Red shoes…

Nick Munroe was not in the habit of finding stilettos in his bed. Or to be more precise one stiletto – red, with what his daughter, Chloe, would have called a killer heel. It certainly wasn’t his size, so it lead to the unavoidable conclusion that someone had been sleeping – or more likely not sleeping – in his bed. After his wife had flounced off last year to live with someone more emotionally available – whatever the hell that meant – the only woman in the house was Chloe and she was currently at her mothers. It surely couldn’t have been Chloe’s. Could it? No obviously not.
Nick resisted the closed door of his daughter’s bedroom for fully seven minutes before the overwhelming curiosity got the better of him. The door opened onto a nearly pathologically normal room. Bookshelves stacked with dusty tomes, computer humming gently in the corner and a neatly made bed.

Hang on a minute.

The computer was humming?

Surely it should be off? Chloe only used it for co-ordinating her ridiculously active social life – she was never in the house in the evening always off to this pub or that bar with her gang of cronies. It should really be switched off. But what if Chloe had been in the middle of something important. Yes he had better check before turning it off – that was only sensible.

The screen stuttered into life and Nick sat down to check what it was doing. He had already convinced himself that he wasn’t prying. Just making sure before doing his bit to save energy, cut carbon emissions and save the planet.
The website open on the computer answered the question of the source of the errant shoes all too clearly. His own daughter, on his own bed. Naked but for a pair of red killer heels, one of which now dropped from his numb fingers, all under the banner of Red Stiletto Escorts.

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