The Sinclair Penthouse was quiet, save for the rhythmic click-clack of Zoe Chen typing on her laptop and the soft hum of the air conditioning.
Damien had left an hour ago for a meeting at the office, leaving the two women alone with a bottle of champagne.
Aria sat on the velvet ottoman in the living room, wearing a silk robe and focusing intently on her right foot. She was painting her toenails a shade of deep, oxblood red.
"Okay, listen to this one," Zoe said, kicking her feet up onto the coffee table. "Vogue Paris just ran a piece titled 'The Anatomy of Possession: Why Aria Sinclair's Neck is the Hottest Real Estate in Fashion.' They're calling it 'subversive'."
Aria blew on her wet polish. "Subversive? It was a hickey, Zoe."
"It wasn't just a hickey," Zoe corrected, spinning her laptop around to show a graph. "Celestia's stock is up 12% overnight."
Zoe leaned forward, her expression shifting from PR shark to best friend.
"But seriously. The photos? That wasn't acting."
