“Life. You’re missing life and warmth. You’re missing the people. You’ve got a bunch of sexy ads
that don’t have anything to do with the people who are actually going to buy what you’re selling.”
“Like?”
Another shrug. “If I were a busy mom needing an oil change, then clean bays and top-of-the-line
equipment are not what’s going to sell me on Brash Auto. I’d be more interested in being treated
fairly, in the convenience, and how easy you could make the process for me.”
She’s not wrong. I’ve never once thought about what a mom needing an oil change would look for.
But that’s why I hired a diverse staff. “I employ a bunch of moms,” I say, slightly defensive.
“I’m sure you do. But you have an idea of what looks good. Of what sells. And maybe they’re just
looking to give you what you want, instead of what you need.”
I drop my chin, studying the toe of my shoes, wondering if she’s right. I can admit, if only to
myself, that I run this department tightly. And maybe I have a certain aesthetic in mind. But — “Where
the fuck are your shoes?”
Maya peers down at her toes, bare against the grey commercial carpet she’s standing on. “I took
them off.”
“Why?” I mean, I’ve seen Cara walk barefoot at work, but she wears those sexy Jimmy Choo’s.
Pretty but not practical. Miss Ugly Loafers here, on the other hand, probably has orthotic insoles. Why
the hell would she take them off?
She lifts the hem of her skirt to her knees, rocking side to side as she lifts one foot, then another.
Her nails are short, bare. Not a drop of polish on them. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a woman’s bare
toenails. Not in the last decade at least. Something about it feels too intimate.
“I don’t like shoes very much.”
My eye twitch is back again. I tear my eyes from her feet and spin for the elevator. “Put them back
on. I’ll escort you upstairs.” She’s liable to end up in the basement if I don’t take her back myself. A
little snort escapes at the image of her drifting through the pipes and boilers.
Picturing her bare feet getting dirty on the concrete floors down there kills my smile.
The elevator arrives, and I hold the doors open for her.
But she’s not there.
I don’t see her anywhere. Puzzled, I scan the space and see a flash of beige skirt on the floor.
Striding forward, I glimpse a plump, rounded ass covered in hideous fabric. It’s a fucking travesty —
