| no catch , mjj | ✓

☆ - 𝘰𝘯𝘦.

author's note: this story will basically be taking place over one singular night.

"It's a sign."

Leigh-Anne Pinnock sighs as she's just murmured these words to herself. Currently, she's tugging at her heel that's stuck in a drainage grate just outside of Club Passion. The music thumps from inside and pulses out into the parking lot, making her heart beat in rhythm with the song.

Apparently today, the universe just isn't on board with her whole wild, one-night plan. First, her car refused to start on the way here. Then, she also dropped her phone in a puddle in the parking lot once she arrived. Now, to be fair, she obviously didn't mean to drop it, let alone into a puddle. Good thing it was waterproof, and she didn't hesitate to pick it up almost immediately.

However, the ugliness didn't stop there. Her ex, Andre, had texted her upon arrival at Club Passion that he was getting married...

To her cousin.

As if breaking her heart into a bajillion pieces hadn't been enough when they split. Oh, no, no, no. He felt the need to move on to her other family members now, it seemed.

She's realized after everything that he's just a huge fucking parasite.

And now, in present time, her shoe is being held captive by this bitch of a drainage grate.

'Maybe the universe is just begging me to be celibate forever.'

Overhead, a loud clap of thunder rumbles across the pitch-dark sky, as if Mother Nature just read her mind.

"Oh yeah. Definitely a sign," Leigh-Anne scowls.

Her friend, Shauna, approaches from getting out of her car that they carpooled in and helps Leigh-Anne pull on the sleek black pump. "It's not a sign, Lei. It's just a shoe. A very... stuck—"

The shoe jerks free, and both women fall back onto the pavement with a soft thud.

Shauna blows a few kinks of her brunette curls out of her russet face. "—shoe."

Leigh-Anne grabs the shoe and frowns. Well, she's grabbed what's left of the shoe. The heel to her Jimmy Choo is completely missing.

She looks around and spots it stuck in the grate.

'Well. That's fan-fucking-tastic.'

While those shoes may have killed her feet, they'd also cost her half of what she'd made on her last freelance job, and this new opportunity was going to be her only real chance of wearing anything nice into next year.

Well, typically speaking, she's going to be heading to Sudan for this new chance. Perhaps heels wouldn't be the best idea. She gets a feeling, especially seeing it now, that shoes like that wouldn't suffice when she'd be trekking throughout the area to get shots that will land her a spot in Time Magazine.