By now, I should be immune to Professor Hank Talbot’s smug insults. But the infuriatingly handsome, arrogant man knows exactly how to push my buttons—and does it with a smile.

So when he tells our colleagues at a work conference that my idea of fun involves color-coding my sock drawer, I’m officially done playing nice. He thinks I don’t know how to let loose? Fine. Challenge accepted.

From dive bars to swanky clubs, we tear through Sin City like it’s our own personal playground—until one too many shots of tequila lands us at that infamous little white wedding chapel on the Las Vegas Strip.

Now, what’s even more shocking than waking up accidentally married to the man I hate most in the world is realizing it might not be the worst idea after all.