“Well unless you want to breach your contract before you’ve even started work!” the concierge sarcastically retorted. Luke didn’t reply, but he did pull open the cellophane and wondered why some people have to be so monumentally sarcastically arsey… “You’ll have to take your shirt off.” the concierge says, explaining that it’s a fitted garment that’s not designed to be worn with a shirt. “It’s lined,” she added.
“Oh… OK.” Luke replied. He unbuttoned his shirt under the watchful eye of the concierge. Like many women in this day and age, she’s the sort who simply cannot look at a male. She’s the sort who only ever looks down on them and the sort who can somehow humble them with nothing more than a glance. “Shall I leave my vest on?” he asked.