Girl attorney grows up.
Ellie Winters just isn’t happy. And what is the world (which evidently revolves around her) going to do about it? Nothing? Boo-hoo. Can it be true that a closetful of designer shoes by Manolo Blahnik and Jimmy Choo aren’t enough? But all the glossy magazines Ellie ever read promised bliss through conspicuous consumption. Why, oh why, did she believe them? Rife with other chick-lit epiphanies and clichés, the story plods on predictably: Ellie has a dull but dependable boyfriend, uninspiring job, interfering mom, cantankerous pet, and is looking for love. Gee, Ted Langston, that distinguished TV news anchor she just met at an upscale Georgetown party, is so handsome. Maybe she won’t have to settle for boring, pudgy Eric after all. He smells funny, anyway. Ted Langston smells good. And mature men like Ted really appreciate things like blow jobs, too, according to one of her best friends, which might make it worth messing up her carefully applied lipstick. Ted is very successful, and he’s been divorced for ages. No kids, thank God. Immature Ellie couldn’t handle that kind of competition. But when she runs into his brittle, beautiful ex-wife swaggering around in Ted’s bathrobe at his apartment, Ellie is heartbroken. Maybe she won’t find love, get married and move into a Potomac McMansion by her 30th birthday. Life is so unfair. And how come she just got canned? Ellie is devastated, even though she hated every minute of all those stupid meetings and her hard-driving boss. Doesn’t anyone understand that she’s entitled to everything she wants?
Trite, unfunny first novel with, like, an incredibly annoying heroine.