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WLW: Ashley Monroe - Dear Diary -Entry I Dear Diary, Today was one of those dangerous days where I had to keep reminding myself to stay professional. Around two in the afternoon, this woman walked into Belladonna wearing dark jeans, a cream cashmere sweater, and those oversized sunglasses that rich women somehow make look effortless. Tall brunette. Soft lipstick. Calm voice. She looked like she belonged on the cover of a winter fashion magazine. She told me she was “just browsing,” which of course usually means somebody ends up leaving with three boxes and a lighter wallet. I showed her a pair of black Italian leather stilettos with thin ankle straps and a sharp pointed toe. The kind of heels that instantly change somebody’s posture. She hesitated at first, so I knelt down to help her try them on. And honestly? That was the moment I got into trouble. She rested one hand lightly on my shoulder while I fastened the strap around her ankle. Her perfume smelled expensive and warm — vanilla and something smoky underneath it. I looked up for half a second and caught her smiling down at me like she already knew exactly what effect she was having. When she stood up in the heels, she turned toward the mirror and laughed softly. “Okay,” she said, “these make me feel dangerous.” I told her that was because the right heels always reveal something that was already there. God, Ashley. Smooth. She bought them, of course. Before she left, she asked if I worked weekends. I said yes. Then she smiled again — slow this time — and said, “Good. Maybe I’ll need another pair.” I have absolutely no idea if she was flirting or just being friendly, but I’ve replayed that sentence in my head about forty times already. Maybe she’ll come back. And maybe next time I’ll finally ask her name.