The ordinary adventure of a particular socialite

If the devil and the saint catch me, it is better for her.

For the love of Christ! Was the ice cream that sweet? Minerva pursed her lips so that her expression of disgust would not break the pleasant and happy atmosphere that surrounded a beaming Daysi. Minerva let out a resigned air as she pushed aside the container of chocolate ice cream. Good heavens… I had heard some time ago that when you no longer enjoy the sweet icy experience you have simply let your inner child die and she who believed they were pure inventions, she made fun of herself for her naivety. When the evil of the world touches you ... The inner child dies suddenly. It is the law of the world. Minerva leaned back against the padded back of the sofa in the little place, very much in the style of the 50's, and stopped to think with great amazement how it still seemed implausible to her that such a place was open at that time of night, but I have here is Roxy's little cafe serving cold chocolate shakes with its typical cute bright cherry topping over the fluffy whipped cream and frying eggs in the middle of the night in the middle of 8th avenue.

"Oh!" Even if this accumulates in my ass afterwards, it's totally worth it, ”Daysi exclaimed ecstatically, forgetting her sweet and charming vocabulary causing Minerva to snort a laugh. This definitely brought back a lot of memories of college. "Hey, Mine." Your ice cream is going to melt. ”Daysi pointed with her plastic spoon at the almost forgotten container of ice cream that sat almost on the edge of the table.

"You can eat it, then I don't want to have to put up with Mr. Man-Young's hints and furtive glances later." Minerva almost flinched at the memory of her butler's slanted, dark eyes. That man was not a joke, he had the temperament of an ogre and the delicacy of spilling the hints of a rising teenage diva. Minerva guessed it was because of the time this man spent in the South Korean military.

Straying from Man-Young and his temperamental way of being his eyes focused on the clock hanging above the doorway of what appeared to be the kitchen and he cursed. It was after 12 at night and she was still on the street instead of lying in her bed ... Tomorrow she would have a hard time staying awake and she would lack the energy to endure the stares and overwhelming questions from her sharp assistant, Salvatore. "Daysi, Let's go. I'm supposed to go to work tomorrow. "

Daysi almost dropped her eyes from the sockets when she saw what Minerva was aiming for. 12:40 at night! But what the hell, when was that supposed to happen? Didn't she just dial the clock twenty past eight? Time was flying by. She hastily dug into the bottom of the container with the plastic spoon, trying to get the last scraps of the sweet iced gift as she sat up under Minerva's attentive and intense gaze, a gaze that made her legs shake like two towers of jelly. . With a sharp blow she put the container on the table of the place and picked up the small blue clutch that rested on the padded red cover of the chair in the shape of a "C". With a quick goodbye he said goodbye to the only two people who were clinking their forks against the ceramics of the local dishes, the good-natured cook who whistled some happy tune he did not recognize and the almost sleepy waitress in her thirties who struggled for not falling asleep at the end of the bar.

She smiled when the bell dismissed her. She would definitely return to that place.

...

Damn. It was the first thought Minerva was barely aware of. The room was too bright and hazy before her blurry eyes, as if a million layers of hazy effect covered her eyes. What time is it? Definitely not the time that she was supposed to be awake, at least she could guess that when she felt one of the warm and mischievous rays of the sun warming her toes. She frowned with her eyes half open and clicked her tongue at the sight of her feet, it was always the same. She slept with both socks on and by some magic one of her disappeared at dawn, she was almost tempted to remonstrate that her right foot had some Cinderella syndrome. Anyway, thoughts too incoherent to be this early, she told herself. She rose and pondered for a moment as she supported her weight on her elbows; What time did I arrive yesterday? She wondered trying to recap the latest events of last night. Let's see, after leaving Daysi… I arrived at 1 a.m. I greeted Mr. Man-Young who I vaguely remembered with a strange expression and an inquisitive raised eyebrow, I undressed… And forget it. Minerva sank gently onto the comfortable, soothing surface of her orthopedic mattress.

Maybe going to work today is not a good idea, I don't even know what time it is anyway. She tilted her face with a more refreshed vision and saw the silver clock on her nightstand, and then she widened her eyes in surprise. 6.21 a.m.? That she in the name of ... she got up suddenly looking quickly for the red satin robe and matching loafers, she should take a shower and be ready soon. Salvatore — her assistant — would be here at any moment for the fortnightly recount of her busy schedule, she only asked that this time there would not be a hectic and suffocating tour of European countries. Her thirty-three-year-old body couldn't stand another even if she was in such good shape. He walked to the small dressing room and began to walk slowly in search of the right outfit for the day, he did not feel up to using something extremely covered or especially textured fabrics, today he could almost feel the fresh fabric of a cotton shirt softer and the comfort of a palazzo covering your legs. I smile, that would be her outfit. Nothing more refreshing than something simple like that. She resolutely moved on to a simpler subject; underwear. She opened one of the drawers in which she kept her underwear and quickly pulled out a gray cotton culotte with lace details and a simple cotton bra in the same color. She didn't need to think about it much, it was the same old underwear set. She would think that being an underwear designer she would wear only the finest and most delicate pieces on the market, however there was a small problem with that particular type of lingerie. Her own body rejected her. Any material other than cotton caused discomfort and allergies in her most intimate areas. Minerva sighed. It is the irony of a designer. Don't wear hers own creations.

Well. All set, she told herself once that her outfit — with matching gray underwear and socks — was spread out on the small white sofa strategically placed next to the glass door that connected her walking-closet and the bathing her. Okay, time to start the day, Mirk. She encouraged herself by patting her cheeks quickly before entering the bathroom.

The shower was express, with almost no time to notice the finicky steps of her facial routine and not to mention the little morning ritual in which cream was spread all over the body before putting on any clothes on top of her. You could already go to hell when the clock strikes 7.15 in the morning, he affirmed only for her and her face reflected in the large bathroom mirror. She had to run because her sharp mind remembered that she had a little meeting at —exactly— 8 in the morning to have breakfast with her terrifying and screaming mother at the Langham, that made her sigh wearily because despite her questions trying to figure out why of his arrival — to the and to quote his own words: The noisy and frightening concrete jungle — he had no idea why his sudden and sudden visit.

Although she suspected of one thing. Minerva clicked her tongue against her palate, cursing that disgusting little thought that justified — well enough — Alexandrite Mirk-Barone's presence in the city she disliked the most in the world. Well, as Grandma Mirk used to say: If the devil and the saint catch me, it is better for her to be well dressed.