The black SUV glided to a smooth halt in front of the towering glass facade of Sinclair Headquarters.
Twenty minutes ago, Aria had dropped the glittering rose-gold iPhone at the Sinclair Tower concierge desk under the name "Lip Gloss," leaving her ex-fiancé to his career-securing errand. Now, she was on a different kind of mission.
But as Richard hopped out to open her door, Aria stopped dead, staring through the tinted windows.
The revolving doors of the corporate fortress were spinning like a chaotic carousel.
It looked like a nightclub had caught fire.
A parade of women was streaming out onto the sidewalk. There were women in skin-tight bandage dresses, women in clear platform heels, and women furiously reapplying lip gloss while wiping away angry tears. They were marching away from the building en masse, looking like they had just been eliminated from a particularly brutal reality TV dating show.
Aria blinked, crossing her arms over her silk camisole.
