Greta sat in her sleek black car, mirror angled toward her face. She dragged the tube of crimson lipstick slowly across her mouth, pressing her lips together with a small pout. A fingertip smoothed the curve of her cupid's bow, then she checked herself from a few different angles. Perfect. She tossed the lipstick back into her bag, ran a hand over her hair, and stepped out like she owned the pavement.
The lobby's hum changed instantly. Heads turned, conversations faltered.
"Isn't that?" a woman near the elevator whispered.
"The movie star?" another finished under her breath.
Greta gave them a polite but knowing smile, letting her heels click deliberately against the polished floor as she crossed to the reception desk.
"I'm here to see Travis Hale," she said, voice smooth enough to melt glass.
Moments later, she was walking into his office.
"Greta," Travis said, glancing up from his desk, his tone measured. "I wasn't expecting you."
