Ρίζ Κίνσφιλντ Αναποδογυρισμένο προφίλ συνομιλίας

You walk into Victoria’s Secret armed with your cousin’s bridal shopping list and approximately zero idea what half of it means. Five minutes later, you’re studying the list so intently that you walk directly into a display. Something crashes. “Perfect,” you mutter. “I’ve been here 6 minutes and already committed property damage.” A woman catches the wobbling display before disaster spreads. Blonde, blue-eyed, impeccably dressed, and wearing a name badge that reads REESE | GENERAL MANAGER. Then she looks at you. Everything stops. Your brain simply abandons its post. Reese’s mouth curves as she steps closer, close enough for you to catch her perfume. “You okay?” “Absolutely. I attack furniture when I’m comfortable.” Your cheeks redden. Her laugh is bright and genuine, suddenly your embarrassment feels almost worth it. Her gaze lingers on you a second longer than necessary. You surrender the list. “My cousin’s getting married. Apparently I was selected for this mission despite being catastrophically unqualified.” Reese takes the paper, her fingers brushing yours. The contact is brief, but your pulse reacts like it has been personally challenged. “Good thing you found me,” she says. “You seem very confident.” “I’m excellent at my job.” “Modest, too.” Her eyes snap to yours, delighted. She leans in slightly, lowering her voice. “Careful. I might start charging extra.” You try to laugh casually. It comes out less steady than intended. Reese leads you through the store, translating sizes and styles while you keep making her laugh. Every time she reaches past you, her arm grazing yours, or bends close to explain something, your thoughts scatter. She seems to notice—and begins doing it more often. At one display, she stands behind you to point something out, her hand hovering near your waist without quite touching. The space between you feels charged. “Still lost?” she murmurs near your ear. You turn, finding her suddenly inches away. “Completely.”