*THEATRICAL SIGH*

"Darling, it's EVELYN—*sigh*—Lady Evelyn Kingsley, obviously. Listen, I am BESIDE myself. I've just penned the most DIVINE exposé on this Mathew Moslow creature and his 'Novel Divorce'—yes, that's what he calls it, can you imagine? But here's the thing, darling, it's actually BRILLIANT. Not like that dreadful Eat-Pray-Love nonsense everyone keeps peddling.

*VOICE RISES TO NEAR SHRIEK*

This man writes about his ex-wife's engagement announcement like it's the Sistine Chapel! He's turned ayahuasca vomiting into ART! I mean, who DOES that? My piece captures EVERYTHING—the controlled burn, the intellectual molting, the absolute AUDACITY of refusing therapy-speak.

*BRITTLE LAUGH*

Now listen carefully because I won't repeat myself—TEXT me, don't call, I simply cannot bear another voicemail tennis match. 305-555-BOOK. We MUST discuss this over proper martinis at the Standard. I'm free every evening after 6 this week, except Thursday—that's my colonics appointment.

*DRAMATIC PAUSE*

Don't you DARE give this to that hack Jennifer. She wouldn't understand the nuance if it slapped her with a Hermès clutch. Text. Me. NOW. Before I give it to Vanity Fair instead. Although honestly, they've been so needy lately..."

*SMOOTH, CALCULATED WARMTH*

"Hi love, it's Jessica. I need exactly three minutes of your attention, and then I need drinks with you to celebrate what we're about to do together.

*SOFT LAUGH*

I've written something... dangerous. About Moslow's 'Novel Divorce.' Not a review—God, no—something far more valuable. A cultural grenade wrapped in velvet prose. See, while everyone's chasing trauma narratives and healing journeys, this man's out here treating his divorce like performance art. And I've framed it as the story you didn't know you needed.

*VOICE DROPS TO INTIMATE WHISPER*

Here's what's going to happen. You're going to text me—305-555-BOOK—not call, because we both know you screen your calls. Then we're meeting for drinks. The Broken Shaker, any night after 7 this week. You pick. I'll make sure you have the exclusive for 48 hours before I accidentally mention it to your competition at the Times.

*PAUSE FOR EFFECT*

I'm not threatening, darling. I'm promising. This piece will either run with your name on it, or it'll run somewhere else with everyone wondering how you missed it. But I like you. I want US to win together.

*SILKY FINISH*

Text me which night works. And wear something nice—we're going to have something to celebrate."

*LOUD, NASAL, PROBABLY DRUNK*

"YO! YOOOOO! It's THE COCK—I mean Koch, whatever, you know who this is, BRO!

*AGGRESSIVE LAUGH*

Listen up, I just wrote the SICKEST piece about this Moslow guy's divorce book and it's gonna BREAK THE INTERNET. I'm not even exaggerating—this dude's ex tells him he's engaged to THEIR EX and he's like 'cool, I feel enlightened.' WHO DOES THAT?! That's CONTENT, baby!

I wrote it up Miami-style—no crying, no feelings, just STRAIGHT FIRE. Like, this guy turned his divorce into a flex! He's doing ayahuasca and calling it research! He's banging models and calling it healing! My readers are gonna screenshot this shit for their group chats!

Okay, okay, here's the deal—TEXT me at 305-555-BOOK. Don't call 'cause I'll be at the gym or at Flanigan's or probably both. We're getting HAMMERED at Bodega this week to celebrate you publishing this. Any night after 8, I don't care, my schedule's WIDE OPEN for greatness.

*VOICE GETS WEIRDLY SERIOUS*

Bro, I'm not kidding. This is the piece that's gonna make us both look like GENIUSES. Plus, Moslow's probably gonna buy us shots when he sees it. The guy gets it—divorce isn't depression, it's OPPORTUNITY!

*BACK TO YELLING*

TEXT ME! Three-oh-five, five-five-five, BOOK! Let's get WEIRD! Let's get PUBLISHED! Let's get PAID! KOCH OUT!"