SMART POWERS
She walked up to the man wearing the brown fitted suit, his hair styled to the side in loose, rebellious curls that framed his sharp, handsome face. Stubs of beard dotted his chin like deliberate shadows, giving him an air of refined ruggedness. Beside him stood another man, his expression as straight and unyielding as his clean-cut black suit. She, on the other hand, was a vision in her short black A-line skirt that skimmed just above her knees, paired with a necktie polka dot brown and white chiffon long-sleeved top. The fabric clung subtly to her curves, her shape delicately taunting anyone who dared to look—slender yet commanding, with hips that swayed like a whispered challenge.
"Bonjour Monsieur Alain, Je m'appelle Amy. Je suis la secrétaire de Mr. Ziko. Bienvenue chez Smart Powers Energy."
(—Hello, Mr. Alain. My name is Amy. I am Mr. Ziko's secretary. Welcome to Smart Powers Energy.—)
Her voice was smooth, professional, laced with just enough warmth to disarm. She extended a hand, her nails painted a subtle crimson that matched the understated elegance of the office lobby.
"Your French is quite impressive, Miss Amy," the man replied, his heavy French accent rolling over the words like aged wine, rich and intoxicating. He took her hand briefly, his grip firm but not lingering, though his eyes—sharp and appraising—held hers a beat longer than necessary.
"Thank you, Mr. Alain. This way, please." She gestured gracefully toward the corridor, her heels clicking softly against the polished marble floor, echoing in the vast, sunlit atrium of Smart Powers Energy's headquarters. The air hummed with the faint scent of fresh coffee and corporate ambition, glass walls reflecting the Redwick skyline outside like a promise of power.
The man eyed her with a subtle smile, appreciating the poise in her step, but followed without comment, his companion trailing silently. They arrived at the door of a huge office, its mahogany frame imposing under the fluorescent lights. Amy knocked twice.
"Enter," came the command from inside—not too deep, but carrying the weight of authority, like a velvet hammer.
She pushed open the door, revealing a vast-spaced office that screamed success: floor-to-ceiling windows letting in golden streams of afternoon light, a brown oak desk with a gleaming glass top, and a comfortable ergonomic chair. Tonna Ziko stood up from behind it, his posture straight and commanding. He walked toward Mr. Alain with a welcoming smile, extending a hand.
"Monsieur Alain," he said, his voice steady and warm, shaking hands firmly. "Please..." He pointed to the empty seat across the desk, then nodded subtly to Amy. She excused herself with a polite bow of her head, slipping out like a shadow, leaving the men to their dealings.
"You are very lucky, Mr. Ziko; your secretary is very efficient and handy," Mr. Alain remarked as he settled into the chair, his tone light but probing, as if testing the waters of this new alliance.
Tonna only smiled, a curve appearing on his lips, before sitting down opposite him. "I can't tell you how grateful I am to have you here." His eyes locked onto Alain's, conveying sincerity.
"Ahh, yes, of course," Mr. Alain replied smoothly, gesturing to the man beside him. "This is Pierre, my secretary."
Tonna stood again, shaking Pierre's hand with the same firm grip, gesturing for him to sit as well. Pierre did, his face remaining an impassive mask, like a statue in a suit.
"Mr. Alain, I have never been one to beat around the bush, so I'll just get to the point," Tonna began, leaning forward slightly, his hands clasped on the glass desktop.
"This is a huge project. Leaving out the profits for now, it's one of its kind—we'd be the first to have an energy refinery in the country. This would boost the GDP significantly. We have a very strong reputation, and we pride ourselves in delivering pure, quality energy and power. But this venture is about expanding further, producing more sustainable products for the country and its people. We have top teams ready to innovate and shake up the market. This is a massive step in improving the energy sector for the economy and the nation as a whole. We won't have to keep exporting natural resources for refinement elsewhere, wasting billions of Drex. Instead, we handle everything domestically, turn a sizable profit, and create job opportunities along the way. In the country today, the energy sector is where we're falling behind. But with this project, we could solve Belvaria's electricity issues, among other things."
Mr. Alain listened intently, his fingers steepled under his chin, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. Then, with a slight tilt of his head, he countered, "Mr. Ziko, aren't you taking away other people's livelihoods by solving electricity issues for the country? Disrupting the status quo can have... unintended consequences."
Tonna didn't miss a beat, his response measured but passionate. "Mr. Alain, do you know the stats of people who have died from carbon monoxide poisoning from Generators in this country? It's staggering. We're not taking without giving back—we're building something sustainable. I know you care deeply for the people; it's your first priority, which I find quite attractive, especially in this day and age. Not many businessmen like you exist anymore. Our goals align: working toward the betterment of the country and the comfort of its people."
Mr Alain looked at Tonna. Of course, he would say that as his Mother is from Belvaria but had migrated to marry his French father. His mouth opened to respond, but a small rap on the door interrupted the moment, pulling their attention.
"Yes, come in!" Tonna called, his voice steady.
Amy walked in gracefully, balancing a gold-plated tray that gleamed under the office lights. The air filled with the warm, inviting aroma of fresh-baked pastries—cinnamon and ginger mingling with the robust scent of Citrus. She set the tray half down on the desk, holding it steady with one hand. Gently, she placed a covered plate on a delicate, breakable dish before Mr. Alain, accompanied by a steaming cup of Orange, Lime and Ginger tea, strong, just as he preferred. Then, she moved to Pierre, serving two golden meat pies on a matching set of plates, their flaky crusts still warm, and a frothy latte that steamed invitingly. The smells were mouthwatering, evoking memories of home-cooked comforts in the sterile corporate space.
Mr. Alain chuckled softly as Amy retreated from the office, leaving behind a neatly wrapped gift bag by his side. He lifted the cover from his plate, revealing bags of the citrus tea and packs of shaped like tiny cats, dusted with spices. "You sure did your homework, Mr. Ziko. How did you know I loved these biscuits? Besides, no one makes them, especially with these exact ingredients—ginger and cinnamon, just like my mother used to. I never mentioned this in any of my interviews. And the Tea... prepared exactly how I like it, no sugar, strong brew." He was truly amazed, his eyes widening in genuine surprise. Even Pierre, his stoic secretary, seemed to crack a fraction, nodding subtly while munching on his pies, the crunch audible in the quiet room.
Tonna looked momentarily confused, a flicker crossing his features, but he quickly masked it with a warm smile. "We aim to impress, Mr. Alain."
Amy made her way back into the room moments later, her steps confident, grabbing a stack of files from the desk and handing them over to Mr. Alain and Pierre. Pierre maintained his straight face, but when Alain caught Amy's knowing smile, he shook his head in appreciation, a smirk playing on his lips.
"What was that for?" Amy thought to herself, a spark of curiosity igniting in her mind as she took a seat beside Tonna.
They dove into the files, discussing the pros and cons of the project in detail—the environmental impacts, the economic ripple effects, the potential for innovation—all while their guest savoured his snacks. The conversation flowed intensely, with Tonna painting vivid pictures of a transformed Belvaria, energy-independent and thriving. They wrapped things up fairly quickly.
"Mr. Ziko, thank you for hosting us today," Mr. Alain said, standing. "But there's still much to be done regarding your proposal. You will hear from my secretary by the end of next week."
They shook hands, the grip lingering with finality. Tonna felt a wave of deflation wash over him; it was well-known that Mr. Alain was a simple, straightforward man. His deals were sealed on the spot. If he mentions "getting back," it means the deal was dead. Strange as it seemed—making snap decisions on massive investments—everything he touched turned to gold. He despised politics, which made him a tough catch as a sponsor. Just before exiting the office, Alain turned around abruptly.
"Mr. Ziko, I am having a banquet at my place of residence. If it's not too much trouble, I would like to invite you and Miss—" He turned to Amy, who was still smiling politely. "Amy here. If you accept, my secretary will send you the details."
Tonna walked toward him, shaking hands again, masking his unhappiness with a practised smile. "Of course, we will be honoured to attend." And that, at least, was genuine—his mood lifted suddenly, a real smile breaking through for the first time that day.
The other man turned, followed by Pierre, and walked out. Back in the car, Pierre sat in the passenger seat beside the driver, while Mr. Alain reclined in the back, the leather seats creaking softly under him.
"Monsieur Alain, pourquoi avez-vous refusé d'investir dans ce projet ? Il a tout ce que vous défendez."
(—Mr. Alain, why did you refuse to invest in this project? It has everything you stand for.—)
Alain glanced at Pierre through the rearview mirror, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
"Vous êtes assez perspicace, n'est-ce pas, Pierre ? Oui, vous avez raison de penser que ce projet est quelque chose qui m'intéresserait certainement. C'est pour cette raison que je ne peux pas avancer. Comprendre ?"
(—Quite perceptive, aren't you, Pierre? Yes, you are right in thinking this project is something I would definitely be interested in. It is for this reason that I cannot move forward with it. Understand?—)
Pierre fell into deep thought, his usually stoic face animating with realization, a light sparking in his eyes. It was a rare sight, making Alain snicker softly.
"Tu veux dire...?"
(—You mean...?—)
Alain smiled wider.
"Exactly what you are thinking, Pierre. Je déteste la politique et, plus encore, je déteste les gens qui ont l'intention d'utiliser cette astuce à des fins commerciales. Même si je ne peux pas nier que M. Ziko est un homme intelligent, je ne peux pas dire avec certitude que ses intentions en me souhaitant sur ce projet sont pures, so I'd rather not get involved."
(—Exactly what you are thinking, Pierre. I hate politics and, even more so, detest people who intend to use this trick for business. Although I cannot deny that Mr. Ziko is an intelligent man, I can't say for sure his intentions for wanting me on this project are pure, so I'd rather not get involved.—)
Mr. Alain replied, settling back into his seat, the cityscape blurring past the tinted windows.
"Then Monsieur Alain, why did you invite him to the banquet?" Pierre asked, his curiosity piqued, voice laced with intrigue.
While Mr Alain closed his eyes, savouring the quiet hum of the engine. "Miss Amy, Mr Ziko's secretary—what do you think about her?"
"Elle est très observatrice, polie et vive d'esprit."
(—She's very observant, polite, and quick-witted.—)
Pierre replied promptly.
"Hmm, she's indeed very resourceful and seems to know a lot of things," Alain mused, his tone thoughtful. Pierre shook his head in agreement.
"I am just very curious as to how she knew my favorite biscuits," Alain continued, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "These biscuits aren't sold anywhere. When she was alive, my mother personally baked them with ginger and cinnamon in my favourite pet shape—a cat—seeing how much I love eating them any time I caught a cold. But ever since she passed, this snack has never been reproduced or made by anyone else. Besides, she knew my taste in Tea. Aside from you and Marie, no one else knows. She truly is interesting."
"So I guess inviting Monsieur Ziko was to satiate your curiosity then?" Pierre said, a sly smirk creeping onto his face. he remembered his Boss smirking when she was passing the files.
"If you say so," Alain replied with a chuckle, picking up the gift bag Amy had left. He opened it, revealing three neatly packed sets of those same biscuits, and tea bags their spicy aroma wafting up. He smiled, closing his eyes again, letting the ride lull him into thought.
DAYS LATER
"So I hear you have made a pretty good deal," Wren said to Tonna, lounging in the dim light of the private lounge, the air thick with cigar smoke and the clink of crystal glasses.
Tonna scoffed, pouring Wren another drink from a decanter of amber whiskey, the liquid glinting under the low-hanging chandelier. "Ah! Your hearing is pretty darn good. But I'm sure that's not all you heard." He sneaked a gaze up at Wren, knowing full well his friend was aware the deal had fallen through. He was about to spill the details when a soft knock echoed on the door.
A young female waitress entered, her uniform crisp, announcing with a deferential bow, "A guest has arrived, sirs."
They exchanged surprised glances—they hadn't expected company. Before they could respond, Mrs. Robinson swept in, her aide trailing behind. As soon as Ernest spotted Tonna, his face twisted into a scowl, but he held his composure, fists clenching at his sides. Mrs. Robinson, undeterred, sauntered over and sat beside Tonna, looping her arm through his possessively.
"You escaped from my grasp the last time; this time, I wouldn't let you off the hook now that you're here," she purred coquettishly, her voice a sultry whisper, her perfume—a heady mix of jasmine and musk—enveloping him.
Tonna smiled, pulling her even closer, his hands bold as he lifted her onto his lap. She settled there with a delighted laugh, her curves pressing against him. He fed her a sip of wine from his glass, his eyes locking onto hers suggestively, biting his lower lip. Glancing up at Ernest, he noted the veins throbbing in the man's temple, though he feigned indifference. Tonna's smile widened as he brushed the ends of her hair from her neck, inhaling her sweet scent deeply before leaning in to bite down gently. She moaned loudly, the sound echoing in the room, laughing without a care for the audience.
"I am not letting you go this time either," he murmured back, his voice low and teasing, sending a shiver through her.
She smiled at him, her eyes gleaming with mischief.
FLASHBACK
Last time, Tonna had cleverly asked Arnold to call him at a precise moment before stepping into her lavish hotel room. The door clicked shut behind him, and immediately, the impatient woman lunged, her hands tearing at his clothes like a predator starved for too long. She peeled off his shirt with frantic urgency, her nails grazing his skin, leaving faint red trails that burned pleasantly. She launched herself at him, kissing him violently, her lips bruising against his, tongue demanding entry.
Tonna turned the tables swiftly, pinning her beneath his weight on the plush king-sized bed, the silk sheets whispering under them. He ran his fingers playfully over her face, tracing her jawline, her cheeks flushing under his touch. With every stroke, she reacted energetically, arching her back and moaning, her body a live wire of desire. He knew Ernest was just outside the door, ears pressed to the wood, hearing every gasp and moan—so Tonna didn't hold back. A wicked smile curved his lips as he lowered her top slowly, deliberately, pulling down the lace bra to expose her well-rounded breasts, the nipples hardening in the cool air. Just then, there was a soft click, but he did not pay attention to it as he invested in what he was doing.
He took one into his mouth, sucking with deliberate intensity, his tongue swirling, teeth grazing just enough to elicit a sharp cry from her. She shook beneath him, her hands roaming wildly over his back, nails digging in. He tried to steady her, pinning her wrists above her head with one strong hand, her expression a mesmerizing blend of surrender and fire—eyes half-lidded, lips parted in ecstasy.
"Don't be naughty now. Be good and stay put," he whispered against her skin, his voice a gravelly command that made her tremble.
He kissed her deeply, then trailed his lips from her mouth down her neck, nipping at the sensitive flesh, before returning to her breast. As he sucked harder, she started pooling between her legs, her thighs parting instinctively, grinding against his thigh with desperate friction. The room filled with her ragged breaths, the scent of arousal heavy in the air. Tonna released one hand from her wrists, snaking it down her body, fingers teasing the edge of her panties before delving into her heat. She was already hot and steamy, slick with need, her hips bucking against his touch.
Just as he was about to plunge deeper into the flood of her desire, his phone rang—sharp and insistent. He smirked, pulling back slightly to give her an abrasive kiss, his fingers circling her center teasingly, building the tension without mercy. She kicked and moaned, writhing under him, but he prolonged the torture, the phone's ringtone a mocking soundtrack to her frustration. Just when she thought relief was near, he stood up abruptly, leaving her gasping on the bed, and answered the call.
"Hello, Arnold," he said calmly, his voice steady despite the fire in his veins, glancing back at her with a triumphant grin as she lay there, chest heaving, eyes pleading for more.