There were definitely some positive aspects to dating one of the most notorious men in the world - that woman would have the entire world at her fingertips. Vast amounts of riches and luxuries at her feet, and a cushy lifestyle. However, when two notoriously rich and beautiful people get together, the entire world bows to their whims. It was that sort of power that Emma Frost indulged in all year round. Having the world bend to her wants and needs was just what a Frost did. Sure, Tony Stark helped but she spent years developing her image as a corporate genius and a woman not be crossed; dating Tony Stark was just an added bonus. While Emma certainly had the smarts to run an international corporation - Frost International - she also had the looks that usually came with being such a powerhouse. Scandalously long legs met a perfectly shaped figure. Platinum blonde hair accented flawless features and piercing blue eyes were both captivating and intimidating. Emma was for all intent and purposes the embodiment of perfection. It was only a matter of time before a man would come into her sights that was equally perfect, that man just happened to be Tony Stark.
Within the lap of luxury, people never woke up before noon. At 12:30 pm, Emma Frost woke up to the afternoon sun filtering through the large windows of the living room. Glancing to her side, she saw that Tony was still asleep. Shrugging off the sheets, bare feet touched the cool floor and sent a chill up her spine. Good afternoon, Miss Frost. A mechanical voice purred towards the woman. Blue eyes darted towards the speaker, as a hand waved towards the faceless voice dismissing it completely. Despite telepathic awareness, Emma Frost was NOT a happy camper when waking up.
Rising to her feet, hands ran over her bare skin before reaching for a shirt that was tossed carelessly to the floor last night. Pulling the oversized shirt over her bare body, she buttoned it up just enough to cover over some private areas - while Tony's armani shirt might have been a perfect fit on his trim body, it was not the case for Emma. The end of the shirt came down past her waist, and barely covered over the bottom curve of her finely sculpted rear. Sleeves were baggy, and the entire shirt sagged off her shoulders. It would have to do, however, until she could find enough motivation to get dressed. Besides, she had no where to go anytime soon.
Finely manicured fingers ran through her blonde hair, pushing it away from her gaze as she paced over the patio door. Throwing open the doors, she stepped outside, allowing the afternoon air to wrap around her body. A man in a three piece suit rushed over to the blonde woman with a cup of coffee and a copy of the New York Times, "You're learning fast, Norman." The man bowed low, and Emma just smirked. Another positive thing about living in the lap of luxury was that servants were a dime a dozen, and willing to do anything to satisfy you. Norman happened to be an old Frost servant that followed wherever Emma went. Doubling as an assistant when the time called for it, but mostly acting as a servant to her.
Dismissing him, Emma was about to step out towards the pool had it not been for the voice attempting to project out towards her. Emma could recognize that voice from anywhere, it wasn't just his mental voice that gave him away, it was that thoughts that followed such a mental projection. Tossing the paper onto a table, Emma made her way to the kitchen. Standing in the doorway, a shoulder pressed against the door frame, as blue eyes settled on the man, "You're getting better, my dear. I'm sure telepaths from miles away could hear that last call." Lips curled into a predatory smirk, but as quickly hidden behind the rim of her coffee as she took a sip.