They took the elevator down in comfortable silence and walked to where the Huracán was parked.
The matte-black finish caught the early morning light, and Sarah paused for a half-second as Stan opened the passenger door for her, the brief, involuntary hesitation of a woman who was still adjusting to the reality that the man opening her car door owned a vehicle worth more than most apartments.
She settled into the passenger seat. The leather creaked softly. The interior smelled of new car, Sarah knew Stan must've spent a lot to buy this car.
Stan dropped into the driver's side and pressed the ignition. The engine answered with its familiar, chest-deep rumble.
"Where's the shop located?"
"Steel Street. It's a boutique, a small one. You probably haven't heard of it."
