Leslie blinked in surprise as she stumbled slightly from the impact. She immediately turned toward the woman she had bumped into.
But before she could say a word, the woman straightened herself and turned slowly — and with a look that could curdle cream.
She was tall, striking, and draped in head-to-toe designer. A custom emerald Balmain jacket clung flawlessly to her frame, paired with diamond-studded Cartier earrings, and heels sharp enough to slice granite.
Her clutch — crocodile skin and screaming wealth — was clenched tightly in her manicured hand. Her face was sculpted, lips glossed to perfection, cheekbones slicing clean beneath oversized sunglasses.
"I'm so sorry," Leslie said instantly, instinctively reaching out. "I wasn't watching where I—"
But she never got the chance to finish.
"Oh my God, are you blind?" the woman snapped, stepping back as if Leslie had thrown sewage on her instead of barely bumping shoulders.
