Fashion magazine editor turns 40, falls in love.
Not that Fiona Monaghan ever thought she’d actually want to get married or anything like that, being so supersuccessful and all. Anyway, who needs a man when you’ve got an old bulldog that snores? Not to mention legions of lackeys, and front-row seats to the Paris shows, and glossy red hair down to there, and beautiful legs up to here, and too many fabulous clothes and cutting-edge accessories to list. And stuff like that. Also, because she lives in New York, which is interesting, she doesn’t need anybody to love. Until John Anderson, advertising genius and man-about-Madison Avenue (he’s described as conservative for the purposes of this incoherent plot) strolls into her office and steals her heart. They have lunch. They have sex. They have doubts. Will his selfish daughters get in the way of their sad dad’s happiness? You bet. Will his dead wife’s poodle take a vicious nip at Fiona’s slender ankle? Twice! There’s pathos: Fiona’s dear old bulldog dies. There’s hope: John buys her a new pet. There’s shameless advertising: designer product plugs abound. There’s a happy ending.
Derivative and trivial, even for Steel (Ransom, p. 107, etc., etc.).