What Pretty Girls Are Made Of Read Online Free Page B

Jersey, boomed through my intercom.
    “Alison, pick up line five. Sally is holding for you,” she said.
    “Sure thing, thanks.” Okay, breathe, Alison. She’s so excited to have you here and there’s nothing to be nervous about. Play the part. You’re meant for this job . I grabbed thereceiver in haste, clenching it perhaps a bit too tightly.
    “Hi, it’s Alison.”
    “Hey, Alicat, how’s it going so far?” Sally asked.
    She even guessed my childhood nickname! Amazing!
    “Hi, Sally! It’s great, thanks. I can’t believe it’s almost four o’clock. The day has gone by so fast.”
    “I’m happy to hear that,” she said. “I’m very excited that you’re here. So listen, you’ve put in a long day so far and it’s gorgeous outside. Go home, relax, and enjoy your night.”
    “Are you sure, Sally? I don’t mind staying a full day.”
    “No, I insist. Get out of here and I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” Click .
    Apparently she was off. And so was I. At a little after 4 p.m. on a sunny and warm late-June day.
    Oh my God, did I hit the career jackpot?

    So with freshly shaped brows and heightened confidence, I walked home to prep for my eight o’clock date.
    I hadn’t been set up with anyone in a long time, so a week earlier, I had almost walked into a telephone pole (who even knew they still existed!) when a friend’s husband had hopped on her cell phone to tell me excitedly about the potential match.
    I’d been told that Christopher Pickelz was a successful trader, very family oriented, and ready to settle down. He was forty-three, a little older than the men I was used to dating, but now I was a new woman with new eyebrows and a new job, so why not? With weddings being the latest weekend activity, I found myself putting more pressure on each date. “Another one bites the dust,” my friends would say whenever the “I’m engaged” phone calls came.
    “Madison, it’s either drought or deluge, and my drought is ending tonight,” I told my friend optimistically as I touched up my makeup and changed my shoes to higher heels.
    “I’m excited for your setup,” she replied. “So much more reliable than random online dates, you know?”
    With Madison in California enjoying the auditioning-actress life in ways I never had, embracing the uncertainty rather than crumbling under it, the three-hour time difference worked in our favor. I could be getting ready for a night out while she drove to an audition with me on Bluetooth.
    “Okay, have to run,” I mumbled, glossing my lips. “Call you after . . . or tomorrow morning.”
    She laughed and I pressed the End button.
    I hadn’t been to the Metropolitan Club before, so when I arrived, the decor—marble and gilded molding—only upped my excitement. It appealed to my classically traditional taste, my love of chivalry and party dresses, and my belief that in a past life I had lived in Downton Abbey.
    While tonight’s date was for just a drink, it occurred to me that it could be the last “just a drink” I would ever have to have.
    The maître d’ pointed me toward the table by the bar where Christopher was seated. Like a gentleman, he stood when I arrived. And that’s when I panicked.
    Standing, he could barely see over the high-top bar table.
    This wasn’t going to work. I don’t think I’d ever stood taller than a man before. At five foot two, I had been fortunate enough never to have looked down upon bald spots. But with no preplanned exit strategy, I would have to let this thing run its course.
    “Alison, so nice to meet you. I’ve heard such wonderful things.”
    “Thank you, it’s great to meet you as well.”
    Mini gherkin. Oh crap. Why did I have to think like that? But the analogy atleast kept me entertained throughout the date. I understood why Pickelz felt the need to tell me how many millions of dollars he managed in his fund, and he was a nice man . . . he just felt taller standing on his wallet.
    I knew that my mom would