Nathan’s doorman gave Emma a suspicious once-over when she stood in his lobby that evening but relented after getting a second look at her. She was in torn jeans, Chucks, and a grey NYU sweatshirt, her hair in a high ponytail that trailed down her back. The strap of her pale pink bra showed where the neck of the sweatshirt had been stretched out from use. The whole Bergdorf’s excursion had soured her on getting dolled up, so she went with comfort. After checking his computer screen, the doorman gave her a warm grin.
