_white_queen_ (_white_queen_) wrote in newalliance, @ 2012-05-13 00:50:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | lex luthor, white queen |
Who: Emma Frost and Lex Luthor
Where: DB Bistro Moderne, 55 West 44th Street, New York
When: Sunday, May 13th, 2012 : Noon.
What: Lunch
Rating: TBD
Emma Frost was a woman of work and determination, not sentimentality. Even so, she understood the importance of paying deference to those that had come before. That thought was foremost in her mind as she pulled the double doors to her office closed behind her. Her heels clacked on the tile as she rounded the hall to her personal reception area, where Sonya was already standing; Emma’s overcoat in her hand.
“Hold the rest of my calls and reschedule any appointments.”
“Yes, Ma’am.” Sonya traded the coat for Emma’s clutch, holding it while Emma put on the coat.
Emma accepted her clutch back and started for the elevator, stopping for a moment as if in thought before turning back to Sonya. “Oh, and Sonya, please tell the receptionist downstairs that personal effects are not to be displayed. This is a business. She can load up her things.”
“Of course, Ma’am. I will prepare the proper letters and find someone else for the desk.” Sonya walked back to her desk and picked up the phone, dialing downstairs as the elevator doors swooshed open.
As the elevator doors opened at the lobby level, Emma could already hear the errant thoughts of her employees. She didn’t need to be a mind reader to know that they thought hateful things about her, but it certainly helped. It didn’t matter though. They were well compensated for their work, and as long as they were useful, they stayed, regardless of their opinions of her. As long as they remained unvoiced, that is.
Exiting the building, Emma stepped in to the waiting car and pulled out her phone, dialing the florist’s number that Sonya had given her earlier. She hadn’t dared order her mother’s flowers inside Frost International. She didn’t want anyone to forget that they were there to work, not to conduct personal business.
“DB Bistro Moderne,” she barked to the driver as the floral company picked up. She placed her order for an elegant arrangement, instructed them to contact Sonya for billing, and hung up, dropping the phone back in her clutch as the car slid through New York’s traffic. Yes, the flowers would be late, but they would arrive nonetheless.
Arriving at DB Bistro Moderne, Emma exited the car and walked toward the door. “Thank you,” she said almost coldly to the young man holding it for her. The hostess glanced up at her, and with a slight nudge of Emma’s telepathy, quickly escorted her to an empty table. Emma was removing her coat and settling it next to her clutch on the nearby seat when the waiter approached.
“Foie Gras Torchon and lemoned water, no ice,” she said coolly before the man had a chance to speak.