Steven stepped out of the elevator in a navy suit that fit perfectly across his shoulders, the kind of tailoring you don’t get on discount. His hair was freshly cut, his shoes gleamed, and in that moment he looked like every photograph of relentless success I’d ever seen in business magazines in supermarket racks.
His arm was around a woman.
She was beautiful the way expensive things are beautiful—deliberately, precisely, in a way that announced effort and cost. Her dark hair fell in glossy waves over the collar of her ivory coat. Her heels were sharp and high, clicking against the marble like punctuation. She carried a handbag I recognized instantly from the times I’d dared to linger in front of boutique windows.
Hermès. I didn’t know the model, but I knew the price range.
His hand rested on the small of her back with a familiarity that pierced me.
They were laughing when they stepped out, some private joke between them. Then he saw me.
The smile died slowly, like someone turning down a dimmer switch. His steps faltered. His eyes widened, color draining from his face until he looked almost as pale as the lilies behind the reception desk.