The living room of the Sinclair Penthouse looked like a Sephora had been picked up by a Category 5 tornado and dropped into it.
Half-empty Venti iced coffees were sweating on the glass coffee tables. Open makeup palettes, trailing loose translucent powder, littered the velvet ottomans. Rolling racks crammed with designer garment bags lined the floor-to-ceiling windows, blocking the panoramic view of the Manhattan skyline.
And vibrating the floor, pumping at a high volume through the integrated smart-home surround sound system, was Meghan Trainor.
"I could have my Gucci on! I could wear my Louis Vuitton!"
Aria stood in the center of the chaos, wearing a white silk robe, happily shimmying her hips to the beat.
"Are we sure about the cool tones, Coco?" Aria asked, holding a silver hand mirror up to her face. "I want to look sharp tonight, but not washed out."
