Fiona let out a sharp cry as a single brown loafer struck her squarely in the face. Right after that, the second piece, heavy with contempt, slammed into her chest, sending a wave of pain shooting through her.
Her heart raced, thrumming with hurt and humiliation, and tears of rage welled in her eyes as the unpleasant odor of the shoe's innards invaded her senses.
The owner clearly hadn't been wearing clean socks. The foul scent churned her stomach. Fiona cursed silently, grappling with the reality that her once-pristine reputation was rapidly disintegrating.
Another shoe clattered against her arm, yet this one—an extravagant five-inch heel—was thrown with little accuracy; it merely grazed her. Fiona winced but felt a strange sense of relief mixed with anger. Had it struck her head or landed squarely in her chest, the injury could have been severe.
