Chapter 25
Geneva was not like Chamonix. Chamonix was rugged, snowy, and smelled of the fresh outdoors. Geneva was sleek, expensive, and smelled of old money and lake water. Chloe drove her Audi like she was qualifying for Formula 1, weaving through the city traffic with terrifying confidence. "Relax," she said, glancing at my white-knuckled grip on the door handle. "I've never crashed. Except that one time with the Vespa, but that was a goat's fault." "A goat?" "Long story. We're here." She pulled up to the curb in a district that looked like a jewelry box exploded. The street was lined with brands I only knew from fashion magazines, Chanel, Dior, Prada. "Chloe," I said, eyeing the storefronts. "I can't afford a sock in this neighborhood. I'm an illustrator. My budget is 'Target clearance rack
- Writer
