"You have got to be kidding me?" Ayana thought, taking a long, deep breath. She was not going to snap, she was not going to snap. No matter how much of a bitch the woman that was standing before her was being she wasn't going to deem her idiocy with a response befitting to her kind...No matter if she really wanted to.
She took another long, deep breath. Then she counted to ten. Counted again. She was not going to snap. She was not going to snap.
"You would think that wouldn't you," the woman hissed nastily. "Think you're better than me?"
"Grace I have no idea where this came from, but you are gravely mistaken. The plane leaves in an-"
"I don't care," the bitch again interrupted. Breathe, Ayana, breathe. "You're not," Grace continued, not realizing she was fast clicking off chances, "going to steal him from me. You could never compete with me, no matter how much you flaunt your fat ass around. Oh, I'm sorry, that as fat with an 'f' not with a 'ph'."
Smiling nastily the graceful, she had to admit, blond bimbo placed her hands on her hips. Her wavy mass of hair rubbed her mid-spine with perfect shine. As a runway model, Grace had been in enough shows and advertising collections to know she was the epitome of beauty. Her looks were almost feral, her magnetism akin to some stalking beast. Nasty, trifling attitude notwithstanding, she was an amazing six foot three beauty with the youth and perfect skin to match. Despite her great height, and stank attitude, men clamored to her, designers loved her from, and the consumers wanted to be her. That couldn't be denied any way one looked at it. Even with her lip curled like a rabid dog. Go figure. Still though, Ayana was surprised she even knew how to spell. Stank hoe.
Damn, that wasn’t nice. She tried reciting the alphabet, backwards. She’d try anything to keep from alienating the one woman who could make or break her upcoming show.
"Grace, you are the top model for the Evening of Heat Extravaganza. There would be nothing we would do to change that. Whatever your sources that have told you that Ethan Hemming is remotely interested in me or any other employees of Morris Communications is just wrong," Ayana enunciated clearly for the third time in a matter of minutes.
No matter what she said, it seemed like the model just wanted to continue to rant and rave. Ayana reminded herself constantly to unclench her fists. At a little after six in the morning the tantrum spraying hussy had stormed into her office with gray eyes blazing venom, and her perfect size zero frame trembling delicately with outrage. She'd screamed to the top of her lungs that Ethane, the reclusive but gifted design mogul that was donating his private wonderland Isla de sa Ferradura, also known as Isla del Bosc, for the photo shoot and show was interested in ordinary Ayana.
Yeah, sure. Plain Jane wins again over beauty! Who the hell would she be kidding? This wasn’t some fairy tale, and she wasn’t Cinderella. Ayana hadn't even seen the man before. He probably was some old crusty mug with bored, critical eyes. He could quite possible be more of a prima donna then the models were. He was exclusive with anything he did, and never appeared at any shows. Most of his clients dealt with a company liaison, much like she had. Without a doubt Ayana knew there was a much better explanation.
Missy Clove, sister of said reclusive famed designer, had chosen Ayana's company for her new line of clothing. She wanted to branch off into casual, hipper wear for the youth from her normal couture and evening look, and that is where Ayana came in. She supposed it wasn't lost on her that she was one of the few African-American public relations CEOs. With her help, Missy hoped to organize a show that could rival Chanel, even though it was outside of the known Fashion Week or Paris Fashion Week. She hoped, while offering an exclusive peek at the island off-time to the normal fashion staple, she would wow invitees and make a statement. She figured she would just be grateful for such an opportunity, make her money, fame, and suck up nasty, bitch attitudes from idiot models.
She was not going to snap, she was not going to snap.
"Just trust me, he's mine and I'll ruin you before I let you ever take him from me." Grace stormed out of the office in the same whirlwind that she came in. Ayana breathed a sigh of frustrated relief.
"Crazy heifer," she whispered fiercely under her breath. She didn't have the time or the patience to deal with snippy women. This was her job. She was not in this for the chance to challenge models on some unseen slight, but to make a name for herself. To be more than just Ayana Morris, but Ayana Morris, CEO of Morris Communications and one of the leading public relations firm in her industry. She knew well enough what charms she had and what she didn't. She could sale clothes, an idea, market, or trade. What she couldn’t do was compete with the perfection the models took for granted.
She was a mocha-skinned, hazel eyed, curvy woman in a world where the tall, reed thin model with graceful locks and classic bone structure mattered all the more. At five foot eight she just barely made the height restrictions, and at an ample size fourteen she was far off the weight mark. Even if she could be, at times, partial to her larger breast size, narrow waist, and generous hips it still wasn’t enough. Her hair, thick and natural, fanned her head in more Kelis’ curl style, before she got ‘Bossy’, then some well maintained, relaxed, artificial look. In short, Evil Grace was absolutely bonkers if someone told her that some interest from Ethane was the reason that the island was being used. It was all because Ayana's company just happen to be representing the man's sister.
She took one last breath, stepping away from her desk and looking at her Android at the same time. Twenty minutes. Twenty minutes to get to the airport that would be taking her and ten others of her staff, along with fifteen models, to the island. She had more to worry about now that business was underway. She would make sure that Missy Clove would never be unsatisfied with her work.
She stalked out of her office and dialed on her phone at the same time.
