"Zoe, I am saying this with the utmost love and respect," Aria panted, shifting a large, glossy black Saint Laurent shopping bag higher onto her shoulder. "But my bathroom is literally double the square footage of your entire apartment complex. Are you living in a shoebox?"
They were marching down the narrow, dimly lit hallway of Zoe's Brooklyn apartment building.
"It builds character," Zoe defended, fishing her keys out of her tote bag.
"It builds claustrophobia," Aria countered, side-eyeing the peeling paint on the walls. "I am definitely talking Damien into giving you a raise tomorrow. You are the publicist for the wife of a billionaire; you shouldn't be living in a place where the walls touch your elbows."
"This apartment is fine for now," Zoe rolled her eyes, stopping in front of her door. "I am saving for my university tuition, remember? Once I secure my degree and my own PR firm, I will focus on upgrading my aesthetic. Right now, I'm embracing the starving student chic."
