Note: The following excerpt has been used with the permission of a former client and/or the publisher. Please note that I can adjust my prose style for a particular genre, and the following is not intended to represent my full range of styles or the number of genres I consider. For nonfiction, the level of complexity can be adjusted depending on client preference. .

Having been a widower for three years, I decided to try online dating at the insistence of several friends who thought that I should "put myself out there." I therefore created a dating profile with a company that said it was the leading online matchmaker. I then sat back and waited to see if anyone contacted me or was interested in the personal information I'd shared. I'm a pretty decent-looking guy, and a few women sent me a wink, which I later learned was code for "It's all right to contact me through the matchmaking forum."

And that's exactly what I did, and I proceeded to go on six dates with six different women in three weeks. Nobody seemed very interested in me, which was puzzling since since it seemed that the women who had looked so innocent and charming online wanted only four things: wealth, good looks, a great body, and power. These women wanted to date movers and shakers, men who were company presidents who would wine and dine the little dears before bedding them. They wanted a fairy tale, one that preferably ended in a marriage proposal and a mansion – forget the white picket fence.

I was demoralized and intended to take down my profile, but then I decided to have a bit of fun at the expense of these shallow people. I bought a knockoff Rolex and a knockoff Armani suit before borrowing a friend's Porsche 911 Targa. I owned a small furniture gallery – I made my own products – but I hired a couple of part-time workers and instructed them to call me whenever I was on a date so that I could say things like "Buy the stock!" or "Hand the matter over to the guys in Human Resources." Finally, I went to a beauty salon for a professional makeover, after which I touched up my dating photo a bit with the help of some PhotoShop magic.

Over the next two months, women threw themselves at the guy they thought was the CEO of a major investment company. They wanted to kiss me, sleep with me, marry me, and cuddle until the cows came home. I was taken to parties at which I was displayed like the latest success story on the cover of GQ or Esquire. I had gone from the biggest loser in the dating kingdom to the fresh catch of the day because I had donned a shiny new exterior and met the shallow expectations of the middle-aged demographic in the dating pool.

At the end of two months, I dated a woman who didn't seem all that impressed with my superstar persona, and on our second date I confessed to the charade, adding that I had been pretty angry with my initial experiences in online dating and had conducted what was tantamount to a sociological experiment. I told her who I was, after which I thought she would probably slap me across the face and knock the fillings out of my molars. Instead, she took my head in her hands and kissed me, explaining that she had been just as frustrated with online dating as I had been. I was confused. Every profile I had perused said that "I am not into head games!" But Nadia, my newfound love, said that it was the gold diggers who were playing the head games, not me. I had, after all, spilled the beans and been honest. I was after meaningless sex, she said. I was after a lasting relationship.

Two years later, I married Nadia, and we thought that our dating experience had been so unique that we decided it would make a great Rom Com. We hired a screenwriter, and the story was quickly optioned as a movie. Nadia and I found each other against all odds, and just maybe she's the true definition of a soulmate – the kind that usually only exists in the movies