Post by Hannah Reed on Apr 27, 2013 14:44:55 GMT -6
Congratulations Gibford, you managed to surprise me and only speak vicariously through your own child’s achievements around 50% of the time this week, it seems you really have begun to evolve.
What excuses do I have for my defeat to you almost a calendar year ago? None. I lost, you won, fair and square, these things happen. Sometimes the young pup underestimates the old bear and gets a few scars to remember his mistakes by. I have absolutely no reason to try and paint it as a fluke, even the best can lose a few matches Gibford.
All that matters is I learnt my lesson.
As for my less than stellar record with the Famularo clan? You’d be wrong, though due to your age I can perhaps forgive you for going senile. Your son has managed to pin me a colossal one time, after your family decided to rearrange my face with three Widowmakers, then I pinned him two weeks in a row, not mention having wrestled the beast to a draw. I’ll give you your dues Gib, you are 1-0 against me but let’s not delude ourselves into thinking your genetic collection represent the bane of my existence, as you elegantly put it.
Do I respect the hell out of your brood?
Sure, but the fact is I’ve proven on more than one occasion I can beat Xander and come this weekend I will confirm any doubts anybody may have over my ability to put you away. I said it last week but this little side-project of mine against all of you supposed legends of the company isn’t for my benefit, it is simply to close off the loose ends people seem to have with my run on top.
You’re right, I do have my pick of who I deem fit to wrestle on a weekly basis, but no I don’t make my decisions based on who I think I have a good compatibility rating with, this isn’t eHarmony. You claim that I don’t want to wrestle the best? That I avoid difficult opponents to preserve my image as the man with no imperfections?
Then why exactly am I willingly placing myself in harm’s way with the best this company has ever had to offer?
I could be laying back and stretching my legs out and simply picking out the biggest jokes this place has to offer but instead I am picking out people from a group I have spent months ridiculing and baiting. I know you all want to beat me to a pulp to prove that I am nothing but a glorified midcarder who struck it lucky, if I was a lesser man I could well enter my final defence with more physical ailments than your daughter has had sexual partners.
I know exactly what you represent Gib.
You’ve been on a tear of late, which believe me I have noticed even if you’ve slipped under everybody’s radar. You and Simon have formed a union which has surpassed any other in the history of this company and you personally are one of the best to have ever laced up a pair of boots. I’ve never denied this. You are the man who has been in the business and seen everything, only now you’re going to have to watch me surpass anything you or even your offspring were capable of accomplishing.
203 Days.
Two months longer than the best men this company has to offer could ever accomplish. You can run it down by bringing up the fact I’ve only defended my belt against two men, but I don’t see anybody tearing your son’s reign down which consisted of notable “titans”. Curtis Kanyon, a man who has more personalities than this country has states, Marcus E. Reeves….yeah, I don’t know who that is either and my personal pin cushion Todd Williams. The fact is that if you break down many reigns in the history of this company you can find flaws to suit your bitter agenda.
At the end of the day, champions beat who are placed in front of them and the best champions do this more times than anybody else.
I get it, people aren’t going to line up to suck my dick because they have their own preconceptions about the quality of my opponents but the simple fact is I am statistically the best champion to ever grace this company and once I’ve ploughed through this field of legends you can go ahead and combine that with the greats I’ve beaten over the past two years and form a conclusive picture. It will be indisputable.
You’re just another step on a path which is going to take me to A Night to Remember where I will cement my place as only ever undefeated NCW World Champion in the history of this company.
Have I considered what I will do if you somehow manage to pull a miracle out of left field and leave me flat on my back this week? Strangely enough Gib, no, no I haven’t because I simply do not allow defeat to enter my calculations. I’ve not lost a match by pinfall or submission since mid-September and just like your own flesh and blood I’ve gone on a dominant run because I simply refuse to accept failure.
If I somehow do manage to fall apart this week at your hands?
I’ll dust myself down, iron out the creases and learn the lesson I need to ensure that when it comes to the moment that matters I don’t choke. I am not going to enter a malaise that sends me spiralling into a deep depression just because I managed to lose to somebody who, under all the insults, I do actually respect.
I know that I could be forgiven for being distracted considering that the whole evening will be about my glorious triumph and entry into the Hall of Fame, but I am focused Gibford.
I do not take you lightly, not for a single moment. You may act like a socially insecure child with deep seated sexually ambiguous anxieties but I can see through all the homoerotic sadomasochism you indulge in with Simon on a weekly basis. Under the clown act I know that you’re a fully certified ass kicking machine and the last time we faced I underestimated you in a cloud of misery after losing to Ricky.
I won’t make the same mistake.
One of us must fall this weekend, I've every confidence the only one of us who will be facing an extinction event is you, T-Rex. I am a survivor, I told the world that I would wipe the smile off of Rob Diamond’s face and this week I guarantee that whatever voodoo you imagine you have over me will be broken.
Emphatically.
Time’s up Gibford, this week I end another Famularo streak.
Are you still bitter about the whole psychobabble, Gib?
Because quite honestly, I get the impression that I did you a favour. No, I am not talking about the fact that I managed to perform the role of unwitting wingman to get your gene spreader serviced, although honestly it is about damn time somebody tamed you to lessen the risk of paternity suits against the company.
No. I am talking about everything I have done for you and Simon.
Don’t follow? That is understandable, I am speaking using a language register above a 3rd grade level so let me make this real simple for you. Me, Roberto, gave you, the two jackasses with the tacky colonial insignia, reason to stop fighting like big girls and to unite as a team, unit, civil partnership, whatever you feel most comfortable using.
And let’s be he honest, you could probably do with me again because I am sensing a little bit of déjà vu of late.
Last summer you and Simon were bickering over his whiney courtship of Zelda and your macho routine to protect her honour and now fast forward nearly a whole year and what do we have? Granted, Zelda’s vagina is going to have to apply for a ground license now that its capacity is reaching the same levels as a Super Bowl venue but once again the love sick little puppy is ****ing with your daughter…well not literally, that’s Xavier’s job it seems, and you’re dolling out your fatherly justice.
See, for as much as I paint myself as a villain and each and every one of you feckless morons buy into it I do genuinely have what is best for the rest of the roster at heart.
By creating a combined threat to you and Simon by forcing you both to attend therapy for my own amusement, I was succinctly providing you a reason to become united and stop bickering like a pair of children fighting over a twinky. I created a reason for Team Amurika to fight as a unit instead of spend each week submitting us to a never ending Brokeback Mountain with a bunch of teenage angst over Zelda.
Ok granted, we still get to watch you hug it out every week but at least until recently we didn’t have to hear Simon’s sob stories about how Zelda took his virginity.
I helped delude you into thinking there really was some sort of conspiracy against you and look at the fruits it bore, hell you’re still buying into it now. You and your boy toy are the most successful tag team in company history and whether you care to admit it, I had a small part to play in yet another legacy which will never be surpassed.
So, the question is Gib.
What are you two going to do now? Quite honestly I had enough fun messing with you before and I’ve got much more important things to do than get you dates, so what is going to bring you two back together this time? It won’t be your daughter, if anything the more she messes with Simon’s head the less he’ll care about defending your belts. It won’t be me, because I have something far greater to accomplish.
No, now you two misfits are going to have to find a common enemy to fight, another monster in the closet, to bring you back together.
I know that individually you’re both strong competitors, but let’s face facts, you’re the most dysfunctional tag team I’ve ever laid my eyes on. You were bundled together because you just so happen to have been born inside the same artificial borders and managed to outfox a collection inter-continental nobodies. Beyond Simon’s previous infatuation for you blood pool, although fingers crossed he won’t be eyeing up Xander any time soon, there is literally nothing to bring you two together.
Not that it is of much concern to me now; the fact is that come May 19th you two will cease to exist to me. Watching you lose your belts will be a nice moment for the fans to savour considering there will almost certainly be no title changes in the main event.
I know you see yourself in a grandiose manner, but that will be of little consequence this weekend.
You’re not the unstoppable pre-historic beast to my herbivore, you’re not going to be the stain of imperfection on my untainted marble memorial nor are you going to force me to drink from the cup of defeat whilst you continue your search for the fountain of youth.
You’re just a tough old bastard climbing in the ring with a man who is more than capable of taking any beating you choose to dish out.
Whatever our past, this week is simply about the future. My legacy, as much as you compare it to a unstable hard-drive, is already secured, you’re simply another piece of a jigsaw put together in honour of my dominance.
You see yourself as a runaway train Gib, but your analogy is flawed. Trains do no simply roll down a hill and come to a stop if their path collides with another immovable object. They pile up into an insurmountable wreckage, left in a heap of glass and metal in front of trail of destruction. I am that obstacle, Gib.
I am the man who will send you into retirement full of regret, a broken heap whose last meaningful match will define my superiority.
All good things come to an end, Gibford.
This week it will be your legacy.
Bring your family’s best, because even Xander’s wasn’t enough to put me away.
What excuses do I have for my defeat to you almost a calendar year ago? None. I lost, you won, fair and square, these things happen. Sometimes the young pup underestimates the old bear and gets a few scars to remember his mistakes by. I have absolutely no reason to try and paint it as a fluke, even the best can lose a few matches Gibford.
All that matters is I learnt my lesson.
As for my less than stellar record with the Famularo clan? You’d be wrong, though due to your age I can perhaps forgive you for going senile. Your son has managed to pin me a colossal one time, after your family decided to rearrange my face with three Widowmakers, then I pinned him two weeks in a row, not mention having wrestled the beast to a draw. I’ll give you your dues Gib, you are 1-0 against me but let’s not delude ourselves into thinking your genetic collection represent the bane of my existence, as you elegantly put it.
Do I respect the hell out of your brood?
Sure, but the fact is I’ve proven on more than one occasion I can beat Xander and come this weekend I will confirm any doubts anybody may have over my ability to put you away. I said it last week but this little side-project of mine against all of you supposed legends of the company isn’t for my benefit, it is simply to close off the loose ends people seem to have with my run on top.
You’re right, I do have my pick of who I deem fit to wrestle on a weekly basis, but no I don’t make my decisions based on who I think I have a good compatibility rating with, this isn’t eHarmony. You claim that I don’t want to wrestle the best? That I avoid difficult opponents to preserve my image as the man with no imperfections?
Then why exactly am I willingly placing myself in harm’s way with the best this company has ever had to offer?
I could be laying back and stretching my legs out and simply picking out the biggest jokes this place has to offer but instead I am picking out people from a group I have spent months ridiculing and baiting. I know you all want to beat me to a pulp to prove that I am nothing but a glorified midcarder who struck it lucky, if I was a lesser man I could well enter my final defence with more physical ailments than your daughter has had sexual partners.
I know exactly what you represent Gib.
You’ve been on a tear of late, which believe me I have noticed even if you’ve slipped under everybody’s radar. You and Simon have formed a union which has surpassed any other in the history of this company and you personally are one of the best to have ever laced up a pair of boots. I’ve never denied this. You are the man who has been in the business and seen everything, only now you’re going to have to watch me surpass anything you or even your offspring were capable of accomplishing.
203 Days.
Two months longer than the best men this company has to offer could ever accomplish. You can run it down by bringing up the fact I’ve only defended my belt against two men, but I don’t see anybody tearing your son’s reign down which consisted of notable “titans”. Curtis Kanyon, a man who has more personalities than this country has states, Marcus E. Reeves….yeah, I don’t know who that is either and my personal pin cushion Todd Williams. The fact is that if you break down many reigns in the history of this company you can find flaws to suit your bitter agenda.
At the end of the day, champions beat who are placed in front of them and the best champions do this more times than anybody else.
I get it, people aren’t going to line up to suck my dick because they have their own preconceptions about the quality of my opponents but the simple fact is I am statistically the best champion to ever grace this company and once I’ve ploughed through this field of legends you can go ahead and combine that with the greats I’ve beaten over the past two years and form a conclusive picture. It will be indisputable.
You’re just another step on a path which is going to take me to A Night to Remember where I will cement my place as only ever undefeated NCW World Champion in the history of this company.
Have I considered what I will do if you somehow manage to pull a miracle out of left field and leave me flat on my back this week? Strangely enough Gib, no, no I haven’t because I simply do not allow defeat to enter my calculations. I’ve not lost a match by pinfall or submission since mid-September and just like your own flesh and blood I’ve gone on a dominant run because I simply refuse to accept failure.
If I somehow do manage to fall apart this week at your hands?
I’ll dust myself down, iron out the creases and learn the lesson I need to ensure that when it comes to the moment that matters I don’t choke. I am not going to enter a malaise that sends me spiralling into a deep depression just because I managed to lose to somebody who, under all the insults, I do actually respect.
I know that I could be forgiven for being distracted considering that the whole evening will be about my glorious triumph and entry into the Hall of Fame, but I am focused Gibford.
I do not take you lightly, not for a single moment. You may act like a socially insecure child with deep seated sexually ambiguous anxieties but I can see through all the homoerotic sadomasochism you indulge in with Simon on a weekly basis. Under the clown act I know that you’re a fully certified ass kicking machine and the last time we faced I underestimated you in a cloud of misery after losing to Ricky.
I won’t make the same mistake.
One of us must fall this weekend, I've every confidence the only one of us who will be facing an extinction event is you, T-Rex. I am a survivor, I told the world that I would wipe the smile off of Rob Diamond’s face and this week I guarantee that whatever voodoo you imagine you have over me will be broken.
Emphatically.
Time’s up Gibford, this week I end another Famularo streak.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Roberto begins to fidget nervously in his seat at the back of the hotel bar, his nerves standing out amidst the relaxed atmosphere as couples and business partners share drinks and kick back after a long day. His eyes dart left to right as he surveys his surrounding before suddenly he almost jumps out of his skin as a familiar figure, in a little black dress, suddenly peaks around the side of the booth he found refuge in.
I knew I’d be seeing you again.
This isn’t what you think.
Oh, really? And what exactly do I think this is?
I am just hear to talk.
Isabella smiles, sliding around the side of the booth onto the seat opposite him.
Of course, I never suggested otherwise. Are you feeling a little guilty big boy?
No.
Verona declares forthrightly.
Then why are we meeting in a hotel? And where’s you pretty little blonde play thing?
Hannah is no concern of yours.
You’re right, she’s yours.
Look, you know why I have to keep things private, if Simon found out…
Who said he doesn’t already know?
Verona is a little taken aback, reply incredulously.
You told him!?
Of course I didn’t, I just don’t think you’re in a position to make any demands of me. Not anymore.
Roberto closes his eyes and lets a long, slow sigh out through his nostril.
No. You’re right Isabella, I can’t make you do anything.
Oh shucks, I was hoping you’d at least try.
I asked you here because you offered me your help.
Did I? Little old me?
Isabella clasps her hands together and leans forward, resting her chin on them as she flutters her eyelashes sarcastically.
Don’t play coy, it doesn’t suit you.
Spoilsport. Suppose I did, what’s in it for me?
Name your price. I’m not a pauper. What do you want? 5 million? A fleet of Ferraris?
Something far more priceless than that…
What?
For you to spend the night with me. Alone.
Excuse me?
Call me a sucker for nostalgia if you like but I know what does and doesn’t please me. And you please me, Berto.
I told you, it was never going to happen.
Well if spending a few hours in the same building as me is too much for you to handle then good luck with Simon, I am sure you big rich macho men can iron your differences over the lawyers table…
Isabella turns to leave before suddenly Roberto leans forward and grasps her forearm firmly.
Wait…
Yes?
One night. No funny business?
She smiles, shuffling back into her seat.
If you can’t trust yourself around me…
Believe me, I can.
Then you have nothing to worry about, do you?
And if I do this you’ll help me secure the shares I need?
I am a woman of my word.
Then fine…
Isabella smiles again, suddenly lifting herself out of her seat before turning back to Roberto.
Excellent. My room is 403.
You already booked a room?
I had faith that you’d do the right thing.
With that she turns, looking over her shoulder at Roberto who slides a hand into his pocket to retrieve his phone before lifting it to his ear and waiting a few seconds.
Hi Hannah, it’s just me. I…have a few things to take care of, I’ll be home tomorrow. Don’t stay up.
He pauses.
I love you.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Roberto begins to fidget nervously in his seat at the back of the hotel bar, his nerves standing out amidst the relaxed atmosphere as couples and business partners share drinks and kick back after a long day. His eyes dart left to right as he surveys his surrounding before suddenly he almost jumps out of his skin as a familiar figure, in a little black dress, suddenly peaks around the side of the booth he found refuge in.
I knew I’d be seeing you again.
This isn’t what you think.
Oh, really? And what exactly do I think this is?
I am just hear to talk.
Isabella smiles, sliding around the side of the booth onto the seat opposite him.
Of course, I never suggested otherwise. Are you feeling a little guilty big boy?
No.
Verona declares forthrightly.
Then why are we meeting in a hotel? And where’s you pretty little blonde play thing?
Hannah is no concern of yours.
You’re right, she’s yours.
Look, you know why I have to keep things private, if Simon found out…
Who said he doesn’t already know?
Verona is a little taken aback, reply incredulously.
You told him!?
Of course I didn’t, I just don’t think you’re in a position to make any demands of me. Not anymore.
Roberto closes his eyes and lets a long, slow sigh out through his nostril.
No. You’re right Isabella, I can’t make you do anything.
Oh shucks, I was hoping you’d at least try.
I asked you here because you offered me your help.
Did I? Little old me?
Isabella clasps her hands together and leans forward, resting her chin on them as she flutters her eyelashes sarcastically.
Don’t play coy, it doesn’t suit you.
Spoilsport. Suppose I did, what’s in it for me?
Name your price. I’m not a pauper. What do you want? 5 million? A fleet of Ferraris?
Something far more priceless than that…
What?
For you to spend the night with me. Alone.
Excuse me?
Call me a sucker for nostalgia if you like but I know what does and doesn’t please me. And you please me, Berto.
I told you, it was never going to happen.
Well if spending a few hours in the same building as me is too much for you to handle then good luck with Simon, I am sure you big rich macho men can iron your differences over the lawyers table…
Isabella turns to leave before suddenly Roberto leans forward and grasps her forearm firmly.
Wait…
Yes?
One night. No funny business?
She smiles, shuffling back into her seat.
If you can’t trust yourself around me…
Believe me, I can.
Then you have nothing to worry about, do you?
And if I do this you’ll help me secure the shares I need?
I am a woman of my word.
Then fine…
Isabella smiles again, suddenly lifting herself out of her seat before turning back to Roberto.
Excellent. My room is 403.
You already booked a room?
I had faith that you’d do the right thing.
With that she turns, looking over her shoulder at Roberto who slides a hand into his pocket to retrieve his phone before lifting it to his ear and waiting a few seconds.
Hi Hannah, it’s just me. I…have a few things to take care of, I’ll be home tomorrow. Don’t stay up.
He pauses.
I love you.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Are you still bitter about the whole psychobabble, Gib?
Because quite honestly, I get the impression that I did you a favour. No, I am not talking about the fact that I managed to perform the role of unwitting wingman to get your gene spreader serviced, although honestly it is about damn time somebody tamed you to lessen the risk of paternity suits against the company.
No. I am talking about everything I have done for you and Simon.
Don’t follow? That is understandable, I am speaking using a language register above a 3rd grade level so let me make this real simple for you. Me, Roberto, gave you, the two jackasses with the tacky colonial insignia, reason to stop fighting like big girls and to unite as a team, unit, civil partnership, whatever you feel most comfortable using.
And let’s be he honest, you could probably do with me again because I am sensing a little bit of déjà vu of late.
Last summer you and Simon were bickering over his whiney courtship of Zelda and your macho routine to protect her honour and now fast forward nearly a whole year and what do we have? Granted, Zelda’s vagina is going to have to apply for a ground license now that its capacity is reaching the same levels as a Super Bowl venue but once again the love sick little puppy is ****ing with your daughter…well not literally, that’s Xavier’s job it seems, and you’re dolling out your fatherly justice.
See, for as much as I paint myself as a villain and each and every one of you feckless morons buy into it I do genuinely have what is best for the rest of the roster at heart.
By creating a combined threat to you and Simon by forcing you both to attend therapy for my own amusement, I was succinctly providing you a reason to become united and stop bickering like a pair of children fighting over a twinky. I created a reason for Team Amurika to fight as a unit instead of spend each week submitting us to a never ending Brokeback Mountain with a bunch of teenage angst over Zelda.
Ok granted, we still get to watch you hug it out every week but at least until recently we didn’t have to hear Simon’s sob stories about how Zelda took his virginity.
I helped delude you into thinking there really was some sort of conspiracy against you and look at the fruits it bore, hell you’re still buying into it now. You and your boy toy are the most successful tag team in company history and whether you care to admit it, I had a small part to play in yet another legacy which will never be surpassed.
So, the question is Gib.
What are you two going to do now? Quite honestly I had enough fun messing with you before and I’ve got much more important things to do than get you dates, so what is going to bring you two back together this time? It won’t be your daughter, if anything the more she messes with Simon’s head the less he’ll care about defending your belts. It won’t be me, because I have something far greater to accomplish.
No, now you two misfits are going to have to find a common enemy to fight, another monster in the closet, to bring you back together.
I know that individually you’re both strong competitors, but let’s face facts, you’re the most dysfunctional tag team I’ve ever laid my eyes on. You were bundled together because you just so happen to have been born inside the same artificial borders and managed to outfox a collection inter-continental nobodies. Beyond Simon’s previous infatuation for you blood pool, although fingers crossed he won’t be eyeing up Xander any time soon, there is literally nothing to bring you two together.
Not that it is of much concern to me now; the fact is that come May 19th you two will cease to exist to me. Watching you lose your belts will be a nice moment for the fans to savour considering there will almost certainly be no title changes in the main event.
I know you see yourself in a grandiose manner, but that will be of little consequence this weekend.
You’re not the unstoppable pre-historic beast to my herbivore, you’re not going to be the stain of imperfection on my untainted marble memorial nor are you going to force me to drink from the cup of defeat whilst you continue your search for the fountain of youth.
You’re just a tough old bastard climbing in the ring with a man who is more than capable of taking any beating you choose to dish out.
Whatever our past, this week is simply about the future. My legacy, as much as you compare it to a unstable hard-drive, is already secured, you’re simply another piece of a jigsaw put together in honour of my dominance.
You see yourself as a runaway train Gib, but your analogy is flawed. Trains do no simply roll down a hill and come to a stop if their path collides with another immovable object. They pile up into an insurmountable wreckage, left in a heap of glass and metal in front of trail of destruction. I am that obstacle, Gib.
I am the man who will send you into retirement full of regret, a broken heap whose last meaningful match will define my superiority.
All good things come to an end, Gibford.
This week it will be your legacy.
Bring your family’s best, because even Xander’s wasn’t enough to put me away.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The lift flings open violently, a loud pin echoing down the corridor as Roberto Verona steps out onto the fourth floor. He turns he head from left to right before making his way to his left, his feet booming as he strolling nervously down the corridor, looking over his shoulder before coming to a sudden halt. He turns he head and looks at the door with a golden plaque with “403” carved into it with a black filling. Sighing, he goes to knock on the door but to his surprise the door flings open and Isabella stares back at him from behind the opening.
Hello stranger.
Let’s just get this over with.
You’ve not lost your charm.
Verona walks into the room as Isabella shuts the door behind him.
Have a seat, I just need to make myself a little more respectable.
Roberto stops next to a small leather chair before lowering himself into it as Isabella enters the bathroom, pushing the door to. Verona looks around before calling out to her.
This brings back memories.
What does?
You spending half the night in the bathroom whilst I brooded on a chair.
The other half form some of my best memories.
Not mine…
You know, you never did tell me how you got involved with Simon.
That’s because it is none of your business.
you know tonight could go a lot quicker if you stop being stubborn.
I’m not the one wishing the hours away.
You know I am just going to keep asking.
Fine. If you must know I owed him one.
Betraying him with me isn’t a good way of paying off your debt…
Owed, Berto. Past tense. I told you, now I am in business for myself, it just so happen it is pretty damn profitable to do a little with Simon.
I see you’ve not had any moral epiphanies since we…
The way I remember it there wasn’t any “we”, only you deciding that beating up guys in tights was a viable career option.
They don’t all wear tights…
Roberto hears a playful laugh from the bathroom as the door begins to creak and the light is turned off.
See, we don’t need to spend the whole evening being tense.
Suddenly Isabella re-emerges from the bathroom, sporting a lot less than she went in wish. A delicate black lace bra and panties cling tighty to her tanned skin as she walks past Roberto, taking good care to look over her shoulder at him before leaping onto the bed and rolling onto her stomach, to facing Verona.
Besides, I feel a whole lot more comfortable now.
What are you doing?
Laying on my bed, which Simon paid for.
You know what I mean.
Isabella looks down at her cleavage before looking up.
This? Oh grow up Berto, it’s just lingerie, do you know how painful stilettos and those tight little black dresses are after a long day?
I told you no funny business.
And there isn’t any. Correct me if I am wrong but you still have your clothes on and I’m all the way over here. Lighten up.
I love Hannah.
Verona declares sternly.
Good for her.
You’re just lucky I am getting desperate…
You could get lucky too you know…
Isabella lifts herself up and begins to crawl to the edge of the bed.
It can be just our little secret…
No.
She grows a little closer.
Hannah will never find out…
I said no.
Now, perched delicately on the edge of the bed she reaches forward and grabs Roberto’s tie, slowly pulling out from behind his jacket and towards her.
You know you want to…
No…
You want your piece of IWF?
Yes…
Suddenly with a firm tug she pulls him forward and out of his chair before leaning backwards and waving a seductive finger.
Then come and take it…
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The lift flings open violently, a loud pin echoing down the corridor as Roberto Verona steps out onto the fourth floor. He turns he head from left to right before making his way to his left, his feet booming as he strolling nervously down the corridor, looking over his shoulder before coming to a sudden halt. He turns he head and looks at the door with a golden plaque with “403” carved into it with a black filling. Sighing, he goes to knock on the door but to his surprise the door flings open and Isabella stares back at him from behind the opening.
Hello stranger.
Let’s just get this over with.
You’ve not lost your charm.
Verona walks into the room as Isabella shuts the door behind him.
Have a seat, I just need to make myself a little more respectable.
Roberto stops next to a small leather chair before lowering himself into it as Isabella enters the bathroom, pushing the door to. Verona looks around before calling out to her.
This brings back memories.
What does?
You spending half the night in the bathroom whilst I brooded on a chair.
The other half form some of my best memories.
Not mine…
You know, you never did tell me how you got involved with Simon.
That’s because it is none of your business.
you know tonight could go a lot quicker if you stop being stubborn.
I’m not the one wishing the hours away.
You know I am just going to keep asking.
Fine. If you must know I owed him one.
Betraying him with me isn’t a good way of paying off your debt…
Owed, Berto. Past tense. I told you, now I am in business for myself, it just so happen it is pretty damn profitable to do a little with Simon.
I see you’ve not had any moral epiphanies since we…
The way I remember it there wasn’t any “we”, only you deciding that beating up guys in tights was a viable career option.
They don’t all wear tights…
Roberto hears a playful laugh from the bathroom as the door begins to creak and the light is turned off.
See, we don’t need to spend the whole evening being tense.
Suddenly Isabella re-emerges from the bathroom, sporting a lot less than she went in wish. A delicate black lace bra and panties cling tighty to her tanned skin as she walks past Roberto, taking good care to look over her shoulder at him before leaping onto the bed and rolling onto her stomach, to facing Verona.
Besides, I feel a whole lot more comfortable now.
What are you doing?
Laying on my bed, which Simon paid for.
You know what I mean.
Isabella looks down at her cleavage before looking up.
This? Oh grow up Berto, it’s just lingerie, do you know how painful stilettos and those tight little black dresses are after a long day?
I told you no funny business.
And there isn’t any. Correct me if I am wrong but you still have your clothes on and I’m all the way over here. Lighten up.
I love Hannah.
Verona declares sternly.
Good for her.
You’re just lucky I am getting desperate…
You could get lucky too you know…
Isabella lifts herself up and begins to crawl to the edge of the bed.
It can be just our little secret…
No.
She grows a little closer.
Hannah will never find out…
I said no.
Now, perched delicately on the edge of the bed she reaches forward and grabs Roberto’s tie, slowly pulling out from behind his jacket and towards her.
You know you want to…
No…
You want your piece of IWF?
Yes…
Suddenly with a firm tug she pulls him forward and out of his chair before leaning backwards and waving a seductive finger.
Then come and take it…
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