Looking For Mr. Right

"Miss Davis, why are you here?" He sat behind the desk, his elbows resting on the rich wood, his fingertips touching, and his dark eyes, barely tolerable of me.  He was the hottest man I'd ever seen, and I had dated a rock star, a basketball player, and a pilot, who were, in my opinion, all tens.  "I need a job."  He picked up my resume, skimmed through it quickly, then set the folder on top of his desk.
"I have a proposition for you."  "But."  "Miss Davis, please shut that little mouth of yours and listen."  I listened all right, and then I laughed in his face. "That's preposterous, Mr. Wright."  "Why? Do you find me unattractive?"  "Well, no."  "You already mentioned that you were desperate to find a husband and work. What I'm proposing isn't really work, but it pays well, and after the contract is up, you will be all set for life.
So, what's the problem?"  "I don't know you. We barely met."  "Then I suggest we get to know one another right away. I'll pick you up at six this evening. I've got your address here."  "But."  "What's the problem now, Miss Davis?"  "I-I don't know what to wear?"  "I'm sure you've got a little black number of some kind. Every woman does. Wear that and be ready by six. I'm never late."