Seere Industries Board Room, 28th floor of the Seere Building.
Monday, June 5, 2006. 8:53 am.
Gregory Seere, Emma Frost, Bobbi Morse, and a young woman with strawberry blonde hair were standing at an empty table. The three executives, including the unfamiliar woman, were standing in the classic ‘focused power pose’ typical of board room dramas: wide stance, arms resting on the open desk. Bobbi stood off to the left, armed with a clipboard and a perpetually annoyed resting ‘completely-over-this’ face.
Anne Weying sat at the other end of the table, poring over legal briefs while silently whispering to herself.
The only member of the ensemble who looked out of place was Jessica Jones... standing off to the side in denim jeans, a biker jacket, an obvious earpiece wire, and mirrored aviator sunglasses slightly too large for her face. Her demeanor was completely altered from the battered victim seen before today, with her aura marked by an almost tangible professional confidence and eyes that seemed to pick out every detail in the room.
A large map of the five boroughs was laid out in front of the three executives with five locations marked prominently. The first three were manufacturing plants in Queens that were formerly part of Allan Chemical and were taken over in the merger. The fourth location was in lower Manhattan and was labeled ‘Frost International’. The fifth was just off 5th Avenue near the Park, and was proudly labeled ‘Hellfire Club’.
“Alright,” Gregory said with a tone that instantly dispelled the need to include all non-essential conversation in the room, “I’ve spoken to Steve about the announcement coming up in January, and I think he’s on board with including us in the manufacturing operations as a full partner. He needs a few of the patents my mother developed to make his vision work, and doing a good portion of the manufacturing states-side is good PR.
“Miss Allan, the factories that were grabbed from your father’s company in the merger…”
“Please, Mr. Seere,” the young woman interrupted indignantly, “Don’t call it a merger, please. Let's just call it what it was, a hostile takeover… one that ended up consigning my father to a dingy hospice from the stress.”
“Liz dear,” Emma answered in a quiet tone, resting a hand on her junior’s shoulder, “I know the wounds are fresh, but let’s not let our emotions make us lash out at the undeserving. Gregory here is giving you a wonderful opportunity. I know it’s not your father’s company anymore, but…”
“It’s fine Emma,” Gregory continued, sympathetic and sufficiently mollified, “Miss Allan is correct, let’s move on.
“Miss Allan, I’d like you to spearhead the conversion of these factories for the upcoming partnership with Apple. They’re empty currently, so installing the machinery shouldn’t be too difficult, and this will allow you to hire back some of your father’s old employees.”
Liz stood, mouth agape as Gregory and Emma stared at her with nearly identical indulgent smirks. She was having difficulty believing in the first genuinely good thing that had happened to her since she dropped out of college to try and save her father’s business. She’d never imagined, while saying goodbye to Peter and Harry in the dorm common room, that she’d be here at this moment.
“I’m sorry Mr. Seere,” Liz finally answered, blinking rapidly to prevent a tear from forming in her left eye, “I wasn’t expecting that. Thank you so much. I will make sure it happens, no matter what.”
“It’s fine, Miss Allan, and Greg is fine,” Greg answered with an almost affectionate tone, “You’re the CEO here now… I didn’t promote you because you happened to be standing here when I fired all of your bosses. I promoted you because you have potential. You’re family now. I expect good things from you.”
“I will try to make sure I’m deserving of your faith, Greg. And please, call me Liz.”
“Absolutely Liz. Now, back to business. As for the demands our friends in midtown are placing on Emma. Bobbi, how do you feel about infiltrating Shaw Industries this evening and seeing if you can find us anything interesting?”
“I think that’s an unspecific mission goal with very little chance of success,” Bobbi answered professionally, “I’ve worked with worse. Are we talking about corporate sabotage, or just general information gathering?”
“Wait… wait…” Jess suddenly looked up from the kitten in her jacket and shook her head in confusion, “I know I missed a lot of shit while I was stuck in that cocoon thingie for the last few days, but are we just going to gloss over all of the other stuff that happened? I feel like a bunch of that stuff is really important.
“And why the hell did I let you talk me into wearing this earpiece?” Jess stared daggers at Greg as she ripped the wire and receiver out of her jacket and tossed it in a nearby waste bin, “I’m literally your only bodyguard right now. The thing isn’t even connected to anything.”
“I mean,” Greg said with a bored expression, “Do we really have to? It’s a really long story, and most of it was boring boardroom drama that I’d rather not get into.”
“What? Yes, we have to get into it! How the hell did you even take over your own company? Who the hell is this Liz chick, and when did you end up making a deal with Emma? I feel like that’s pertinent information that we kind of need to know. Could you at least go over the cliffnotes version?”
“Fine, I suppose, if it will make you happy Jess.”
“I don’t know about making me happy, but it might help clear up a little of my confusion. Like: why isn’t Jean here right now, why are you all of a sudden going after the Hellfire club, and who the hell is the girl in the bomber helmet and squirrel costume eating ice cream and pretending not to be here? You know, the important things.”
Back at Gregory’s apartment.
Four days ago, just after dinner with Emma.
The still air in the empty apartment suddenly shattered as the sound of a key echoed from the doorway and the door swung inward. Jean and Greg, still wearing the formal clothing from their dinner, stumbled into the dark apartment, fumbling with the lightswitch while barely keeping their hands off of each other.
“Mr. Seere,” Jean breathed out as she finally peeled herself away from her lover's lips, “You need to give me a moment to compose myself, I am not ready for this kind of attention. My body is still sore from the other night.”
“Miss Grey,” her lover said breathlessly while staring into her eyes, “I am only savoring the taste of my love, I have no expectations that this will go any further than a kiss.”
“Corny… but romantic,” Jean said as she extricated herself and rushed to the open bathroom, “You get a B+.”
“What a difficult teacher’s assistant I have,” Greg said, removing his jacket and laying it on the back of the couch before working to unfasten the band of his watch, “I was hoping for at least an A- for effort. I’ll have to work harder in the future.”
“It’s looking good,” Jean yelled from the bathroom, “As long as your performance continues to improve I can guarantee you top marks.”
The sound of Jean rinsing her mouth could be heard from the bathroom.
“Gross,” Jean said, “It wasn’t love you were tasting, it was stale champagne and raw shellfish. I can’t believe we went through eight bottles of Krug and over a hundred raw oysters and I don’t even feel bloated. And that’s not even mentioning the fact that you ordered the entire dessert menu… twice. Are you seriously sure we don’t have to worry about gaining weight?”
“As serious as the plague dear one,” Greg answered as he stepped around the corner to change into his signature flannel pajamas and tank top, “Food is converted entirely to magical energy instead of being digested. Counting calories is just as obsolete for you as that porcelain fixture in our bathroom.”
“Ew, can we not talk about poop in the middle of sexy times?” Jean walked out of the bathroom and grabbed her nightdress off the dresser. She headed back inside, her left hand distractedly poking her chest while marveling at its springy elasticity. “Greg, did the transformation into a devil do something to my boobs? I haven’t needed a bra since I woke up yesterday, and they're practically weightless, bouncing in ways that shouldn't be physically possible.”
“I’m already very aware of this feature,” Greg said as he sat down on the couch and put his feet up on a conveniently placed Ottoman, “It was something that helped fuel a few of those… Interruptions… we had the other night. It’s probably something the Old Man did to keep up with the original theme. I wouldn’t worry about it too much.”
A few moments later Jean walked out of the bathroom in her nightie.
“I’m not worried about it,” she said, plopping down on the couch and snuggling in with her lover, “I’m grateful. Do you have any idea how much money I’ve spent on bras since I hit puberty? Besides, it’s going to be nice not to have to worry about my shoulders hurting every time I decide to go braless for a day.
“Oh,” Jean suddenly jumped a little and playfully slapped her boyfriend on the chest, “I think I know what we can do with Jess.”
“Please, do tell?”
“Alright, so hypothetically, if you were to give her one of your pieces, what exactly would that do to her whole karmic balance thingie?”
“It would cancel the entire debt, no matter how much she accrued. It’s not a side effect of the summoning spell, it's a feature. It’s designed to encourage contractors to make that final decision.”
“So, if we gave her one of your open rook pieces, and made her your bodyguard, that would clear her debt and give her something to focus on besides her trauma, right?”
“Hypothetically, yes, but are you sure binding her to another male so soon after she’s gained her freedom is such a good idea?”
“We’re giving her a job and a purpose, Greg. We’re not inviting her into our relationship… yet. I’ll deal with all of the logistics myself, you can just give me one of your rook pieces, and you can swoop in afterwards to play the dashing employer.”
“It’s a role I play well. But what do you mean ‘yet’ dear one?”
“I mean, it’s not like I was fantasizing about those absolutely kissable lips or those vulnerable but adorable eyes while consoling her yesterday. I did mention that the removal of Charles’ block uncovered a bit of my bi-curious side, didn’t I?”
“Jean, you haven’t shown any signs of being bi-curious at all… more like bi-serious. I haven’t forgotten how many times you’ve sexually propositioned Miss Morse in the past few days, let alone how handsy you were with Emma at the end of our dinner.”
“Oh hush, neither of them minded. It’s not like I was being a creep. How many times have I hit on Bobbi?”
“Twenty-four times. I believe this is an example of a common double standard. If you had testicles, both of those women would have filed a sexual harassment suit against you at least four times over. I will admit to being fine with the double standard, however, as I am currently the main beneficiary of your newfound sexual confidence.”
A few lines have been omitted from the narrative, as a description of the sounds of giggling laughter and air pressure collapse between lips due to saliva would not be conducive to anyone’s enjoyment (apart from a very specific group of readers who are not part of the target demographic). A few breathless moments later, Jean sighed and rested her head on her boyfriend’s chest.
“Things went well with Emma,” Jean said as she finished inhaling the scent of her man, “I can tell she’s skeptical about your ability to take on Shaw and Selene single-handedly, but she’s willing to give us the chance. It’s either that, or she’s just that desperate.”
“I think it’s a little of column A and column B. If what she tells me about Shaw is correct, I don’t think he’ll be much more than a speed bump as long as you can nullify his pet telepath. My only worry is Selene. Emma didn’t have much information on the woman, other than that she’s very old, and she’s a powerful psionic mutant. I’m guessing that means the standard set of psychic abilities, telepathy, telekinesis, et cetera, but I’m worried that there might be something more to it. One doesn’t live centuries… maybe longer… without learning a few tricks in their time.”
“You’ll figure it out,” Jean said, “I have faith in you. So, are you all on the same page about the board meeting tomorrow? I’m registering for classes tomorrow, so I won’t be around to support you.”
“I believe so, and I don’t think it will be anything to write home about. That three-named bastard is already checkmated thanks to Miss Morse, he just isn’t aware of it yet. Put it all out of your mind while you start your journey into the fascinating world of shrinking brains, my dear.”
“You have the most odd prejudices, dear.”
“Hmm? It’s only lazy magic users, people who insist on using the word ‘ironically’ incorrectly, and men with more than two first names that are worth the full force of my ire, love. No one else is worth the energy to despise. Even those that refer to themselves in the third person, another of my pet peeves, are more worthy of pity than hate.”
Back at Seere Tower.
Three days ago. 8:53 am.
Liz fought back the bile in her throat as her new ‘supervisor’ dismissed her out of hand once again, and took her assigned seat at the board room table. Her eye twitched as she watched the smug ‘Director of Public Relations’ blatantly flirt with Elsa Frost, the daughter and assistant to one of the major shareholders and a girl more than twenty years his junior, while her mother sat stone-faced in the chair next to her. At least the bored expression on the younger Miss Frost’s face gave Liz a little catharsis, though it was not as if her ‘supervisor’ even noticed that his flirtation wasn’t landing. The ass probably thought he was being smooth, and the barely legal girl was playing hard to get.
Honestly, asking her to come to a board meeting thirty minutes early, just so she could watch the smarmy ass brag about the yacht he kept docked in the vineyard for the tenth time today, was just another one of the many small insults she’d been forced to endure since the takeover last month.
It’s not like there weren’t hundreds of administration professionals available in this building to take the monotonous minutes of this god awful farce. She was fully aware that her presence was only required so that the CEO could show off a ‘trophy’ from his latest corporate conquest. She was the pretty little daughter of the latest victim of one of her boss’s latest predatory ‘mergers’. Of course the ass wanted her front and center to show off his ‘conquests’.
Liz let out a barely perceptible sigh. It kept her off the streets, and it paid for her father’s hospice bills… But if Liz had to write the words ‘synergy’ and ‘leverage’ one more time…
At least the upcoming content of this meeting had the potential to be interesting. A mysterious genius heir of the company founder, a long scheduled meeting suddenly postponed… It had all the signs of a high stakes corporate drama.
Too bad real life didn’t work that way. Liz was fully prepared for a spoiled trust fund baby (yes, Liz was aware of the irony, she did only recently inherit her father’s mess) to waltz in like he owned the place (because he did), make a bunch of sweeping changes, and accomplish absolutely nothing.
Honestly, it would be par for the course in Liz’s brief stint as a ‘junior executive’ in this economic plague masquerading as a corporation.
When the man of the hour finally did walk in, just as blithely confident as expected, at least Liz was happy to have some eye candy for the meeting. I mean, the kid was no Harry, but his brushed aside black hair, broad shoulders, and piercing eyes would make for some quality ‘alone time’ material later that evening. God knows Liz hadn’t had time to date lately, once again bringing her wandering mind back to Harry and… Peter for some reason.
Liz quickly shook herself out of her funk, and took stock of the situation, as something completely unexpected was happening.
“Mr. Allen,” the young heir was saying, responding to something she’d missed being said earlier, “I honestly don’t need to hear a rebuttal. I said that you were fired, and I meant all of you. Every single one of the people at this table who holds an actual position in this company is fired, with prejudice, and none of this is up for negotiation.
“I can hold a vote with the board… Give me a moment. All those in favor…”
Emma Frost and the young heir both raised their hands at this statement, while everyone else in the room seemed like they were straining to understand what the hell just happened. The meeting hadn’t even been called into order… There were still five minutes left until nine o’clock.
“All those against… Well, I don’t think it matters. I think you’ll find that with 67% of the controlling shares, myself and Miss Frost’s opinions are the only ones that really matter.”
“Look, Kid,” said the red faced older man sitting at the head of the table, “You can’t just waltz in here and fire everyone. We all have contracts with the company, which we only just renewed last week. The severance packages alone would bankrupt…”
“Page 22, Clause 57b of each of your contracts of employment,” the mid-thirties woman with a blonde pixie cut standing next to the heir, wearing a pencil skirt and a look of professional competence, interrupted the smug bastard, “State that the employer may terminate any employee suspected of embezzlement, money laundering, insider trading, or any other felonies committed while employed by the company.”
Liz wasn’t sure if anyone else had heard it, but she could have sworn the blonde woman had said something like, “No, I don’t want to eat them. Now could you please be quiet?” under her breath, but she quickly shifted her attention back to the main star of this impromptu drama.
“Yes, quite,” the heir nodded as she finished, “Now, here is a list of names that the agents from the FBI white collar crimes squad outside wish to speak with concerning documentation that was anonymously donated to them yesterday morning. I think you’ll find that all of you appear to be on that list…
“Oh, except for you Miss Allan, you may stay behind.”
Liz’s eyes and jaw popped open as the owner’s frankly gorgeous eyes suddenly locked onto her own, and that voice… God, having it caress her ears like that was like someone taking one of her favorite battery operated ‘personal massage’ toys and giving it a British accent…
“Mr. Seere? Uh, me, sir?”
“Is there another Miss Allan in the room? Yes, you Miss Allan. It appears that, by process of elimination, you are in line for a rather significant promotion. How does CEO Elizabeth Allan sound to you?”
Still in the Seere Tower board room.
Back to the present.
“So,” Greg said as he finally finished his explanation, “Does that satisfy your curiosity Miss Jones?”
“I.. think so?” Jess said while fighting a new migraine, “Did you have to include so much TMI with Jean though?”
“Good, now… as I was saying…”
“Wait!” Jess interrupted, “That still doesn’t explain the girl in the Squirrel costume.”
“Oh! I can explain that!” the eyes of the young woman in the corner lit up as she pulled the ice cream spoon out of her mouth, “I was the one that beat up the ninjas!”
Back in the apartment.
Sometime during the previous weekend.
Agent Bobbi Morse stepped out of the elevator onto the 24th floor, wearing a white set of workout clothes with powder blue and black trim, a pair of pink sneakers, and a laptop case. She skillfully navigated the hallway, stepping around the scattered piles of semi-conscious groaning men dressed in what appeared to be black pajamas and balaclavas littering the floor.
As she opened the door to the apartment of her observation target (Greg had already given her a key, even though it was never really locked) she made note of all of the usual suspects in the room: Greg was on his laptop wearing his standard uniform of flannel pants and a tank top, Jean was wearing a large T-shirt that looked like it would fit Gregory perfectly and served as a miniskirt for his girlfriend, and Jess was hidden away in a swirling and slowly pulsing mass of shadow on the living room floor. The cat was playing with a fuzzy toy on the couch.
Okay, maybe the thing with Jess was new.
“Did everyone know there were a bunch of unconscious ninjas in the hallway? Who is the new girl,” Bobbi asked when she noticed the adorable full figured girl with rosy cheeks and a brilliant smile fixing coffee in the kitchen, with a massive Squirrel tail that didn’t come close to blocking the view of her generous behind.
“That’s Doreen,” Jean said without looking up from her psychology homework, “She just walked in about ten minutes ago, said ‘the Hand shouldn’t be a problem any more’, and started eating our almond butter out of the jar.”
“Hi hi!” the cheery girl turned and waved, “Is this coffee hazelnut flavor?”
As usual, with everything else going on around this madhouse, Bobbi filed this away under things no one was ever going to believe and that she probably shouldn’t worry about anyway, and joined the girl in the kitchen in making a cup of coffee.