“And??? Ellie, I don’t know what to do with this! I am not senator girlfriend material; you have to be all poised and blond—no offense to present company, obviously—and smiling and characterless for that. Hell, I’m not even Max Powell girlfriend material, forget the senator part! I’m not thin enough, my butt is far too big, hell, my hair is far too big for men like him! Plus, I don’t have time to be dating someone right now! I just moved here, I need to devote myself to making this firm a success, and … I don’t know, buying a car, and learning L.A. geography, and whatever else. I don’t want to be a girlfriend!”

Ellie nodded, a little too forcefully.

“Sounds like someone is protesting a little too much, don’t you think? What’s wrong with being a girlfriend?”

Olivia ignored Ellie’s first question and stopped to think about the second.

“I was in too many relationships in my late twenties and early thirties with men who got mad at me for how much I was working, or required so much of my time to sympathize with them about their mean lady boss or tuck them into bed when they had a man cold or whatever. And worse, they never really cared about me, even though I didn’t want to admit that to myself. I just couldn’t do it anymore, especially not when I was trying to make partner. And even after I made partner, I still had to prove myself at the firm, so I just never wanted to have to choose.”

Ellie folded her hands together.

“And now, you don’t have to prove yourself to anyone anymore. And despite what you said about how you don’t have time, I know just as well as you do that you do indeed have time. Date the man, unless he’s totally unattractive or a pompous asshole. And I’ve seen pictures, I know he’s not the former; and if he was the latter, we wouldn’t even be having this conversation.”

Good point, Ellie, but …