Okay, okay. Here's a little more, plus an illo by JinguJ.
* * * * * * * * * *
Roxanne drove through Paradigm City toward the Central Dome.
[Whether you're a bread store or a real estate agency or Military Police for that matter, it doesn't make a bit of difference. When you say 'parent company' it always means the same place.
In this city, the firm called Paradigm is considered both God and State.]
Roxanne entered the main business center of Paradigm Corporation, the heart of Paradigm City's government and businessworld. In this area, she was hardly out of place - her short-skirted black business suit blended in with the other businesswomen and men rushing around the promenade.
"Roxanne Smith," a male voice stated behind her.
"Hm?" She turned - and recognized someone from her recent past. "It's you."
Casey Valasquez - Angel - stood before her. Not in his last costume of leather pants and duster, but his nicely-cut brown three piece suit and rose-tinted glasses. His hair was slicked back, the longer strands making a ducktail in the back.
"I work as an executive assistant for Phil Gasse," he stated, offering his hand to shake. "He's the publisher of 'Paradigm Press'."
Roxanne fully turned and accepted his hand in her gloved hand to shake. "This is not our first encounter," she answered with a smirk.
"Just call me Patrick Diaz."
* * *
Roxanne sat on one side of the elevator car in the plush seat while the man identifying himself as 'Patrick Diaz' sat across from her on the other side.
"As I recall," Roxanne pressed in. "The name you gave me last time was 'Mr. Valasquez'."
He did not answer her, his eyes remained closed as he listened to the elevator tracks click.
Roxanne narrowed her eyes and snorted, then popped a chocolate in her mouth. People with ulterior motives always annoyed her to no end.
The floor counter clicked to their floor, and the cab came to a stop. Both stepped out to the stairway platform, the man brushing past her.
"Didn't I tell you that you could call me 'Angel'?" he reminded her softly as his black eyes swept over her body before turning back to business.
Roxanne felt her breath catch as she watched him ascend the staircase. Damn, he was a smoothie. And he had a nice butt, too.
* * *
R. Dorian Wayneright stared at the Sacred Monster - ie: Roxanne Smith's desk. The desk was large, gorgeous, black lacquered, the nerve center of her work, as well as holding her holy collection of snowglobes.
With the duster in hand, he continued to stare at the globes, the water within them magnifying the scenes of castles and angels and fairies and flowers and long-forgotten cityscapes, all of them finely sculpted and placed on intricately-carved bases.
He lifted one up, swirled it around, and placed it on the desk, allowing the recessed light to sparkle off the whirling glitter. He picked up the next one to do the same, then the next, then the next ...
At last, nearly thirty snowglobes were active, the glitter and snow within the glass spheres twirling and dancing around.
Dorian half-watched the light play off the materials, while his thoughts drifted to his employer. He hoped Roxanne was all right, she was going to get in trouble with that mouth of hers someday.
* * *
"Aren't you fed up with a job that isn't worth your time?" Angel asked as both he and Roxanne left the main office of the 'Paradigm Press'.
"And exactly how long have you been working here?" she asked in response.
"Exactly a week," he answered, smiling sunnily at her.
Roxanne's face turned business. "So, what are you after now?"
"After?" he asked in mock-offense, the smile turning up in flirtatiousness. "I'm just an ordinary man ... "
Roxanne felt her heart beating like a triphammer. Damn it, why couldn't he just be another thug or something? Not this ... incredibly delicious specimen of manhood, reeking -
'Calm down, Roxy,' she told herself. 'Mysterious pasts and mysterious motives means I would be the one to die under mysterious circumstances.'
They entered the elevator car again and descended back down to the main level of the Paradigm Building.
Another car passed them, going up. Inside, a middle-aged woman sat comfortably while she was listening on the phone. Her black hair was pulled tightly back from her face, eliminating the need for a face lift, but this only illustrated the fact that plastic surgery could not save her. As a man, she would have been passable but ugly, as the woman she was ... she may be the reason why 2% of the male population of Paradigm City was gay.
"Alexia Rosewater," Angel stated, watching the woman's car pass their own.
"Paradigm's Chief Executive," Roxanne finished, her mouth already turned into a frown. "Otherwise known as God's older, snottier sister."
Angel gazed at her, then laughed.
*
. I mean, hourglasses tell time! Snow globes make good paperweights... and as far as I can tell, that's it. Oh well, one thing no one shall understand about the mysterious Roxanne Smith.