Noise of people chattering filled the conference room.
Until, a moment later, a certain appearance makes the clattering mouths shut in an instant. They rise up, upright on their feet.
The familiar, frightening stare of the boss collides with their shuddering forms.
The man, shadowing a terrifying demeanour gets seated in a composed and manner. His novel seat in contrast to the rests; represents the power and authority he has over the executives in the room.
The board members, concurrently takes their individual seats.
"Go ahead." His dominant voice echoes round the quiet conference hall.
A man in a slick, formal wear, stands up and walks calmly to the front with a tablet in his hands. A huge display screen behind on the wall.
His fingers swipes and taps the screen of the device resting in his hands.
Simultaneously, the tally of their bussiness stocks profits gradually decreasing reflects on the huge display screen of the conference room.
"The trafficking of drugs, from Mexico through the ship on the Pacific Ocean was caught by the Navy." The man utters precisely, he adjusts this tie, his eyes sharp and alert.
The boss, with his unruffled features stares down at the low moronic monkeys he always exclaims them to be.
"Who was in-charge?" His monotonous voice interrogates.
A quiet minute later a man stands up, sweating profusely. "M-me, I was in-charge Boss,"
He squints his eyes at the man.
Bang!! Bang!!
The noises of booming gunshots resounds in the room. Faint shivering breaths and cold sweat drips down from the presence affected by the scene.
Ironically their muscles declares otherwise, for they remain unchanged and dare not blink the eyes—or run the tongues.
The man lay there lifelessly, shot in the head, over again at the same point.
He places back the handgun in it's place and stands up. All of the men in the room arises on their feet.
He looks at the poised man with the tablet in his hands. "Find someone to replace him."
He bows his head, eyes lowered down, "I shall do it Boss."
"Scrub it up." He demands the guards, for the corpse and it's remains to be cleaned off the room.
Walking out of the room, his manager trails behind.
"Any news?" Staring straight ahead, he inquires.
"Unfortunately, we were unsuccessful again Boss." The manager mutters, apologetically.
His face darkens. He expected the same; always the same sorry face. Still, it doesn't help his stoned heart to cease the aches.
"Miss Neva still can't be found?'' A voice barges through his haze.
The man with bored eyes looks beside him, that annoying grin makes him want to choke the tall blonde man to death.
"One more word from that hole, and I slit your damned throat." He warns him, his voice, deep and heavy with intensity.
The blonde man chuckles, "There there Ishmael, you really get worked up at her mere mention brother?"
Ishmael says nothing, piercing eyes ahead, he keeps walking still.
"Seriously dude, give up, you've been searching her for decades. How hard must it be for the Raka to locate a mere person? It's impossible, since she's already dead, get that?" Nonchalantly he shrugs.
The very next moment his blabbering mouth shut. Ishmael's brawn, veiny hand on his neck strangling him. A hand penetrating the pistol down his throat—leaving the blonde man named Leo gagging.
"Say that again?" He asks, his voice undertone. Leo stands there, choking. The gun shoved deeper down his uvula.
"Bo-Boss calm down!" The manager panicks, requesting him, in hopes of preventing a bloodbath. Leo is an important figure in their organization.
Killing him meant unwanted disarray.
Ishmael shoves Leo away, having the man stumble back, coughing badly.
Ishmael scoffs, he walks away, leaving the two behind.
Leo coughs, inhaling and exhaling deeply, the breath he held afraid that his dear friend would unalive him for real.
He looks at the manager. "Seriously Manager Cha, aren't there plenty of fish in the sea?!" Manager cha adjusts his rectangular glasses, sighing helplessly.
---
(This evening - Neva's Apartment)
Neva holds a mug of hot chocolate, reading a novel. Resting in the balcony of her apartment, she was curled up in her great arm-chair, cocooned up in her warm fluffy quilt. She grins ear to ear; the cool autumn breeze making her blush.
Suddenly a thought blows over her mind, having her concentration on the book to crack.
Her 'Mystery Man', it has been couple of days since she found out his name.
The guy appears once a week, follows her around and then disappears. At this realization her plump lips makes a moue in annoyance.
Now and then, when she walked out her apartment, she couldn't help but take a look at his door. Maybe he was busy at work?
'Tsk! Talk about pursuing me.'
She hits her head twice with the book once she realises, how absurd were her thoughts.
She shuffles her body, adjusting herself on the chair to cozy up. She takes a sip of her drink and continues reading.
Five minutes reading into her book, her doorbell rings.
"Who could be at my door?" She murmers to herself.
She drags her feet lazily, towards the direction of the entrance door.
Twisting the door knob open, she peers up at the unwelcomed face.
"Good evening Angel." He wishes her.
Her orbs enlarges a little, recognising the familiar presence.
'Rhett!" Her mind swirls in excitement. But she's frowning, amused at the feeling.
"What do you want?"
"I want some sugar." He smiles, so sweetly.