When my manager assigns me the task of finding a new wake-you-up call service for our CEO, I believe, how very difficult can this be?

Response: practically impossible. It turns out that no wake-up contact business in the world will need him on as a customer. They’ve all had enough of his surly character.

So within an effort not to lose my work, I secretly start making the phone calls myself, each day in 4:30 am sharp. OMG yes you read that right-four freaking thirty each day.

Confession: I’m not about The Billionaire’s Wake-up-call Woman: An enemies-to-lovers intimate humor the nicest wake-up-call lady in that hour. Hello! Who wakes up prior to the roosters are actually crowing? Fortunately he doesn’t appear to mind my get-your-ass-out-of-bed attitude.

Daily we’re becoming better, and the phone calls start turning hot, like pay-by-the-minute hot and oh-so-wild. Snuggled under the covers with the moonlight streaming in the windows, we divulge our secrets to one another, but the one thing that he can never find out is that the sexy vixen who wakes him up each morning is merely the lowly helper who wears frumpy dresses. I could just imagine his disappointment.

Now he really wants to take me from a date and he’s scouring Manhattan to find me. He’s an overachieving billionaire bent on a mission. How much longer can I continue this charade?