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One hundred years ago when I was young and impulsive (okay, it was five, alright? Five years ago...) I let my boyfriend take, let's just say...compromising pictures of me.(Shut up. It made sense at the time).Surprise! The sleazy back-stabbing jerk posted them on a website and, well, you can guess what happened. That's right.I'm a meme. A really gross one.You're seen the pictures. And if you haven't - don't ask. And don't look!As face recognition software online improves, I get tagged on social media whenever anyone shares my pictures. You try getting a thousand notifications a day, all of them pictures of your tatas.So. I'm done.It's time for revenge. Let him see how it feels! But how do you get embarrassingly intimate pictures of your jerkface ex who double-crossed you five years ago?Especially when he's a member of the U.S.House of Representatives now?Getting sweet between the sheets with a congressman is pretty much every political roadie's dream, right? I'm one in a crowd.Except to this day, he swears he didn't do it. Pursued me for months after I dumped him five years ago. Begged me to take him back.And I almost did it. Almost. I was weak and stupid and in love a hundred years ago.Okay. Fine. Five.But I still have the upper hand. Second chance romance has all the emotional feels, doesn't it?I can't wait to punch him in the feels.All I need to do is sleep with him once, take some hot-and-sweaty pics of him in... delicate positions, and bring him down. That's it. Nothing more.Pictures first. Revenge after. And then I win.At least, that's how it was supposed to happen. But then I did something worse than sexting.I fell in love with him. Again.

It all started with the wrong Help Wanted ad. Of course it did.I'm a professional fluffer. It's NOT what you think. I stage homes for a living. Real estate agents love me, and my work stands on its own merits.Sigh. Get your mind out of the gutter. Go ahead. Laugh. I'll wait.See? That's the problem. My career has used the term "fluffer" for decades. I didn't even know there was a more... lascivious definition of the term.Until it was too late.The ad for a "professional fluffer" on Craigslist seemed like divine intervention. My last unemployment check was in the bank. I was desperate. Rent was due. The ad said cash paid at the end of the day. The perfect job!Staging homes means showing your best angle. The same principle applies in making a certain kind of movie. Turns out a "fluffer" doesn't arrange decorative pillows on a couch.They arrange other soft, round-ish objects.The job isn't hard. Er, I mean, it is - it's about being hard. Or, well... helping other people to be hard.Oh, man...And that's the other problem. A man. No, not one of the stars on the movie set. Will Lotham - my high school crush. The owner of the house where we're filming. Illegally. In a vacation rental.By the time the cops show up, what I thought was just a great house staging gig turned into a nightmare involving pictures of me with an undressed star, Will rescuing me from an arrest, and a humiliating lesson in my own naivete.My job turned out to be so much harder than I expected. But you know what's easier than I ever imagined?Having all my dreams come true.