say," Dad continued, "is that we won't stand by and watch you throw your life away on work. It's time for you to man up and find someone to share your life with."

I narrowed my eyes. "And how exactly do you plan on forcing me to do that?"

Another loaded glance between my parents. Then Dad dropped the bomb.

"You have two months to find a serious girlfriend-preferably a fiancée-or don't bother showing up to your brother's wedding."

The words hit me like a physical blow. "You can't be serious."

"Oh, we're dead serious," Mom said, her voice steely. "We love you, Vincent, but we won't enable your lone wolf lifestyle any longer. It's time to grow up and think about your future."

I turned to Hudson, desperation clawing at my throat. "You can't be okay with this. It's your wedding."

My brother had the grace to look uncomfortable. "Sorry, bro. I tried to talk them out of it, but you know how they get when they've made up their minds."

Susan squeezed his hand. "We really do want you there, Vincent. Maybe this is the push you need to find someone special."

I wanted to flip the table, and tell them all where they could shove their ultimatums and misguided concerns.

Instead, I pushed back from the table and stood. "If you'll excuse me, I need some air."

I stalked out of the dining room, ignoring my mother's protests. The warm night air hit me as I stepped onto the patio, but it did little to cool the rage simmering beneath my skin.

Two months. They expected me to conjure up a serious relationship-hell, a fiancée-in two months? It was insane. Impossible.

I paced the length of the patio, my mind racing. I could call their bluff, but deep down, I knew they weren't bluffing. My parents were many things, but idle threat-makers wasn't one of them. If I showed up to Hudson's wedding alone, I'd be turned away at the door.

The thought of missing my little brother's big day twisted like a knife in my gut. For all our differences, I'd promised Hudson years ago that I'd stand beside him when he got married. Being his best man meant more to me than I cared to admit.

But how the hell was I supposed to find someone willing to play happy couples in such a short time? I wasn't exactly drowning in prospects. Most of the women I met were either gold-diggers or sycophants, more interested in my bank account than me as a person.

I needed someone who already knew me. Someone who wouldn't be starstruck by the Floyd name or intimidated by my success. Someone who could hold their own against my family's particular brand of insanity.

An image flashed through my mind-warm green eyes, a sassy smile, the scent of jasmine...

No. Absolutely not. I dismissed the thought as quickly as it appeared. Getting tangled up with Penelope again would be a disaster of epic proportions.

But as I stood there, staring out at the twinkling lights of the city below, a plan began to take shape. It was crazy. Probably illegal. Definitely unethical.

It might be my only chance.

_____________________________________________________________

And that's how I ended up here, waiting for Penelope to arrive, with a half-baked plan to ask her to be my fake fiancée. God, I'm an idiot.

A knock at the door jolts me out of my reverie. I straighten my tie and school my features into what I hope is a calm, professional expression.

"Come in."

Penelope enters, her face a mask of polite neutrality. But I know her well enough to see the tension in the set of her shoulders, the slight furrow between her brows.

"You wanted to see me, Mr. Floyd?"

I gesture to the chair across from my desk. "Have a seat, Ms. Goodman. We have some... matters to discuss."

She perches on the edge of the chair; her posture ramrods straight. "Is everything alright? Your message seemed urgent."

I nod, trying to ignore the way my stomach clenches. The words are right there, on the tip of my tongue-I need you to pretend to be my fiancée-But looking at her now, all professional poise and razor-sharp intelligence, I can't bring myself to say it.

"I, uh..." I clear my throat. "I wanted to discuss the upcoming Summer Solstice Gala."

Penelope blinks, clearly surprised. "The gala? But sir, we just had a meeting about that yesterday. Is there a problem with the arrangements?"

"No, no problem," I say quickly. "I just wanted to... go over some details."

She raises an eyebrow. "What details, exactly?"

Good question. I rack my brain for something, anything, to justify this meeting. "The, uh, guest list. Yes, the guest list. I was thinking we should review it."

"The guest list," Penelope repeats slowly. "The one we finalized two weeks ago?"

I can feel myself starting to sweat. "Well, you know how these things are. Always room for last-minute changes."

Penelope's looking at me like I've grown a second head. Can't say I blame her. "Mr. Floyd, are you feeling alright? You seem... distracted."

That's one way of putting it. I stand abruptly, needing to move, to do something other than sit here drowning in my own idiocy. "I'm fine. Just... concerned about the gala. It's our biggest event of the year, after all."

"I'm well aware," Penelope says, her tone careful. "Which is why we've been planning it for months. Everything is on track, I can assure you."

I nod, pacing behind my desk. "Good, good. That's... good."

Penelope stands, her brow furrowed with concern. "Sir, if there's nothing else, I should really get back to work. We have a lot to do before the gala."

This is my chance. I should just blurt it out, get it over with-I need you to pretend to be my fiancée for two months-But the words stick in my throat.

"Of course," I hear myself say instead. "Thank you for your time, Ms. Goodman."

She hesitates at the door, looking back at me. For a moment, I think she's going to say something else. But then she just nods and leaves, closing the door softly behind her.

I slump into my chair, my head in my hands. What the hell is wrong with me? I'm Vincent Floyd, for God's sake. I've negotiated multi-million dollar deals without breaking a sweat. So why can't I ask one simple favor of my employee?

Because it's not a simple favor, a voice in my head whispers. And Penelope's not just any employee.

I groan, rubbing my temples. This is a disaster. I have less than two months to find a fake fiancée, or I'll miss my brother's wedding. And the one person I trust to pull this off just walked out of my office, probably thinking I'm losing my mind.

Which, to be fair, I might be.

I glance at the clock. It's barely 10 AM, and I already feel like I need a drink. Instead, I pull up the gala plans on my computer. Might as well make this impromptu meeting somewhat productive.

As I scroll through the event details, an idea starts to form. The gala... it's the perfect opportunity. It's a glamorous event with all of LA's elite in attendance. If I'm going to introduce a fiancée to the world, that would be the ideal setting.

Now, I just need to convince Penelope to play along. To do that, I need to man up and actually ask her.

I reach for my phone and then pause. No, this isn't a conversation for email or text. I need to do this in person, preferably somewhere private where she can't cause a scene when she inevitably thinks I've lost my mind.

I pull up my calendar. There's a site visit scheduled for our newest hotel property next week. Penelope's supposed to come along to start planning the grand opening event. A few hours in the car together, then a tour of an empty hotel...

Perfect.

I send a quick email to my assistant, asking her to clear my schedule for that day. Then I lean back in my chair.

One week. I have one week to figure out exactly how I'm going to propose this insane idea to Penelope. One week to come up with an offer she can't refuse.

Because if she does refuse-and let's be honest, she'd have every right to-I'm well and truly screwed.

I close my eyes, Penelope's face floating in my mind. Those sparkling green eyes, that sassy smile that's haunted my dreams for two years...

God help me.

I wake up to the sound of my phone buzzing incessantly. Groaning, I fumble for it in the dark, squinting at the too-bright screen. It's Mom. At 5 AM. This can't be good.

"Hello?" I croak, my heart already racing.

"Penny, it's Reece. We're at the hospital."

I bolt upright, sleep forgotten. "What happened? Is she okay?"

"She had another episode. The doctors are running tests now."

I'm already out of bed, searching for clothes. "I'm on my way."

Thirty minutes later, I burst through the hospital doors, my hair a mess and yesterday's mascara smudged under my eyes. Mom's waiting for me in the lobby, looking like she's aged a decade overnight.

"How is she?" I ask, pulling her into a hug.

Mom sighs, her body sagging against mine. "Stable for now. But Penny, the doctors... they're talking about more aggressive treatments."

My stomach drops. More aggressive means more expensive. I close my eyes, thinking of my nearly empty savings account. "We'll figure it out," I say, hoping I sound more confident than I feel.

We make our way to Reece's room. My little sister is propped up in bed, looking pale but managing a weak smile when she sees us.

"Hey, sis," she says. "Sorry for the dramatics. You know how I love to keep things interesting."

I laugh despite myself, perching on the edge of her bed. "You could've just asked for attention like a normal person."

Reece grins. "Where's the fun in that?"

We chat for a while, carefully avoiding the elephant in the room. As a nurse comes in to check Reece's vitals, I pull Mom into the hallway.

"How bad is it?" I ask quietly.

Mom's eyes fill with tears. "The new treatment... it's experimental. Insurance won't cover it."

I nod, my mind already racing through possibilities. Pick up more freelance work? Sell the car? Rob a bank?

"I'll handle it," I say firmly. "You focus on taking care of Reece."

Mom squeezes my hand. "You're already doing so much, sweetie. I hate to ask for more."

"You're not asking," I remind her. "I'm offering."

As I leave the hospital, the weight of everything settles on my shoulders. I check my watch and groan. I have just enough time to go home, change, and make it to work without being late.

Again.

An hour later, I'm power-walking through the Vinz Hotel lobby, praying I don't run into-

"Ms. Goodman."

Damn it.

I plaster on a smile and turn to face Vincent Floyd in all his perfectly pressed, annoyingly handsome glory. "Good morning, Mr. Floyd."

His eyes narrow slightly as he takes in my appearance. Great. I knew I forgot something in my rush-concealer. "You look... tired," he says.

"Gee, thanks," I mutter before I can stop myself.

To my surprise, the corners of his mouth twitch. Was that almost a smile? From Vincent 'Ice King' Floyd?

"I trust you're prepared for our site visit next week?" he asks, all business again.

I nod, even as my stomach does a little flip. A whole day alone with Vincent, touring an empty hotel. What could possibly go wrong?

"Of course," I say smoothly. "I have some ideas for the grand opening that I think you'll like."

He raises an eyebrow. "I look forward to hearing them."

As he walks away, I can't help but notice the way his tailored suit hugs his broad shoulders. For a moment, I'm transported back to that night two years ago, when those shoulders were bare, hovering above me as we-

Nope. Not going there. I shake my head vigorously, earning a concerned look from Jake at the front desk. I wave him off with what I hope is a reassuring smile, but judging by his frown, I've probably just convinced him I'm having a stroke.

I make my way to my office, collapsing into my chair with a dramatic sigh. My desk is a warzone of event planning materials-color swatches, vendor contracts, and at least three half-empty coffee cups. I eye the newest cup longingly, debating whether day-old coffee is worth the potential stomach ulcer.

Before I can make a decision, my phone buzzes with a text from Mom.

Mom: Reece is asking for you. Can you stop by after work?

I close my eyes, guilt washing over me. I've been so caught up in work and money worries that I haven't visited Reece in days.

Me: Of course. I'll bring her favorite trashy magazines and some contraband chocolate.

Mom: You're a lifesaver. Love you.

Me: Love you too. Kiss Reece for me.

I set my phone down, my resolve strengthened. I have approximately eight hours to come up with a brilliant money-making scheme, nail my work assignments, and mentally prepare myself for a night of hospital chairs and bad TV with Reece. No pressure, right?

The rest of the week passes in a blur of hospital visits, late nights at the office, and frantic Google searches for "how to make money fast without selling a kidney." Before I know it, it's the night before the site visit.

I'm packing my bag when my phone pings with a text from Vincent.

V: I will pick you up at 7 AM sharp. Don't be late.

I roll my eyes. Would it kill him to say please?

P: Wouldn't dream of it, boss.

There's a long pause before he replies.

V: How's your sister?

I stare at the screen, shocked. How does he know about Reece? And more importantly, why does he care?

P: She's... hanging in there. Thanks for asking.

V: If you need anything, let me know.

Okay, who is this pod person and what has he done with the real Vincent Floyd?

P: Thanks. I appreciate it.

I set my phone down, my mind whirling. First the almost-smile, now this? What game is Vincent playing?

As I crawl into bed, I can't shake the feeling that tomorrow's site visit is going to be more than just a work trip. Something's shifting between Vincent and me, and I'm not sure if I'm ready for it.

But ready or not, in less than eight hours, I'll be stuck in a car with my enigma of a boss on our way to an empty hotel where anything can happen.