A Not So Meet Cute

How did you two meet? The quintessential question asked to every couple. And the answer is usually some bubbly, lovey dovey tale of being struck in the bum by Cupid's arrow. My meet cute (well not so meet cute) is slightly different. I was trolling a wealthy neighborhood in Beverly Hills, searching for someone to take me as their bride, you know, to make my arch nemesis jealous who consequently just fired me. He was stomping around the block like some sort of gorgeous ogre, mumbling about a business deal gone wrong and attempting to finagle his way out of it. And that's when we bumped into each other. There were no sparks. Not even a hint of blossoming love. But next thing I knew, I was scarfing down free chips and guac, listening to this man lay out all of his problems which led to his big ask . . . he wanted me to be his Vivian Ward, you know, from Pretty Woman--minus the frisky behavior. We're talking about living in a mansion, intimate double dates, and pretending we were head over heels in love . . . and engaged. Can you imagine? The absolute audacity. But people do crazy things when they're desperate. And I reeked of desperation. So, I struck up a deal. My one big mistake, though . . . big . . . HUGE? I accidentally fell for the incomparable Huxley Can.