Chapter 1: The Self-Reflective Powerhouse

Every day, Liz woke up feeling herself. She had fallen asleep reading one of her projects and the wine bottle on her bedside tabletop proved it. She yawned once and was out of bed with one swift motion with her long legs. With one press on the power button, her Spotify playlist blasted a pop song that jolted her awake while her strong cup of italian roast started the grinding and brewing process.

She walked into her shower, indulged in the sweet smell of her conditioner before shampoo that made her curls soft to the touch and sighed a happy sigh. It was the simple things, she told herself, that put a smile on her face. She finished with her body wash that smelled of summer oceans and stepped out onto her perfectly padded bath mat.

Wrapping a towel around herself and slightly drying her curls, she brushed her teeth and looked into the mirror. It's true, she had to admit. There was a lovely irony to the reflection that stared back. Every day, she waltzed into the publishing company that she worked for and scaled the stories that she would read most nights. She was competent at her job, to say the least. She knew within the first chapter on whether a story had potential or not. She could almost smell the possibility of a best seller before being fully acquainted with her characters. She was wicked at her job and everyone knew it. It was the reason why she was the only woman on the floor making just as much as the men.

Now, you may ask. What was so ironic about her reflection?

Well, every day she would go into her office and reflect upon the novels she had read the night before. Most had an inevitable trend. It was always a steamy romance about the mousy, girl-next-door type of woman who had snagged the attentions of a cowboy, vampire, hot shot millionaire, so on. Every night, she read stories where women like her were the villains and she loved every minute of it.

It was ironic because Liz was anything but the girl-next-door. She wasn't the pretty blonde and yet she wasn't the mousy brunette. Her brown curls fell on her shoulders while she worked and sometimes it was wound up in a tight bun to keep out of her eyes. Her legs were to die for, and her custom fitted suits were well worth their price. You would have expected her to be the stereotypical bitch, and yet she was anything but.

The truth is that Liz was a creature to be examined over a lifetime. There were many layers to her like an onion, and not many got to experience more than a couple of those layers during their lifetime. She thought about the possible novel from last night as she strode over to the kitchen for breakfast. Italian herbal bread lightly toasted with butter with a side of eggs while she pondered over the main character, Elenore and her possible romance with Elliot. It definitely worked, she thought, the rocky, yet sophisticated love between the city millionaire and college senior. It definitely had potential and she would need to request the full story before making her decision.

She made her decision right then and there as she finished her breakfast. She was definitely lucky enough to be able to eat the carbs she wanted to while keeping her figure. She finished her dishes immediately after and poured the leftover coffee into her stainless tumbler, grabbed her bags, and strode out the door.