Lipstick Stains

Elizabeth Prescott checked her watch as she raced through the glass double doors of the office building in which she slaved away on a daily, sometimes nightly, basis, her heels hitting the shiny white tile becoming a nuisance to her. She was supposed to be at work half an hour ago, but because of dear old traffic and the fact nobody even believes in such an excuse anymore, she was behind time and behind for prepping for a meeting she was steeling herself for since the last month. This was a big client and her only chance at being promoted to executive. Being late was a no-no! Her office door was slightly ajar, implying that either her boss was in there or her supervisor, probably fuming because of her tardiness. Biting down on her bottom lip, she took a deep breath and entered, disheveled and probably visibly sweating.

"I'm sorry I'm late," she commented breathily, stopping in her tracks after revealing herself.

Her boss stood by her office desk, podgy arms across his chest and resting on his belly. The sun had barely even risen so the reason his face was beet red had to be the rage building up that was about to explode on her. Assuming this client was also a big hit for The Man, messing it up would surely get her fired and the wrong side of him was already taking its little time to unveil.

"I don't even want to know, Prescott, just get to work and for your sake, you better be in that damn meeting room in ten. Mr. Marcello Alfonsi will be here in fifteen."

Elizabeth nodded, waiting for him to storm out of the room, slamming the heavy oak door behind him before she raced to her desk to get everything in order. Her files were stacked and ready with her scribbles and notes set in order based on the points she would be making first. There was a cup of cold coffee on her desk which she completely ignored as she walked into the small adjoining bathroom where she could adequately fix herself.

"You look disgraceful," she whispered to her chaotic reflection in the small, oval mirror mounted on the wall above the face basin.

Her soot black hair was pinned back earlier, and now, several strands were free and all over her head like that of a rat's nest. Sweat covered her forehead and nose, one strand stopping halfway down her face. She quickly washed the mess away, undid the untidy knot her hair was kept up in, and removed her damp blouse. Luckily, she always kept a spare suit for these very kinds of situations, however, it has been in there for quite some time. The hinges of the tiny closet creaked thirstily as she opened the door and the smell of old dust filled her senses. Her solace only came in when she realized the suit was closed up in a suit bag so the mountainous sheet of dust covering it was only to scare her.

"I only hope it still fits."

The city passed by slowly, and traffic was a menace to the working class. So many unkind things happen in the long line of beeping motor vehicles. It brings out the monster in people, and yet, the cars remain sealed shut like a comfort cubby for the drivers. The sun had only just broken the horizon by the time the shiny black GMC Yukon finally escaped the cluster of impatient residents and slowly cruised down the main street at a steady pace.

"Are you sure this place is as top-notch as you think, boss?" Guerra, the Consigliere of the family and what Marcello would consider a friend, lowered his eyes, his heavy eyebrows almost completely covering the top lids.

Marcello would have returned the stare, but he kept a neutral stone face, no emotions. Of course, Guerra would question the simplest things he did, being that the elder has served his mother, the late Capofamiglia, and now the current, himself. The other two men seated as far as they could away from the two kept their heads low and their bodies tense as if they were trying to blend in with the black leather of the seats. The two spoke English only so even if they switched to their mother tongue, they would be clueless as to what was being said.

"Calmati, Guerra," he commented in a low monotone voice. "My mother has worked with the company before. Her records are brilliant."

The older man nodded, turning his attention to the dark-tinted windows, watching the city come to life. Marcello understood why his second would be insecure about a company as such. They were greatly known for scams. But who in their right mind would dare to scam a man of the mafia? Even the lowest is supposed to send fear up the spines of the enemy. Of course, the company did not know them to be of such, but it was instilled in them that this family was not to be tampered with because heads would roll and buildings would fall. He could vividly remember a time when he was just a teenager on his first business meeting along with his mother, the most feared woman of her time. The owners quaked in their expensive business shoes before she even stepped into the building and one of them even had an eyepatch, a little present for misbehaving on their first meet. If she had told them to lick the grime and filth from her shoes, they would have, no questions asked. And Marcello wanted what she had. He wanted them all to fear his name. The Yukon stopped in front of a large concrete building of gray walls and a fairly new sign marked Statton's and Son atop it, failing to give the gloomy building any life. The two Soldatos exited first, keeping to each side of the open door to allow the Consigliere and then the Capofamiglia to step out and into the morning air. Marcello walked towards the building, not at all surprised to find Mr. Emil Statton standing by the doors, a younger version of himself holding the fading silver handles to keep the doors from closing.

"Good morning, Mr. Alfonsi. Welcome back to Statton's and Son." From their last meeting, Mr. Statton knew that this man refused handshakes and his second warned that trying that another time may cost him some fingers or a whole hand.

"Time is a wasting, sempliciotto," Marcello commented quietly.

"Right, on we go then." Statton grinned, obviously fearful, then led the men towards the open door. "I do apologize for not introducing you to the pre-exec that will be conducting today's meeting. She was the one who came up with the ideas, strategies, and the best way to execute them. I would give you another if you request it, but though I am not entirely fond of her attitude towards me, she is the best."

Marcello kept his curiosity hidden even as they entered the muted elevator that was surprisingly big enough for them all. It's either that or their soldiers were trying to incorporate themselves into the elevator walls as well.

"If you don't like her attitude, why do you think I will?"

Statton shrunk back in fear. He had thought about that possibility. But nobody else could pull off such an impressive feat. He had planned to give her project to another person but even they couldn't entirely explain and understand what she had set down. It had to be her. A sacrifice like no other.

"You are unquestionably a no-nonsense man. I'm sure even she can see that and know her place, Mr. Alfonsi." Statton only doubted his statement a tad. There was some possibility she might be foolish enough to tick off a man who seemed to hold the power of cessation in his hands. They carried guns.

Statton opened a brown door, leading into a large white room of natural light coming in from the only wall that was made into a giant window. A large table was placed in the middle surrounded by black, seemingly sturdy chairs. The front was just a plain whiteboard, smudged at one corner possibly by some idiot who can't tell the difference between a permanent and a whiteboard marker. Marcello sat down at the very end, his second on his right side and the other two standing at the very back, observing the outside the window. Statton checked his watch and was just about to excuse himself when a knock sounded on the door. One of the soldiers walked over to it and slowly opened it, his hand shadowing the handle of his gun.

"It's a woman, boss," he announced, opening the door wider.

Marcello didn't even bother looking but could hear the tap of heels on the tiled floors as they strode confidently past his chair and to the front. He just wanted to end the day so he could begin his projects instead of wasting time in a boring building with similarly boring people.

"Good morning, Mr. Alfonsi, and company," she says, her voice more confident than her walk. Statton took a seat farther away from the two, opening a file of his own, sweat just about spreading across his forehead. He quickly dabbed it away with a handkerchief. "I am Elizabeth Prescott, the pre-executive who will be leading you through the procedures of your suggested projects. Before each of you is a file with copies of blueprints and lines of statistics concerning the matter at hand so you can follow along with me."

He opened the blank-covered file and was met with a paper of words, enough to dazzle his dark gray eyes. He only recalled having several shots the night before so it couldn't be the influence of liquor.

"On the first page, we have a notation of what I have seen on looking at the blueprints and past purchases of the building you wish to secure. The first line states that the borders aren't entirely correct because the acres mentioned on the ownership contract are ten more acres larger on all sides than what is already there. So, if you have neighbors, the first thing we are going to have to do is let them know that you will be claiming the rest of your land."

"I can assure you, Ms. Prescott, we have no neighbors," Marcello refused to let his boredom be heard.

"Good. Even better, which means we can move on to the second line without wasting any time." He loved that she despised a waste of time as much as he did. They just might be able to work together. "The fences around the building are out of date and easily breached. Those can be taken down as soon as possible and the construction of a reinforced concrete and steel wall, as high as the likes of you can commence."

For the first time, Marcello actually looked up from the paper at the woman before him, and his breath hitched. What the devil was this? The woman was no typical Becky, that was for sure. The attitude Mr. Statton was talking about could neither be seen nor heard much. Her face was slim, exquisite beyond comparison with naturally pink cheeks, solemn eyebrows, and dark round eyes, her nose small and slightly upturned, and her black hair pinned tightly behind her head. She had no visible signs of jewelry except for a basic watch on her wrist. Her body was something else. The suit she wore was tight, and the skirt barely brushed her knees. She had opted for no pantyhose and finished off her teasing look with seven-inch heels of shiny black leather, which he noticed she walked effortlessly in. Did she even know how stunning she was? He answered the question himself. But what surprised him even more, was her confidence. She was even assured enough to step into the damn meeting room with vibrant red lips, full and begging him. Fuck...he needed to pay attention. She had been through half of the file already and he wanted to get out of the heat. Never has a woman ever made him feel like he was sitting in an oven. Never...