Page 16 of VOGUEish

January 11th

My new job took a nosedive on day one. First, there is a temporary in charge of everything.

Isabella resisted the urge to say there was a fixer in the mix. Ever since Ms. Patricia had insisted Isabella’s blog be public, and its ensuing astronomical popularity, she’d had to work hard to remain anonymous, which meant leaving out details that could come back to out her.

And second, after only three-hours on the job, I’m the person no one wants to work with. Long story. In the not good way!

On the bright side, my new boss, the previously mentioned temporary one, looks like a sex god and is all-powerful. So powerful, he has not-so-nice nicknames that are bantered about in the media. On the dark side, if he has viable fashion knowledge, it wasn’t apparent. Sadly, the guy doesn’t know chenille from silk, Gucci from Prada, or good old-fashion taxi etiquette from subway grabby hands. Not that he needs to know any of that to rule over those of us who do, but still...

This part was a bit exaggerated but that wasn’t out of her norm. Any good storyteller understood the value of lightly sprinkled embellishments. He had been nicely dressed in a rich man’s conservative manner. But with the right stylist, he would have made heads spin in this morning’s meeting.

Quick update on my New Year’s resolutions? I’m actively searching out ways to rock the making of more fun choices this year. That way, some day when I end up in a nursing home, I’ll have exciting stories to share. I was told once that interesting old farts receive better elder care than dull old farts. If I’m still doing this blog when that day comes for me, I’ll let you know if it’s true.

It had been Ms. Patricia who’d taught her the importance of becoming an interesting old fart. Not just getting short-term revenge. And she’d also taught Isabella the importance of blogging candidly.

And let’s be honest, the main reason for that resolution is because THE BIG NIGHT is looming. I need all the details I can gather to prove to everyone I’m not the Loser Princess. The one who won prom royalty only because the voting happened on Opposite Day.

The mean girls had spread the word to everyone—but Isabella—that the rules of the spirit day applied to prom voting as well.

Love, light, and laughter.

Anonymous in New York City

Isabella’s phone rang within minutes of her publishing her blog. She glanced at the caller ID and smiled. It was her best friend since third grade and her roommate. The only time they’d had a break in their tight-knit friendship had been during their senior year, when Chloe’s parents had carted her off to Africa for a four-month safari.

“Hi.” Isabella tossed her trash in a nearby bin. “How’s Jamaica?” As a publicist for the rich and famous, Chloe often traveled with her clients. It was easier to put the perfect spin on a problem if you were around when it happened.

“Hot, sticky. You know, perfect if you’re a mosquito,” Chloe said.

Isabella imagined her friend sucking up the good life while keeping her client company between shoots. “You lead such a rough existence. It’s thirty in the sun today and snowed like an Ugg Boot’s wet dream here this morning.”

“Ugg Boot’s wet dream?” Chloe twisted the phrase, making it sound like a naughty sex exclamation.

Isabella waited for Chloe to weigh in on how she felt about Isabella’s most recent swear word.

“It’s not bad. Has potential.”

“Just think, if you’d made it a New Year’s Resolution to replace ninety percent of your swear words with made-up phrases, you could now say things like holy-mother-exclusive. Or flippin’ cat’s out of the bag.”

Chloe laughed. “I read your blog. So did my client. She wants to know who your boss is and what he’s done to be worthy of media attention. And so do I, so spill.”

“You absolutely cannot repeat this to a soul, but he’s the Bully of Manhattan’s Corporate World.”

“I read about him. Why is he working at Naked Runway?”

“The magazine has a secret new owner, and she sent him in to clean house. Once he’s done all the damage he was hired to do under the guise of fixing, he’ll leave, and the new owner will appear on the scene.”

“Fascinating.”

“You didn’t tell your client it was your roommate who wrote the blog, did you?”

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t just insult the hell out of me by asking me that. I was reading it and laughed. My client wanted to know what I was laughing about, so I shared it with her. Does he really look like a sex god?”

“He makes me wet without even trying.”

“That explains your earlier expletive.” Chloe laughed sultrily. “You have wet on the brain. Do you want my help planning a way to seduce him?”

“I’d love to say yes, but I had better not.”

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