2Four-Inch HeelsThe hotel lobby stretched out on either side for what looked like miles. It was all the same: long, narrow, and bleak. Cream walls were bisected at regular intervals by abstract artwork, matching cream doors identified room numbers in cheap gold, and acres of multicolored low pile carpeting sported a repetitive cross-hatched design.
It was the sort of carpet that it would not be good to look at with a hangover.
Soren was searching for the elevator to take him up to the penthouse, but it was an upmarket place, the kind to hide the lift behind a phony double door—utility replaced by aesthetics. A far too familiar knot of tension twisted in his stomach. Aesthetics had its place, in Georgian town houses back in London for instance, or in the great churches of Paris and Rome,
