The Bella Donna Woman

Chapter One

Rick Bowman sipped thick, black coffee from his red No. 1 Dad coffee mug, a gift from his ten year old son from his first marriage, as he glanced through his files.

His hand shook a bit as he slowly returned the mug back to his desk. He picked up his pen and tapped it against the large Victorian desk pausing for a minute to admire the finish before resuming his taps.

A glance at the watch showed it was 10:13 AM, More than two hours since he resumed work, exactly forty five minutes since he sent that damned E-mail that had him nearly anxious.

It wasn't that he was nervous per say; he was a business executive, director of the famous Bella Donna line. Men like him did not get nervous. They did what ever they damned well pleased

Still, his palms were sweaty, his tie tight around his neck and his breath was a little too strained to be called calm. All because of one woman.

Damn it to hell he shouldn't be feeling this panicked. He slammed the pen down on the desk, momentarily forgetting its price.

He was an important figure in an important company. He was rich, his newest wife was gorgeous and those plastic tits he paid for felt wonderful. He was confident, he was formidable and he was completely terrified of what that woman's reaction would be the moment she saw his E-mail.

He wondered faintly if she had read it yet? Would she call or come in person? No, he thought, she wouldn't call; Kourté would prefer busting his balls in person.

He swallowed and rubbed his face; perhaps some kind and benevolent force would convince the woman to take the e-mail in good faith and be civil about it.

He thought briefly of all the past dealings with the strong headed model and sighed. He would have no such luck.

A loudly slammed door at his front desk made him jerk in his seat and sweat pooled on his forehead. She was here. Or had he mishea-

He winced at the sound of a loud and particularly filthy curse. Nope, his hearing was just fine. She was here.

"Where the hell is he? Bowman you ass licking bastard! Wait till I get my hands around your stubby, little neck!"

The malignant voice growled and he struggled not to flinch as the door to his office flung open.

Only one person would dare barge into the office of Rick Bowman like that. Only one person could ever get away with such impudence.

Kourté LaRae glided into the large room and seemed to suck all the air away with her powerful presence.

She was a tall blonde; about five eight in a clingy red dress that would have had a dead man whistling in appreciation. Her eyes, a piercing, crystal blue were currently hidden behind expensive designer glasses. The skyscraper heels she wore gave her already long legs a mouthwatering shape, making her strong calves look like something to be worshipped. Rick couldn't resist stealing a look as she strode in.

She approached his desk and slammed her hands and purse loudly on the table. Then in a complete change of personalities, she calmly reached for her glasses and revealed her eyes. There was nothing calm about those baby blues.

If sight could kill, he would have been handing his invitation card to the devil by now, Rick thought.

"Ms LaRae. How can I help you today?"

He said and he was quite proud of the fact that his voice didn't quaver and belie his fear.

"You, you miserable piece of horseshit, can explain to me what the hell that E-mail I received this morning means!"