Amalia sighed exaggeratedly, swinging her head to the stock built man beside her. His stoic build, covered in a customary black suit, eyes shielded with dark tinted sun glasses leaving only the neatly slicked auburn hair to shadow the nape of his neck.
"You good there hot stuff?" She mumbled quietly, peering up at the man through the shaggy blonde mop upon her head untamed as per usual. Amalia made a mental note to get it cut when she can.
The man neither replied nor moved beneath her small glare and the girl scoffed, turning forward to continue her rather unladylike slump. Amalia wasn't one to act like a lady, 5 years of imprisonment is what her parents blamed it on, and though she knew for a fact she was born like this. Of course, her parents had paid enough – extremely highly – for intense etiquette lessons and she knew how to hold herself, though the rebellious intentions she was born with, refused to listen.
So there she waddled, slightly slouching forward as she began to study her neatly clipped nails, the dirt beneath them long gone since her release. Amalia was indeed, not in the mood for an appointment with someone coaxing her of her 'problems' which she knew full well there were none.
Her parents however, thought everything was wrong with their dearest little Amalia, it made Amalia sick. If only she had the will power to puke right in the middle of an office hallway, she'd have done it once they stepped into said air conditioned area.
The walls were a pristine white, lined with the usual non-profit paintings, slapped against the wall behind a nice pot of useless greenery. It was one of those 'we have enough money to shove it in your face' places that made Amalia's insides queasy. Damn rich people.
Though that goes without saying, she couldn't exactly speak. Amalia had grown with everything she wanted and more, living the average little girl's fantasy, except it all seemed like a nightmare in her childhood. All she wanted to do was play with her older brothers outside, throw mud at them and tackle them during sports, but she got dolls, extravagant dresses and business partner's daughters as friends.
"Hello, how can I help you?" It felt like an eternity had passed before they finally made it to the psychology receptionist where the young, formal looking brunette smiled politely. The man beside Amalia coughed gruffly, looking towards young little ole' Amalia for acknowledgment. "She has a 1 O'clock appointment with a Mr Uchiha."
The young receptionist brightened at the name and nodded, patting down her skirt as she softly lifted herself up. Amalia briefly noticed the woman's incredibly slender figure and quietly yearned for such a body. Almost everything about the woman was beautiful.
From the neatly cropped hairstyle, to her smooth long neck, all the way down to her thin waist line finally to her creamy legs, resting in stiletto heels. She was the epitome of a model and Amalia had to wonder if she had applied for such a job, because if she had, those people had no idea what they missed out on.
"Right this way, I'm Reina by the way."
The woman lead both Amalia and her much regretted 'bodyguard' who she had yet to learn the name of, therefore dropping a few nicknames here and there – she had tried a few, waiting until she chose one that actually fit –, to the door not too far away, knocking lightly.
"Mr Uchiha, your client has arrived." And without missing a beat, a velvet voice returned quietly, "Let her in."