Sarah


    <i ss="calibre2">Dear Diary,</i>


    <i ss="calibre2">I think I have to admit that I am one of those women who loves positive feedback from other people. Especially men. I’ve always aimed to be someone who’s self-sufficient and doesn’t needpliments to make me feel good about myself. But I suppose that hasn’t quite worked.</i>


    <i ss="calibre2">Two days ago, I got assigned a project by Mr. Rosser. Yes, the CEO. The guy I was just trash-talking a few days ago. I know what you’re thinking, ‘Wow, it didn’t take much to turn her mind,’ but I’m here to tell you that I still think he’s a womanizer.</i>


    <i ss="calibre2">I still think he’s full of himself, but I will give him a couple of points for having a better sense of humor than I thought. I know, I can’t believe it, either.</i>


    <i ss="calibre2">He almost makes me want to write a song, but I’m not going to write one. I mean, not for him anyway. I’ll write a song for me. It might be about him, but not in a Taylor Swift sort of way.</i>


    <i ss="calibre2">Though, I guess that is obvious because Taylor Swift writes about men she’s dated, and I have never dated Ethan Rosser, and I never want to. I swear, I really don’t.</i>


    <i ss="calibre2">Love always,</i>


    <i ss="calibre2">Sassy Sarah.</i>


    ‘So, you’re telling me that your boss wants you to run a new ad campaign?’ E asks as we eat mozzare sticks. She, Isabel, and I are at our favorite bar catching up, and I am so happy to see her. She’s glowing from being in love, but aside from that, she looks just the same. I don’t know why I expected an epic trip to change her in some way.


    ‘Not quite run it.’ I shake my head and enjoy the salty goodness of the fried cheese. ‘And you just got back to town. We really don’t have to talk about me right now. I want to hear more about you and Colton and—’


    E holds her hands up to stop me. ‘Colton and I are boring. There’s not much to say. We went to museums. He bought me jewelry. We made mad, passionate love everywhere.’ She pauses as Isabel groans. ‘What? I’m just being honest.’


    ‘Way to make us feel better about ourselves. Am I right, Sarah?’ Isabel grabs thest mozzare stick, and I look around for a server so we can order more. I need a lot more food to keep up with all the alcohol we’re consuming.


    Isabel looks at me, and I nod slowly in agreement. ‘Yeah. we’re not trying to be haters, E, but we don’t really want to hear about your mad, passionate lovemaking with your gorgeous billionaire boyfriend, who’s most probably soon going to be your husband.’ I snort withughter. ‘We have empty beds back home.’


    ‘I hope you know I’m not trying to rub it in your faces,’ she says, looking sad.


    ‘I know,’ I say quickly, not wanting her to think that I’m being serious. ‘I’m really happy for you. And trust me, I want to hear all about it.’


    ‘Me too,’ Isabel adds. ‘We’re just joking with you. We don’t mind that we’re going to be spinsters.’


    ‘Speak for yourself, Isabel. I hope not to end up a spinster. I’m not that old.’


    ‘True, true. I’m just joking with you, as well.’


    ‘You two.’ E reaches her hands out to us, grabs both of ours, and squeezes them. ‘I’ve missed you both so much.’


    ‘You weren’t gone that long, E.’ Isabel sips on her sangria. It’s the third pitcher we’ve ordered so far, and we’re all past tipsy.


    ‘I know, but I was wishing that you guys were there with me. I was wishing that we could go shopping along the Champs-élysées, and…’


    ‘I would love to go shopping along the Champs-élysées,’ I say, picturing myself in France.


    ‘I would love to have the money to go shopping along the Champs-élysées.’ Isabel makes a face, and Iugh.


    ‘True. I don’t think my credit card has much left on it to spend.’


    ‘You mean your limit? What’s your limit?’ E asks.


    ‘I mean, my bnce is a lot. I don’t think my credit limit is saying much. The bank does not want to loan me any more money than they already have. For some reason, they feel like I can’t pay back thirty grand,’ I say in a haughty voice. ‘Do they not know who I am?’


    ‘I guess not.’ E snorts and then beams at the waiter. ‘Can we get another pitcher of sangria, another serving of mozzare sticks, and some chicken wings, please.’


    ‘Yes, ma’am,’ the waiter says before sauntering away like a ghost in the night.


    ‘So, anyway, tell us about your boss. Exactly what does he want you to do with this ad campaign?’ E inquires as she leans back in the booth. ‘This sounds like a great opportunity for you.’


    ‘I already told you guys. He called me into the office and said he wants me to write a jingle for a new ad campaign for our new Royal lighting line. I guess he came down to the office earlier this week to ask someone to work on it and decided he wants to give me a chance. David was a little upset, but I know I’m up for the challenge. I’m going to meet him again tomorrow for more information.’


    ‘That’s amazing. He’s most probably hoping you’ll bust out some moves, as well.’ Isabel winks, and I re at her.


    E 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 re at Isabel.


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


    ‘Take what seriously?’ E 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?’ E 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.’ E 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 ss.


    ‘No, because I’m not.’


    ‘Yes, you are.’ E 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 thepany 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 E nodding enthusiastically in agreement.


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


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


    ‘Girl, with her sses 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—’Owned by N?velDrama.Org.


    ‘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 pping enthusiastically.


    ‘That’s the best news I’ve heard all year,’ E 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?’


    ‘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 have<i ss="calibre2">him</i>thinking 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,’ E 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.’ E nods and thanks the waiter as he brings another pitcher of sangria and refills our sses. ‘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 uncontrobly. ‘Though it would be hrious 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,’ E 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 clothesing 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.’ E 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—’’ E 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.’’


    ‘But you are hot.’ Isabel nods toward my chest. ‘Men will see that.’


    ‘They will think I’m hotter than I am. They will probably think I am Margot Robbie Barbie hot. I’m not Barbie hot and I’m not peroxiding my hair.’


    ‘Fine.’ E rolls her eyes. ‘What about, ‘Young single female’?’


    ‘But what if they think I’m<i ss="calibre2">young</i>young. Like early twenties?’


    ‘Okay. What about middle age?’


    ‘No way. Mid-thirties is fine.’ I hup and then giggle. ‘I’m mid-thirties. Actually, I’m more early thirties, but let’s say mid-thirties because I don’t want them to think I’m super young because I’m not thirty or thirty-one.’


    ‘Okay, so mid-thirties, single female.’


    ‘Yeah, but I don’t want them thinking I’m a normal female and then being like, ‘Oh my gosh, she’s a drama queen when they get to know me.’’


    ‘I got it,’ Isabel shouts as an ideaes to her. ‘What about, ‘Mid-thirties, slightly hot mess female’?’


    ‘That makes me sound crazy. But it’s also true.’ I giggle. ‘I am a little bit of a hot mess. So okay, that works.’


    ‘Yay!’ Isabel pumps her fist in the air. ‘‘Mid-thirties, slightly hot mess female seeking billionaire.’’


    ‘Shouldn’t I say millionaire?’ I wrinkle my nose,


    ‘No. Why settle for a millionaire when you can have a billionaire?’


    ‘True. I should set my sights high.’ I raise my ss and then take another sip of my drink. I know I should stop, but I don’t want to. ‘Are we drunk?’


    ‘Most probably. And I love this about us.’ E taps her fingers against the table.


    ‘I love this about us, as well. Though, I do think that we’re being goofy.’


    ‘What’s wrong with being goofy?’ Isabel sings and starts moving her hands in the air. ‘Why don’t you write a song about that, Sarah?’


    ‘Okay. We’re goofy. We’re funny. We’re all a little slutty,’ I sing and bite down on my lip.


    ‘I thought you didn’t like the word slutty?’


    ‘Okay, fine. We’re goofy. We’re funny. We’re all a little…’ I pause.


    ‘We’re all a little what?’ Isabel asks.


    ‘Pretty?’ E offers.


    ‘Yeah, we’re pretty, but that’s not a fun enough song.’ I shake my head.


    ‘We’re a little dainty?’ Isabel asks.


    ‘Boring.’ I shake my head. ‘We’re goofy. We’re funny. We’re all a little kinky,’ I say, and they both start pping.


    ‘I like. Are you going to put that in your ad?’ Isabel’s eyes are bright.


    ‘Number one, I’m not actually writing an ad, and no way would I put that I’m kinky. Or maybe I would,’ I say,ughing. ‘If it was just for fun.’


    ‘You would get some really crazy men.’


    ‘I already get pretty crazy men.’


    ‘Okay, let’s write a full ad.’


    ‘I’ll write it.’ I grab my phone. ‘But just because it’s fun, not because I would ever actually put such an ad out. Oh wait, hold on. I have a message here from Dave.’


    ‘Dave you work with?’


    ‘Yeah. Let me see what he’s saying.’ I read it quickly. ‘Oh, I guess the HR department just announced apany-wide intr for suggestions to other departments. Boring,’ I say and close out of the app and rest my phone back on the table. ‘Okay, so what should I say? What do I start with?’


    ‘Put the title at the top,’ Isabel suggests and grabs my phone. She starts to type, and I sip some more of my drink. ‘Mid-thirties, slightly hot mess female seeking billionaire,’ she says as she types. I take another sip of my drink andugh. I love goofing off with my friends.


    I know I’m being silly, and I know I’ll never actually post a personal ad in the newspaper, but sometimes it’s just fun to mess around and act stupid. That’s what my friends and I love to do, and it’s certainly better than me worrying and thinking about Ethan Rosser and how I’m going to impress him at work. It’s definitely much more fun than thinking about how much money I’m going to have to spend topletely change my image so I can look like a bombshell. I have to remind myself that I’m not doing this for Ethan and that I’m doing it for myself.


    Though I know, if I’m beingpletely honest, I am doing it for Ethan because of the way he makes me feel when I’m around him. He makes me feel warm and fuzzy inside. And he makes meugh. More than any man has ever done before in my life. Though, I’m not going to question it. I know he would never date me. And I don’t care, but it would be nice if we could somehow wind up as friends. It would be nice if he trusted me. It would be nice to spend more time with him, and I’m not going to question why I feel happy every time I’m around him. It is not lust. And it is not love. It’s something in-between, and I’m not going to dwell on what it means.