I mentioned my mood for fluffy reading, so my former roommate brought this over. I've not read chick-lit in years, so I was a little scared. And after a few pages, I was rolling my eyes at the British girly girls who were obsessed with fashion and status. But I told myself I'd give it 100 pages before I gave up. By 100 pages, it had become a page turner. A girl is sacked from her job and sets up her own agency that helps guys without a girlfriend (or wife) survive situations that need a woman's touch. Of course, in the process, she meets someone she'd like to be a real girlfriend to -- much to the dismay of her male flatmate.
Even though you know the formula for chick lit (the meeting of girl and boy, the pursuit, the misunderstanding, and the coming together at the last minute), you still turn the pages. I remember now, though, one of the many reasons why I don't read much chick lit; I don't like the nervous tension you feel anticipating the characters finally resolving the misunderstanding before they finally get together in the end.
For chick lit, I suppose this was okay. It did serve it's fluffy purpose. I might check back with this genre in another decade or so.