She was the only person in the stuffy elevator that didn’t smell like a 9-5 job.
Her long blonde hair tied in a high ponytail pulled at the cheekbones of her model-like face, her head angled into her phone, making her ponytail seem even higher. Her royal blue pencil skirt and top exposed her skinny frame. The men in the elevator stole glances at her body and tried to peak at her face. I, on the other hand, was the only one admiring her shoes.
As soon as we were alone, I pounced.
“I love your leather slip-on shoes. Where did you get them from?”
She looked at me and her blue eyes dimmed in disappointment.
“These are Gucci. Original. But men don’t like them.”
And with that, she whipped her head back to her phone.