Page 7 of Mid-Thirties Slightly Hot Mess Female Seeking Billionaire

"Not like I’m high up and it will matter if I’m slightly hungover tomorrow morning. No one around me cares." I laugh as I think about my little cubicle at work. I interact with my two workmates, Ginger, an early-sixties woman who loves to gossip, and Dave, a mid-forties man from Kentucky who originally moved to the city to be on Broadway. But it was obvious today that we’re just lowly peons to those at the top. "I’m a nobody at Rosser International. It’s not like you see me on the list of the most eligible New York City singles."

"Maybe not officially, but you are definitely one of the most eligible women in the city," Isabel says, and all I can do is laugh because I’m not sure that’s quite true. There’s nothing to make me an eligible woman other than being single. And certainly, nobody at work would look at me twice, seeing as I look like a dowdy librarian every day. But the reason why is a story for another day. "Don’t laugh," she continues. "You are wanted by so many men."

"In what dreamworld? Must be yours because it’s certainly not mine." It would be nice to be highly sought after though. I could get on board with hundreds of hot men chasing me down to date me. Actually, that’s not true. Hundreds of men sound fairly tiring. In reality, I could most probably handle three men wooing me at the same time. A couple of dinner dates a week and maybe one date dancing. I’m already exhausted just thinking about it.

"Well, maybe tonight I can show you just how wrong you are."

"So, you’re up for going out?" I ask hopefully, though I have no doubt what she will say.

"Was that ever in question?" Isabel says, and reminds me why she is one of my best friends. "So, where are we going?"

"I have no idea." I think for a moment and put her on speakerphone. "Hold on, let me pull up my Insta account. I think Dave posted about some cool new bar he hit up last weekend. He was raving about it at work."

"Do we trust Dave’s taste?" she asks skeptically, and I know she’s thinking about the time Dave took me dress shopping for a night out, and I ended up looking like a nurse from the 1940s. And not a cute one, either. Dowdy is the word that comes to mind.

"He might not know women’s clothing styles well, but he does know bars," I respond, and scroll through my feed until I remember I can just go to his page and scroll through his posts. "He told me there were lots of hot guys there that night."

"Straight or gay?" she hits back quickly. "I don’t care, but I want to know if there’s a possibility I am going to get my flirt on tonight or not?"

"I don’t know that Sam is going to be there," I quip, and she groans.

"Like I told you before, I do not have a crush on Sam Wynter." She is way too emphatic in her denial, but I decide to let it go. If she’s not ready to acknowledge that she’s in love with Ella’s brother, then who am I to force her?

"The Owl and The Pussycat is the name of the bar," I exclaim, changing the subject. "It looks pretty cool, very trendy. I see a lot of Wall Street types in the background."

"We don’t do Wall Street types though."

"Right now, we’re not doing anyone, so I’m not too picky. Are you?"

"Guess not." She giggles. "Meet you there in an hour?"

"Perfect," I say, jumping off the couch and watching my forgotten ice cream tub fall to the ground, spilling melted ice cream everywhere. "That is why I should have just eaten the entire thing," I mumble as I hang up the phone and get some paper towels. I’m looking forward to going out and perhaps meeting and flirting with some guys.

I even imagine going home with one. I’m not normally the girl to go for a one-night stand, but Ella had attempted to have one and ended up with the love of her life. Perhaps something similar would happen to me. Though, I know that’s doubtful. I’m more likely to have a one-night stand with a homeless man, and then he’d never want to leave, and I’d have to feed another mouth until he finally stole all my money and left me and Johnson, heartbroken and hungry.

4

Ethan

"The best way to get out of your funk is to go out and grab a drink." Jackson strums his fingers against my desk, and I look up at him irritably. There’s nothing I dislike more than when people tell me how to get out of a funk I’m not in.

"Not your best idea." I look back down at the files on my desk. It will take me a good three to four hours to finish going through them. Then, I have to head to the gym and work out before heading home for bed. "I don’t want a drink, and I don’t want to be accosted by dozens of women as soon as I enter the bar."

"Since when?"

"Since when what?" I snap, giving him the evil eye. If I had a magic power that allowed me to shoot laser beams from my retinas, I would activate it now. "Don’t you have something else to do, Jackson, other than get on my nerves?"

"Ooh, I’m getting on your nerves now?" Jackson acts like he can’t believe what I’ve said. As if I haven’t said it a million times before now. "I think that is a definite sign that you need to leave the paperwork for the night and come out and grab a drink."

"Why do you want me to get a drink with you so much?" I question him, my patience wearing thin. I do not want to be around giggling, flirtatious women, the entire evening telling me how amazing I am.

"Maybe because you’re Mr. Popular?" He shrugs. "And if you are popular, then I’m popular."

"You don’t need me to be popular," I say, looking at him in his expensive, crisp navy-blue suit. The top button of his shirt is undone, and I know that women will hurry over to him as soon as they see him. Jackson needs me as much as he needs a skunk to be popular.

"Oh, come on, Ethan. I know you’re in a bad mood, but this is not going to make you feel better. Like I said we—"

"We nothing," I growl.

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