Beauty was doing her normal office work on a Friday morning when the elevator doors opened to reveal someone she'd never seen before at Venturi Enterprises. The woman who stepped onto the fifteenth floor was everything Beauty sometimes felt she wasn't, polished, confident, and wearing the kind of designer suit that whispered expensive taste.
Her ash-blonde hair was arranged in a perfect chignon, her makeup was flawless without appearing heavy, and she moved with the fluid grace of someone completely comfortable in corporate spaces. She looked like she is a model, the kind of woman who naturally commanded respect in meetings.
"Excuse me," the woman said, approaching Beauty's desk with a brilliant smile. "I'm looking for John Bianchi. I'm Maryann Phillips from Corporate Communications. I'm
