It was the first day of summer in Austin, and walking down Congress Ave. in dress clothes was a journey through hell. I stepped back into the cool office tower, walking toward the bank of elevators that were surrounded by pink granite walls.
The sweeping skyline view on the 15th floor seemed at odds with our tech startup’s tiny WeWork office. Every step on the wood floor echoed down the hallway as I made my way toward our claustrophobic, four-person space.
I rounded the corner at the same time as Lila. We almost ran into each other, stopping after we barely kept from dropping everything in our hands. Both of us recognized each other.
Lila was 28 and toned, with stunning brown skin and flowing black hair that reflected her Egyptian-American heritage. She wore heels that day, despite having legs that already never seemed to end. A white silk blouse hugged her luscious tits and flat stomach, while a dark navy pinstripe skirt rested just above her knees.
Her smile was warmer than the scorching concrete outside, and her smooth lips were hotter than hell. “I haven’t seen you since Kayla brought you to that party!” she said. “We haven’t heard much from her. How is she?”