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He didn't even look at the price tag before handing over his card. As he stepped back out into the flurry, the wind lashed at him, but the cold never reached his skin. He turned up the collar, buried his hands in the deep pockets, and began to walk, finally feeling as warm as the life he had worked so hard to build.
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She pulled out a jacket that seemed to glow under the recessed lighting. It was a deep, midnight-blue mink with a high collar and a silk lining that looked like liquid mercury. He didn't even look at the price tag
She led him to a heavy mahogany rack. "Shearling is practical, but if you want to feel the weight of your success, you want the mahogany mink or the silver fox." He stepped inside, greeted by the scent of
The shopkeeper, a woman with silver hair pulled into a knot so tight it looked structural, didn't look at his shoes or his worn bag. She simply nodded. "For the Alpine wind, or for the gala tonight?"