Divorced, childless, and jobless at 30.

My younger self had it all planned. I would be married by 22—check. Have the dream job after university—check. And a couple of kids to go with the perfect wife.

Scratch that.

My wife left me for a guy ten years younger than me, and they're having the babies we should have had. The dream job became a dream when the company I worked for went belly up because of bad investments.

So here I am, moving across the state with just my dog to the big city. Single, jobless and about enough money after the divorce to pay-off my truck, and hopefully rent an apartment.

Then I got offered an easy job managing some billionaire's estate while he's off to Antarctica for three months on some expedition. So here I sit, counting his money, pretending to be him. Well, more like a glorified house sitter whose German shepherd actually landed me the job because he looks like a guard dog. (Which couldn't be further from the truth.)

What I didn't expect (nor I assume did he) was that his daughter would show up. One that apparently can't stand her father.

He said to treat everything as if it were mine.

I might be taking this job a little too literally.