Her ideal lover is reliable, silent, and always leaves her satisfied...
Elle Sheffield wasn't always Elle Sheffield, life coach. Elle Sheffield used to be Elle Shields, with a painful high school past, a traumatic family secret, and a go-nowhere tech support career. Now she's re-created herself and found her true calling: guiding women to overcome their obstacles and fulfill their dreams. And speaking of fulfillment, Elle gets hers from her trusty, battery-operated companion. We'll call him Mr. Goodbunny.
...until his little engine goes kaput.
But what's a girl to do when her vibrator's on the blink and her life is spiraling out of control? A shot at a profile in The New York Times may be just what she needs to jump-start her business, but it's her sex life that really needs resuscitation. Is it possible there's more to satisfaction than her solitary trysts with Mr. Goodbunny? Though it may mean taking a chance on a real flesh-and-blood male, Elle is about to discover that when it comes to true happiness, there is no substitute.
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July 03, 2006
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Excerpt from Looking for Mr. Goodbunny by Kathleen O'Reilly
They were sheep in dire need of a sheepherder. Three women alone on the town, and I was their guide. One of the illuminati leading the way through the highways and byways of empowerment in a male-dominated society. My name is Elle Sheffield, and I'm their life coach.
The restaurant was Town. A dark, cavernous place where the air-conditioning always runs too high and martinis cost more than most apartments, but I was there with my group to prove that if they could make it in New York, they could make it anywhere. Since we all lived in New York, this was an important concept.
Barbara McKee, who was my inaugural patient, was short, with frosted blond hair, and had the look of a gun-shy Chihuahua, complete with the ADD eyes that made it seem as if she was always in over her head. She glanced around, checking out the full lunchtime crowd. It was a happening place; I reserve only the best for my ladies.
As the hostess led us to our table, I gave them all a perky smile, full of confidence, just to give them a little upper. "We're here for dessert and drinks only. Got it "
Tanja didn't look happy, not that Tanja ever looked happy. At twenty-four, she was the baby in my group. There were bus drivers with better people skills than Tanja. But she was improving. Slowly.
"But it's the middle of the afternoon. We're supposed to be having lunch," she said, her frown set in cement.
I quirked an eyebrow at her. "And that's the point. We're going to do something unexpected ' out of the norm. Today, ladies, you need to visualize yourself standing out in the crowd. That's our assignment."
There was general unhappiness in the air. Barbara was nervous, as usual. Tanja was plucking at her nonexistent sweater lint, until I gently, yet firmly, moved her hand away. Joan looked calm and poised; however, I knew it was a sham ' she gets this little tic in her cheek, it's a dead giveaway.
As often happens to the unsuspecting passive-aggressive diner, our table turned out to be near the kitchen, the pans slapping around at deafening intervals. Before the hostess could pawn off the cheap seats on us, I grabbed her arm. "Excuse me. Can you give us the table near the bar It's too loud back here, and we have important things to talk about."