Page 32 of Dancing for the Minotaur

Nobody seemed to be paying attention to her, but Terra felt as though they were. How could anyone look at her and not know she was out of place?

That’s enough of that, she told herself firmly. You belong here as much as anyone else.

She straightened her shoulders and kept walking.

There were several banks of elevators along one wall, each with discreet brass lettering above it. RESIDENTIAL LEVELS, read one. AMENITIES, read a second. PARKING, was the one she’d come out of.

Separated slightly from the others, was a pair of elevators with polished gold doors. PENTHOUSE ACCESS, read the brass plaque above.

Terra lifted her chin and headed across the marble lobby toward the golden elevator. She was almost there when a woman's voice stopped her.

“Excuse me? Miss?”

Terra turned.

One of the lobby employees had come out from behind the reception desk. She was probably in her thirties, tall and painfully elegant in a fitted black suit with her dark hair pulled into a perfect bun. A little gold nameplate pinned to her lapel read Marissa.

“Yes?” Terra asked.

Marissa smiled, but it was the kind of smile that didn't reach her eyes.

“Can I help you find something?” she asked, her eyes sweeping up and down Terra’s cheap clothes and secondhand shoes. “I don’t believe we’ve seen you here before.”

“No, thank you. I know where I'm going,” Terra said firmly, though her heart was pounding. She turned back toward the gold elevators.

But Marissa clearly wasn’t one to give up when she thought that she’d sniffed out an intruder.

“I’m sorry but those elevators are restricted,” she said, with a warning tone in her voice.

Terra looked at her coolly, trying to appear unaffected by her tone.

“I know.”

“Penthouse residents and authorized guests only,” the other woman emphasized.

“I know,” Terra repeated.

For a moment the woman simply stared at her, like she couldn’t believe Terra could be so dense and so low class at the same time.

Terra knew that look.

She had gotten variations of it at expensive stores when she wore jeans, and nobody bothered to ask if she needed help and at school conferences when she didn’t have time to remove her wig and makeup after dancing. And she had certainly gotten it at The Doll House whenever some wealthy customer realized that “Bunny Canyon” actually had opinions.

It was the look people gave when they had already decided where you belonged and Terra was tired of it. It made her think of that scene in Pretty Woman where the snooty counter girl wouldn’t let Julia Roberts shop at the fancy boutique.

“I'm going to the penthouse,” she said bluntly.

Marissa's elegantly sculpted brows rose ever so slightly.

“And do you have an appointment?” she asked, clearly thinking there was no way Terra could possibly have an appointment with anyone who lived in such a rarified space.

Terra lifted her chin higher.

“Yes, I do.”

“With whom?” Marissa wanted to know.

Terra smiled sweetly.