The elevator doors slid open with a soft ping.
Aria, Zoe, and Coco stepped out into the foyer of the Sinclair penthouse, practically floating. The sixty-minute pure oxygen facials had done wonders. Aria's skin was impossibly plump and glowing, Zoe looked like she had slept for twelve uninterrupted hours, and Coco was humming a Beyoncé track, swinging his neon yellow Balenciaga jacket over his shoulder.
"I feel like a newly birthed infant," Zoe sighed happily. "My pores have literally never been this empty. I am ready to be perceived by the masses."
"Told you," Coco beamed, strutting into the living room. "Now, we just need to get Aria taped into the velvet, work on the lip combo, and—"
Coco stopped dead in his tracks.
His sneakers squeaked against the marble floor. The yellow jacket slipped off his shoulder, hitting the ground with a soft thud.
Aria and Zoe bumped into his back, peering around him to see what had caused the sudden halt.
The penthouse was dead silent.
