Elise points towards the door. Her black Vans are laying in aheap by the door. “I tore through the sole of my shoe the otherday.”
“They were already duct taped together,” she says. “But I tookthe stairs from the lobby to the penthouse the other day andthey fell apart. I’m not fit for a walking tour.”
I chew on my lower lip. I know exactly how much money is inmy bank account: barely enough to get us back home.Definitely not enough to get us home and buy her a new pairof shoes.
Especially if I refuse to go back to Zhukova Incorporated andget fired.
Elise must see the concern on my face because she waves ahand dismissively. “It’s fine. I’ll steal one of these bathrobesand sell it online. Have you felt them? They’re like clouds.”
I laugh, but we bot
