<div class="floatleft">(https://pmcdeadline2.files.wordpress.com/2010/04/rachelweisz1.jpg)</div><br/><strong>Name:</strong>Erica Everett (Richards)<br/><strong>Status:</strong>Guest, Stockholder<br/><strong>Date | Time:</strong>January 5th, 2011 | Late Afternoon<br/><strong>Location:</strong>The Pierre, Penthouse.  NYC<br/><strong>Wearing:</strong>Not sure yet, working out her options! At least one little black dress.<br/><strong>Tagging:</strong>Thomas<strong>Mentioned:</strong>The Bastard (James)<br/><strong>Content Warning:</strong>Being a bitch, and a little flirting for good measure<hr/><br/>"Well then, at least he had the good grace to send one of the pretty ones. Come in please."  With a small shrug she opened the hotel door wider making room for him to slip inside the room before closing it with a gentle click.<br/><br/>The front desk had called to tell her of his arrival.  One Mr. Thomas Malcolm from Floshton Inc.  Briefly she wondered if he'd actually introduced himself like that or if he'd simply handed over his business card.  Either option was amusing to her.  Shaking her head she turned to face him noting that the simple lines of his suit didn't look out of place even in the opulent backdrop of the sitting room of The Pierre's penthouse suite.  Reassuring.  For a moment there she thought James was going to be an asshole and send over a janitor or some such to field her questions about the newest marketing campaign.  But no, this one looked competent enough.<br/><br/>If anything SHE was the one underdressed for the occasion.  Her feet were bare save for sheer black stockings and before she turned he could see that the back zip of the black sheathe dress she was wearing was only half done.  Erica wasn't a contortionist, getting the zipper pulled together between one's shoulder blades could be a tricky job and not one that she'd managed to finish before hearing his firm knock on the door.  Ahh well.<br/><br/>The meeting wasn't exactly scheduled.  She'd called her ex to calmly discuss what she saw as legitimate concerns over the new focus on themed cruises/vacations in the company.  There were rational arguments to be made about brand building and meeting customer expectation, not just 'whatever the fuck we feel like it being this week'.  And, as things usually did between them, things disintegrated quickly to him being a 'stubborn ass' and her 'a controlling bitch'.<br/><br/>Knowing that she wasn't about to let this go and that nothing productive could come from the two of them talking longer he'd offered to send over someone with 'more details'.  And lo and behold here was Thomas, a full ten minutes before she'd expected him even with afternoon traffic.  Impressive.<br/><br/>"Sorry Thomas .. I can call you Thomas right? I'm not having the best of days.... drink?"  The question seemed to be more for her than him because she was already turning and padding across the floor toward the small bar area where a bottle of wine was open, her glass next to it already partially emptied. The doors to the next room, the bedroom were flung wide and he could see a series of other black dresses laid out across the wide bed there.  Contrary to James's firmly held beliefs she didn't come into the City just to be a pain in his ass, there was an art exhibit that one of her friends/clients had invited her to later in the evening and she was clearly in the middle of getting ready for the event.