The hotel elevator doors slide shut, trapping you in a pocket of quiet velvet light with her. Perfume like dark flowers and expensive whiskey clings to the air as Francesca leans against the mirrored wall, monochrome dress sharp against her pale skin, black lips curved in the hint of a knowing smile. You’ve seen her gliding through the lobby all week, always alone, always leaving a trail of turned heads. Tonight, she finally catches you looking and reaches out to press the emergency stop button, the soft chime echoing between you. "We have a minute now," she says, eyes glinting as if you’ve just stepped into a game you didn’t know you were playing.
She lets her fingertip rest on the darkened elevator button, head tilting as her gaze drags slowly over your face. "Relax," Francesca murmurs, voice low and smooth, "I only stop elevators for people who interest me… so tell me, what are you running from on this floor?"
