If there was one thing she truly and wholly despised, it was the sun. It was a destructive force of nature that everyone else seemed to all too readily accept. Aalana Faberson glared down at the bustling California streets below her office with distaste. If her father’s company hadn’t been practically eradicated, they could have been in a friendlier environment. Instead she had bought out a twenty story office building and created the marvelous Faberson Lab and Research Facility. Cures for cancer, cheaper methods of fuel, cloning, genetic mutation, blackmail and terrorist funding…your average American business, right? And she was in control of it all.
Her frown turned into a smile as a thin sheet of aluminum rolled down from the ceiling to cover the floor to ceiling sheet of glass she called her window. Mechanical devices hadn’t done it – the way her eyes were slowly shifting from dark silver to blue was enough evidence of that. She turned to survey her office with the same childish grin in place. Behind her desk, which was perfectly aligned to face the door, was her window. In fact, now it was just a sheet of metal blocking out the heat. Directly behind her was a metal filing cabinet. Without seams, it appeared to be a simple block of silver. With her abilities, it was the safest of safes. Then, on either side of the cabinet she had a bookshelf. The contents of which had been arranged in height order. The office was immaculate, and smelled faintly of lavender. The wood of her desk was cherry and had been stained a dark brown, the leather seat behind it a dark shade - black. She had a floor lamp in the two back corners of the room and a smaller one on her desk. It had taken her two days to arrange everything perfectly. And even then the phone had driven her insane. She claimed it 'threw off the balance'. So now she had one on either side of the desk with her computer in the dead center.
She was a stickler for perfection.
Aalana moved around to her chair and sank into it with a sigh. Standing in stilettos was not her idea of fun by any stretch of the imagination. Carefully she removed the offending footwear and tossed them beneath her desk; out of sight. After that she drew her knees up to her chest. Her tight black skirt surprisingly didn’t protest. Instead, it simply revealed more of her pale thighs than before. Her hair was pulled back into its customary ponytail and she resisted the urge to let her locks flow free. She was at work after all.
“Ms. Faberson?” The annoying voice of her secretary Anne suddenly jumped into her office through the
Midnitergrl · Thu Jun 12, 2008 @ 10:01pm · 0 Comments |