Chapter 1
Agnes was a woman who took great pride in the way she looked. Nails especially—fingers and toes, she had manicures and pedicures scheduled for the gaps of time when she wasn't behind Hero TV's network cameras, managing the whole damn thing. It was a privilege she'd earned. She got a secret thrill out of being able to breezily command the manicurists around at a moment's notice, an ability that screamed importance and power. Other women could call the same people to appear here or there at a moment's notice too, but they weren't controlling what was coming into the houses of citizens everywhere. Those women were stupid, money-grabbing wives of elite men. She felt a wave of disgust for them.
It wasn't public knowledge, but her beginnings weren't so humble or so privileged that her occupation (and the enticing power that went with it) be anything of extravagant note. She was just herself and expectations from anyone or 'societal customs expected from one of your station in life' were things she did not concern herself with. She could put back a few beers or sip a few complicated cocktails, whichever she felt inclined to at that moment.
"Weaklings." She muttered, betraying her line of thought to an empty room. The lights were on because the monitors were off. A brief lull in the Hero action had the producer lounging primly in her haven of work. Her assistants long left for a food run, tossing an inclusion at her over their shoulders, expecting, rightly so, that she wouldn't take them up on it. A snob she wasn't, Agnes just didn't do thing she didn't want to. But she was somewhat warmed by the fact they thought to offer. 'See, I'm not so unapproachable.'
Powerful, ambitious, maybe a little entitled….these were the traits that oozed off of her. These were the traits that repelled men. Men, for example, started tapering off when she started earning, commanding, and expecting more for herself than they did.
"Not that any of them could keep up, anyway." She murmured, without a hint of bitterness, she assured herself. She had yet to find one man who could respect her and give her what she needed at the same time. They all wanted more of her. More time for their relationship, more power in the relationship, blah, blah, blah. Not her fault the idiots she'd gone out with couldn't keep up their end of the relationship. Some were just after her body and status. Dumped. A few others thought she'd look good as an elite wife. Dumped! How the hell dare they?
The brunette flipped her lushly styled hair over her shoulder in an attempt to calm down. Maybe her sisters' warnings of her being "too wound up" were starting to get to her. She'd never been this stuck on the idea of 'getting a man' for so long in any stretch of time.
She looked at her watch again for the fifth time in the last hour. "How long does it take to get lunch?"
Sighing, she grabbed her small, sleek and efficient purse from the back of a chair and straightened her clothing until she was satisfied. A simple but expensively cut blouse to show off what many secretly thought to be enhancements, but few knew to be a blessing to all women in her family. An equally expensive skirt of durable-but-above-common fabric slid over the parts of her that she worked to keep toned and within her own personal standards of 'sexy'. It never hurt a woman to look in a mirror, naked, and be damn proud. Why not extend that aspect of her personality to her appearance as well as her career? Consistency was something Agnes learned to appreciate long ago. She respected people who knew what they wanted and worked to keep it.
'To each their own in happiness.' She thought as she paced toward the room's door. Her heels clicking in the silence. She stopped before exiting to check her makeup. Today's look was more natural with the eye shadow forgotten and her lips, usually glossy, were painted a subtlety more enhanced color than her natural lip tone, and glossed over.
Approval shown in her eyes from her compact. Slipping on a confident, you wish you could have this smirk, she pressed the exit button and strode down the hallway in pursuit of her directors and a quick lunch. Her hips and heels clicking and swaying in an internal rhythm.
It was in the lobby when Antonio Lopez noticed as Agnes passed, and gave a low whistle (from a safe distance away). Not a cowardly man in the least, the rock of a human being knew when to stay out of a woman's way. Well, mostly. He was an appreciator, and damn did this woman give a guy something to appreciate.
In the noisy lobby, all lit up and active, he strode slow so that he could watch a little longer.
His hands found his jacket pockets and he continued his easy gait toward his company's conference room, in the opposite direction of Agnes. He craned his neck a little to follow her swiveling hips for a second longer before straightening and continuing on his way.
"Mm." he emphasized, shaking his head and thinking if there was a respectful way to ask the lady out for drinks sometime in the near future. He just hadn't gotten enough of an eyeful yet.
He'd always like his women strong and pretty. Something about the shy nice types always made him feel like he was going to break them. He laughed, then, thinking of Pao-Lin. She was the exception. Shy (about some things) and small, but strong and fearless. He'd taking a protective liking to her lately. His brain almost immediately noticing that parallels between the two women. The girl and the woman both had an interest for him. Their strength and how they liked to display it. Albeit, much differently, but the same confidence in who they were and not being afraid to push themselves and flaunt their strengths.
And now Antonio's mind was back on Agnes. Something in the back of his mind hummed again in a 'yummm' sort of way which had him scoffing and thinking how crude he sounded. Not that he was pompous or hoity-toity in the least. He just believed in respecting a woman, and right now he had the suspicion he was acting like a jackass.
'Later,' he assured himself. 'I'll worry about my morals and women later.' He shrugged deeper into his jacket and continued down the hallway, his boots clomping softly on the carpet.