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The sun had just dipped below the sharp skyline, casting the city in a mix of bruised oranges and deep purples, like a dramatic oil painting come to life. I found myself in the back seat of a town car, surrounded by a mountain of shopping bags...silk ties, tailored shirts, a deep red suit that probably cost more than my dad's car, and enough cologne samples to make me smell like a walking luxury advertisement, while Mr. Harlan drove with his usual calm, unwavering grace.
Who knew shopping in a luxury store with a billionaire's black card with no fear of it getting maxed out could be so fun!
The leather beneath me felt cool and buttery, and the air inside was thick with the combined scents of new fabric, my lingering club hangover, and Mr. Harlan's rich cedar-musk aroma.
I shifted in my seat, trying to find a comfortable position for my legs, and finally summoned the courage to ask the question that had been nagging at me since we left the boutique.
