AN: This is the first fanfic that I've actually had the nerve to publish. Please R/R.
Disclaimer: Unfortunately, Ugly Betty and it's characters are Silvo Horta's bragging rights.
Prologue
Wilhelmina prided herself on being strong, on keeping her emotions tucked away deep in the recesses of her hardened heart. She knew people might call her a bitch, inhuman, the devil reincarnate- she's heard all the snide comments muttered behind her back as she passed their desks each day. She often found that the people that thought that were victim to that pitiful affliction called jealousy.
For some reason though, tonight she was feeling different. Sentimental, wistful even. God she hated the holidays.
She sipped silently on her Dom Perignon, glowering at Connor. The nerve of that man. Nobody 'dumped' Wilhelmina Slater, even one as deliciously gorgeous as Connor Owens. No, he hadn't dumped her at all. It had just been a fling, a single night that their hormones had gotten the better of them.
Speaking of hormones…she pursed her lips and surveyed the room looking for some prey she could devour at midnight. Unfortunately most of the people there were the bumbling idiots that she had the daily displeasure of working with. She spotted Daniel across the room. He looked as moody and displeased as she felt.
He was morosely sitting in the far corner, staring across the room at something or someone. His hands were tightly clamped around his champagne flute, and she found herself amazed that it had yet to shatter. Curiosity getting the best of her, she tried to see through the wall of people, to see what Daniel was obsessing about. It shouldn't concern her, but she told herself that she simply wanted to keep tabs on her arch nemesis. After all, they didn't say knowledge was power for nothing.
It could be the blonde, she seemed just like Daniel liked them- leggy, 32 C (maybe D if she was lucky), dumb. There was also that lithe redhead, probably a little spitfire in the sack. Daniel seemed like he'd be into that too. Most of the other men in the room seemed to be. But no that couldn't be it. He looked almost lovesick.
The redhead took a step forward, revealing a very serene looking Betty, swaying back and forth in the arms of that annoying singer that had been performing at so many of the Mode parties as of late. Well, from the looks of their close proximity, and the faint blush coloring her cheeks, not to mention the current location of that singers hand, it was probably safe to say they were together. She chuckled sharply when she realized she had probably twisted Daniel's arm to get her boy toy the gig. Betty had Daniel under her colorful little thumb.
Wait, was she what Daniel was staring at?
Surprised by the thought, her eyes quickly darted back over toward Daniel. The glass he was squeezing had finally given out, and he was mopping up the champagne with an already soggy napkin. All he was managing to do was push the flood of champagne around on the floor, creating an even bigger mess.
That wasn't what interested her though. What interested her were the pathetic glances he was throwing at Betty and that musician of hers. He looked defeated, almost lost . She was so shocked by the implications of this, that she forgot herself and for half a second let it show on her usually schooled, emotionless face.
"Wili! Wrinkles!" Marc flounced over catching her in her momentary lapse, and she cursed inwardly to herself. As enduring as Marc could be sometimes, he could be equally as irritating.
"Marc, tell me I'm seeing things," she said instead, still astounded by her discovery.
He followed her gaze to Daniel, who had given up on mopping the floor and reclaimed his seat to tend to the slash he'd obtained on his hand from the glass.
"He looks like more of a mess than Amy Winehouse after a drug binge," Marc noted.
Wilhelmina sighed in exasperation, gesturing wildly toward Daniel, "And?"
Marc quizzically examined Daniel once again before he followed his unwavering gaze. It seemed to finally click for him, as he let out a shrill gasp before quickly whipping out his inhaler.
"Ohmygod," he shrilled, speaking so fast his words slurred together. He took another gasp out of his inhaler, "Was he just… oogling Betty?"
He stared at her expectantly, waiting for her to rebuff him, but she never did, "But Betty and Daniel?"
"Well let's not get that far," she scoffed, "It looks like she's getting cozy with that David Bowie wannabe."
"It looks like Daniel wants to kill that David Bowie wannabe," Marc murmured.
For a second, Wilhelmina did the unthinkable, she felt sorry for Daniel. She knew what it was like to want someone and have it be so unobtainable. Quickly she shook herself out of it.
"Well, what Daniel does is no concern to us, even if he does kill David Bowie," she turned to Marc and took a small sip of her drink, pleased that she managed to sweep her moment of weakness under the rug. She had no idea why she was being so empathetic tonight. It was unnerving.
"Well," Marc twiddled his fingers nervously as he glanced back toward Daniel, "Oh look it's Mandy!"
He darted away so quickly it was like he'd never even been there. Wilhelmina knew better though. Tweedle-dee was rushing off to spill the staggering tid-bit to tweedle-dum. She gave an annoyed little sigh, regretting she told him for the briefest of instances.
Yes, Marc could be very irritating when warranted. Her theory was vindicated but a second later when she heard Amanda's surprised squeak from across the room.
No longer willing to focus her energy on inconsequential things, she began to prowl the room once again, searching for that ever-elusive prey. The brother in the corner piqued her interest. He defiantly had the potential to fulfill her womanly needs. She readied herself, and pounced.