Plot: Chandler is a journalist moonlighting as a ghost writer for D list celebrities trying to cling to relevance and not even making enough money to afford a place to rent at market value, instead crashing at her cousin’s house. So here she is, at maybe not rock bottom but feeling pretty lousy and this guy who is nice and funny and clever and good looking appears out of nowhere for a night of fun. Only two problems: one, he’s leaving the next day, and two, he is the worst lay in the history of time. Actually, make that three problems, because after she runs off rather than dealing with the world’s most awkward morning after, he turns out to be her new has-been celebrity memoir client. Shenanigans ensue.
Solomon writes bitches. Her heroines are typically abrasive know-it-alls who have little to show for it. And god do I love them. They often habitually self-sabotage in a way that is as frustrating as it is believable, and I did want to literally shake Chandler a few times till sense came out, but it never felt contrived for the purposes of the plot.
Finn has little in the way of a character arc in this story. This is also fairly common in Solomon’s stories – her men are typically kind, gentle fellows just sort of waiting for their heroine to figure her shit out. I wouldn’t go so far as to say these characters are a simple inversion of the sexy lampshade trope but they’re also not far from it.
So if you’re on the hunt for a story that centres on the emotional growth of a heroine while being supported by a lovely guy, maybe learn a few things they missed in sex-ed, and learn a little of how the writing-a-book sausage gets made, this is going to be your jam. Incidentally, I read this right after reading the Vagina Bible and it was very interesting to see the same information (somewhat) delivered in such distinct ways.