A bright, totally predictable Bridget Jones–esque trifle.
Gorgeous, just-over-30 PR maven Lola seems to have it all: the hippest job in London (in-house rep for the trendy private club, Posh House); a body to die for; a chic, all-that posse of close girlfriends/drinking buddies; a sweet, deep-pocketed, devastatingly handsome boss, Charlie; not to mention an adorable pet rabbit. But one night, as she’s surveying the Posh House party crowd, Lola sees two of her ex-boyfriends huddled together with her ex-husband, and it hits her: She doesn’t have a man! Suddenly, Richard, the ex-husband and most troublesome of the bunch, seems irresistible. Of course, there are a few tiny obstacles to their fairy tale ending, including (but not limited to): his cash-flow problem, current girlfriend, willingness to cheat on said girlfriend, glaringly evident recurring cocaine abuse and denial of all of the above. So what’s a single successful girl to do? (Run, you say? Pshaw!) Flouting her friends’ advice, Lola sneaks around for illicit rendezvous with Richard, starts slacking off at work and effortlessly deludes herself for hundreds of pages. Unfortunately, it takes much less time for everyone else to figure out that Richard’s a cad and a cokehead, while Charlie, Lola’s rich, hot boss (who might as well be named Mister Darcy) is head-over-heels for her. So what might’ve been a thoroughly entertaining single-woman’s romp through the London dating scene becomes, instead, a mildly frustrating page-flipper bound to make any reader want to reach through the pulp and slap our heroine across the face. Luckily, Lola’s idiocy is one-dimensional—she’s eminently likable, if a bit too otherwise perfect to be true—so she’s fairly fun to follow as the story zips along toward it’s inevitable conclusion: Girl realizes error of her judgment and falls into the arms of the good guy who’s been in love with her all along. Cue sappy pop ballad.
Devout chick-lit lovers could do worse than this breezy romance—but they’ve likely been there, read that.