Page 24 of Mid-Thirties Slightly Hot Mess Female Seeking Billionaire

"Okay, so maybe not quite as good as that, but still pretty good."

"Uh-huh. Anyway, I need to have a makeover. I really want one, but I don’t want to have a makeover now and havehimthinking I’m doing it for him."

"Well, then don’t do it for him. Do it for you and all the other gorgeous men you’re going to meet." I can see the excitement in Isabel’s eyes. She’s been waiting for me to get a makeover for years.

"What other gorgeous men?"

"I don’t know. Some other gorgeous men. He’s not the only gorgeous man in Manhattan, you know."

"Exactly," Ella adds, and I can see she’s also invested in my makeover and love life. "There are plenty of handsome billionaires that would love to take you out."

"I don’t think so. More like zero."

"Don’t be such a pessimist, Sarah." Isabel frowns. "I think that you should write an ad, and I bet you a billion different billionaires will want to apply."

"Write an ad about what?" I think she’s crazy.

"I don’t know, like a personal ad. You know, like in the newspaper. ‘Sexy Sarah is seeking billionaire’."

"I’m not calling myself Sexy Sarah," I say, finding humor in this whole idea. "And I’m not putting up a personal ad."

"It would be fun though." Ella nods and thanks the waiter as he brings another pitcher of sangria and refills our glasses. "Wouldn’t it be cool to see if you got any responses?"

"I don’t think it sounds like a good idea at all." I take another long gulp of sangria and giggle uncontrollably. "Though it would be hilarious if I did get a response. I’d feel like a princess dating a billionaire."

"Okay, what about ‘Sultry Sarah seeking billionaire’?" Isabel speaks dramatically.

"No."

"What about ‘Slutty Stripper seeking billionaire’?" Isabel giggles.

"Stop with the slutty stripper names. It’s so not cool. Imagine if I really was a stripper. Would you call me a slut then?"

"If you were fucking all of your customers, I’d call you a slut," Isabel says honestly, and I roll my eyes.

"But then you’d be more like a prostitute," Ella adds. "You’d be slutty, stripper, prostitute, Sarah."

"Guys, enough. I need to be serious now. What am I going to do tomorrow when I go to Ethan’s office and…"

"And what?" Isabel says, peering at me.

"And he wonders why I’m looking differently because I am not looking like a mess?" I run my fingers through my hair. "My makeover is going to make me look different, I hope."

"Well, you’re not going to have your contacts by tomorrow." Isabel shrugs. "And I don’t really see any new clothes coming by tomorrow, seeing as it’s the evening."

"Okay, fine. Then next week when I have my makeover and I’m looking all sexy. I don’t want him to think I’m looking sexy because of him."

"You’re doing it for you. Who cares if he thinks it’s for him. When he sees all the other men fawning over you, he’ll know it’s not true." Ella grabs her phone. "Come on, let’s do a personal ad, just for fun."

"I don’t know. It doesn’t sound like a great idea." I take another sip of sangria.

"But that hasn’t stopped you before?" They both smile at me, and I shake my head.

"Fine, but I’m not calling myself Sexy Sarah, Slutty Sarah, or Sassy Sarah. My real name is not going to be a part of it, either."

"Fine. What about, ‘Hot single female-seeking—’" Ella starts, and I cut her off.

"Nope. I don’t want to show up on a date and the guy be like, ‘I thought you said you were hot.’"

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