Sheila didn’t plan on being out that Friday night. She'd had a long week pitching PR campaigns to men who still called her “darling” in meetings, and all she wanted was wine, Netflix, and a good face mask. But the city skyline shimmered in that sultry way that whispered, “You’re 28, not 80,” so she slipped into a slinky emerald dress and heels that said, “Don’t waste my time.” She ended up at Sapphire Room, a rooftop nigh...