Page 23 of Mid-Thirties Slightly Hot Mess Female Seeking Billionaire

Ella frowns in confusion, and my stomach sinks as she leans forward. "What are you guys talking about? Bust out what moves?"

"Do not bring up the nickname you gave me." I glare at Isabel.

"I won’t," she says innocently. "Plus, I didn’t know that anyone would take it seriously."

"Take what seriously?" Ella asks. "Tell me. Tell me."

"Long story short, Isabel pretended I was this world-famous stripper, and I was slightly drunk, so I embellished the story and may or may not have told my boss that I like to prance around on a stage in a thong."

"What?" Ella says, her jaw dropping. "You’re kidding, right?"

"I wish. But I told him it was a joke. Well, at least I think I told him it was a joke. I told him something stupid. I was rambling and I think he was a little bit confused, but he didn’t bring it up again." I shrug. "It doesn’t matter now. Everything between us is professional."

"Oh, Lordy, Lordy, Lordy." Ella shakes her head. "You guys have been up to a lot of mischief since I’ve been away."

"Well, you’re the queen of mischief, so who knows what else we’ll get up to now that you’re back." Isabel has a twinkle in her eyes.

"So, anyway, he wants to see me tomorrow and go over the exact details of the jingle," I continue, the excitement clear in my tone. This could be the chance to show what I’m really made of. I want to impress Ethan Rosser more than I’ve wanted to impress anyone before in my life.

"Did you tell him that you’re a songwriter?" Isabel asks, her fingers gripping her glass.

"No, because I’m not."

"Yes, you are." Ella gives me a pointed look. "You’re an amazing singer and songwriter."

"Just because I’ve written some songs for myself doesn’t make me a songwriter. No one famous has ever sung the songs. No one outside of you guys and my brothers has ever heard me singing."

"So, maybe you should change that. You’ve got a beautiful voice and I think—"

"No." I cut Isabel off. "I’m not going to tell my boss that I actually want to be a singer-songwriter and not a stripper."

"Why? Maybe he will…"

"Maybe what?" I interrupt Isabel again. "My dreams of being a songwriter are not going to get me a promotion with the company in the copywriting department," I say. "‘Oh, hey, why don’t you head up copywriting because you want to be a singer-songwriter.’" I roll my eyes. "And a dowdy singer-songwriter at that."

"You are not dowdy," Isabel protests, with Ella nodding enthusiastically in agreement.

"Well, that’s not what my boss thinks."

"He’s a jerk," Ella says, and then pauses. "I mean, sometimes you do go into work looking a little bit older than you are."

"Girl, with her glasses and her bun, she looks like a grandma," Isabel interjects.

"Thanks a lot, Isabel."

"Okay. Maybe not a grandma, but close to a grandma."

"Thanks, guys."

"What? It’s true. I mean, I’ve never called you dowdy though. I wouldn’t do that because I’m one of your best friends and—"

"I know. You guys love me, and I know my look could use some updating." I sigh. "I did make an appointment with the optometrist and I’m going to see about getting contacts."

"Yay!" They both start clapping enthusiastically.

"That’s the best news I’ve heard all year," Ella adds, and I roll my eyes.

"Really? Even better than the man you fell in love with telling you he’s also in love with you and wants to be with you for the rest of your life?"

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