Hannah Parker
Hannah checked her phone, scrolling down lists of contacts, all labeled either 'no good', 'a possibility', or 'set it UP!' as she walked into an empty conference room, not caring to see who was occupying it. She didn't know or care why she was in this big skyscraper-company in New York -- she was pretty sure it was a music label -- she only cared who was in it. Hannah was getting low on money to play around with, and she needed extra to take care of her daughter Hailey, whom she had left home with a neighbor to take care of her, and the South sometimes wasn't the best place to go 'digging', as she called it. So the last time she checked her bank account -- only $500,000, what a drag -- she had booked a flight up to the Big City. She was bound to strike gold up there.
And so now, Hannah was pushing open the heavy glass door to an important looking conference room, one that looked sure to be occupied by the greatest, richest -- and because of that, best looking -- people in the area within the next four hours. That, to Hannah, was a sure short amount of time, and based on the glossed mahogany table; clear, wide windows giving out a perfect view to the buzzing city below; and soundproof, surely expensive walls; Hannah could definitely wait.
She took a seat, still looking at her phone, across the table from someone -- she couldn't care enough to look up, obviously he wasn't big enough to be included in a conference, if her was sitting here all alone -- absorbed in his laptop. After she finished updating her contact list -- now three more had been debunked from 'set it UP!' to 'no good' -- she rummaged in her tote for her handheld mirror. Once she obtained it Hannah flipped it up to see her face and started brushing at her eyebrows, cheeks and lips, perfecting the symmetrical look she had spent the morning on leaning on a hotel sink to get as close to a mirror as possible. Her lips were plumped, and she made a specific mixture of different shades of pink and red to give her cheeks the perfect rosy glow. Her eyes were accented by a warm shade of shadow, and her brown eyeliner winged out perfectly. Her long, thick lashed were curled and had two layers of mascara on each side, and her hair was in an immaculate bun, braided and then twisted, then pinned tightly. To her, she looked glowing and spectacular -- the only thing holding her back from pure symmetry being the beauty mark on the right side of her nose. Looks were the one thing Hannah cared about most, aside from money and of course her daughter -- how else could she have gotten both?
After she had finished touching up and put the mirror back, Hannah finally looked up; and what she saw could have sent her attempts of perfection this morning flying down. There he was, the first love of her life, the last love of her life, the father of her daughter.
Despicable.
Hannah stared at him with a mixture of wonder, disgust and surprise. It was him, the one person who had tripped her up, the only person who had gotten deleted from her long contact list, the only one who had managed to make the rosiness on her cheeks something other than make-up. Hannah blinked and gathered her things up quickly, breaking away from her gaze and standing up, starting to walk towards the door. She wanted to leave without a second glance at him.
But of course, she had to see just how expensive that suit was.
Hannah turned around, to gaze upon him again, and her eyes glazed over as she inspected the suit.
Is that... Westwood?
Suddenly, Hannah became quite interested in catching up with him, a gleam in her eyes, she fully pivoted to face him, put on a show-stopping smile, and let her sweet Southern Belle accent ring out into the sanitized air.
'Jayme Lockwood, is that you?'
OUTFIT
Hannah checked her phone, scrolling down lists of contacts, all labeled either 'no good', 'a possibility', or 'set it UP!' as she walked into an empty conference room, not caring to see who was occupying it. She didn't know or care why she was in this big skyscraper-company in New York -- she was pretty sure it was a music label -- she only cared who was in it. Hannah was getting low on money to play around with, and she needed extra to take care of her daughter Hailey, whom she had left home with a neighbor to take care of her, and the South sometimes wasn't the best place to go 'digging', as she called it. So the last time she checked her bank account -- only $500,000, what a drag -- she had booked a flight up to the Big City. She was bound to strike gold up there.
And so now, Hannah was pushing open the heavy glass door to an important looking conference room, one that looked sure to be occupied by the greatest, richest -- and because of that, best looking -- people in the area within the next four hours. That, to Hannah, was a sure short amount of time, and based on the glossed mahogany table; clear, wide windows giving out a perfect view to the buzzing city below; and soundproof, surely expensive walls; Hannah could definitely wait.
She took a seat, still looking at her phone, across the table from someone -- she couldn't care enough to look up, obviously he wasn't big enough to be included in a conference, if her was sitting here all alone -- absorbed in his laptop. After she finished updating her contact list -- now three more had been debunked from 'set it UP!' to 'no good' -- she rummaged in her tote for her handheld mirror. Once she obtained it Hannah flipped it up to see her face and started brushing at her eyebrows, cheeks and lips, perfecting the symmetrical look she had spent the morning on leaning on a hotel sink to get as close to a mirror as possible. Her lips were plumped, and she made a specific mixture of different shades of pink and red to give her cheeks the perfect rosy glow. Her eyes were accented by a warm shade of shadow, and her brown eyeliner winged out perfectly. Her long, thick lashed were curled and had two layers of mascara on each side, and her hair was in an immaculate bun, braided and then twisted, then pinned tightly. To her, she looked glowing and spectacular -- the only thing holding her back from pure symmetry being the beauty mark on the right side of her nose. Looks were the one thing Hannah cared about most, aside from money and of course her daughter -- how else could she have gotten both?
After she had finished touching up and put the mirror back, Hannah finally looked up; and what she saw could have sent her attempts of perfection this morning flying down. There he was, the first love of her life, the last love of her life, the father of her daughter.
Despicable.
Hannah stared at him with a mixture of wonder, disgust and surprise. It was him, the one person who had tripped her up, the only person who had gotten deleted from her long contact list, the only one who had managed to make the rosiness on her cheeks something other than make-up. Hannah blinked and gathered her things up quickly, breaking away from her gaze and standing up, starting to walk towards the door. She wanted to leave without a second glance at him.
But of course, she had to see just how expensive that suit was.
Hannah turned around, to gaze upon him again, and her eyes glazed over as she inspected the suit.
Is that... Westwood?
Suddenly, Hannah became quite interested in catching up with him, a gleam in her eyes, she fully pivoted to face him, put on a show-stopping smile, and let her sweet Southern Belle accent ring out into the sanitized air.
'Jayme Lockwood, is that you?'
OUTFIT