welcome

[Greyson Cynster]

Exercise was a god send. Without it, Greyson was certain that he would have killed someone at the damn casino by now for being a complete and total idiot and that wouldn’t exactly look well. But after the most annoying meeting with all those who claimed to have interest in the well being of his casino, those stupid cooks and managers of random, useless tasks, he was ready to kill. So, he went down to the gym, finding that it would be the best place to be what with all the numerous people around to see if he killed the first person to ask him anything. Of course as soon as he reached the gym, he had his doubts about it. Too many high class guests being nothing more than obnoxious socialites. Taking a deep breath, he walked over to the nearest set of weights and started on his typical routine of things. It took skill, time and effort to look as nice as he did on a day to day basis. His hair had to be washed, dried, quaffed in whatever way felt right. Suits had to be tailored and then chosen for a certain mood. And most importantly he had to take the time to work out every muscle in his body, which of course took a good amount of time.

But man was not meant to work out all day and his muscles eventually started to feel a bit tired from his hectic regime of body work. Something in his legs and arms certainly felt sore, which wouldn’t do. Sore muscles would only leave him angry and annoyed with everyone and then Kipper would whine about he needed to stop taking out his anger on her in the pretentious little English accent of hers. Honestly, the entire English race was nothing more than obnoxious bastards. Frowning as he wiped his arms with his towel, trying to clear off any sort of sweat, he made a mental note to call his father. Glancing around at the various people working out or pretending to as they flirted with the various trainers and guests, he decided to do Kipper a favour for once and get a massage to ease the soreness in his body before it could even think about setting in. Slinging his towel over his shoulder, he walked into the spa area, taking little notice of all the starlets and the sort since he came first. Heading into his personal area, he smirked, hands already undoing his sweatpants.

Reaching the room, he looked around with a small frown. The Chinese motif would have to go, he decided as he slipped off his sweat pants and shoes. Something else was required to make the room interesting. Something like an Indian feel, maybe even a classic Roman thing that his cousin always seemed to try and imitate. Taking off his shirt, he was a bit shocked to see a girl handing him a towel, eyes politely downcast in an effort to avoid his blatant nudity. Crossing his arms over his chest, he smirked as he looked her over. Not too bad looking, no worse than Kipper that was for sure, but for whatever reason, he got the feeling that if he tried something with her she might break. So instead he just took the terry cloth towel and wrapped it around his waist, taking a brief moment to enjoy the fabric before lying down on the table. “Leave no part untouched and don’t be afraid to get a bit rough.” He stated boredly, just wanting things to get going.

Groaning as those delicate hands started on his back, Greyson let his eyes slip shut, cheek resting on his folded arms. Something about the little woman and the way she touched him was quickly undoing any tension he may have picked up during the day. It was rather like sex, except for the lack of repetitive motions and that he was being touched in a fairly neutral way, even if he was sure such feelings shouldn’t be felt outside the bedroom. Opening his mouth to say anything, he merely groaned again when she hit a particularly tense spot, being deliciously rough with it in an effort to relieve all the tension in his body. Really, he would have to get Kipper to make this girl his personal masseuse. She could replace…Well, he really did like the girls he already had lined up for his typical two massages, but perhaps he could manage to squeeze this one in for a lunch massage everyday? Somewhere between eating and screwing …Oh what was his secretary’s name? Shaking his head lazily, he sighed happily as her hand started to move a bit further down his back. Oh yeah, he had to get her on the double. Snapping his fingers, he delighted when his phone was handed to him and hit his speed dial for Kipper. Not even caring for what she had to say as soon as she picked up, he stated rather bluntly, “Get down to the masseuse in the Gym, now.” And then hung up, delighting in the girl touching him as he waited.

[Margret Kipling]

How many holes could a person fill with alcohol? Miss Kipling bet quite a few; there had to be a reason for so many overdoing it on a daily basis. For a depressant it made you feel rather good, a nice little buzz and blurred feeling that made any pain become surprisingly blunt. She had tried it a few times in college, especially after she came to the not so sudden realization that her french love was as hollow as her heart. That night she drowned her sorrows in a bottle of vodka then managed somehow, she's still fuzzy on the details, in the bed of a complete stranger with a pounding headache and more things to pity herself over than the night before. So much for letting inhibitions go, living life as if it were one day at a time, living in the person and all that utter crap. Her conscience returned to her again and again despite her attempts to fit into the boozing crowd that seemed to surround her on a daily basis. No fun and all hangovers; she gave up on trying to outdo other's blood alcohol content when she finished up college with a decent degree. Best leave those types of endeavors to the young, something which she figured she didn't qualify as anymore. Only twenty-six and Margret already figured herself older than most. True the average age of a place like this wasn't that high, Des Baroches wasn't the type of place to attract the ordinary middle-aged folk, but to anyone who didn't know her Miss Kipling might have been any girl in her twenties here to have a pleasurable time. Perhaps it was the job that made her seem elderly; she was basically paid to baby-sit an adult.

Being here so long made her wary of where to be, when the crowds would show and more importantly how to avoid them. Margret leaned on the mahoghany bar, perched on a stool with her legs crossed and tilted demurely to the side. Not exactly the object of seduction and beauty but not bad looking. She sat alone, the bar was empty except for a few stray strangers. Most were still in bed after long nights of parties, sexual experimentation, not willing to wake up until their hangover was a thing of the past. Smart folks. Yet here she was and she couldn't help it; she had gotten an early night's sleep and had woken up to watch the sunset. When quiet this place wasn't so goddamned awful. A silence had held its place over the resort as the sun snuck up from behind the horizon. It was beautiful, as always, she was beginning to tire of it. She wanted to see the sunset with a different view. Very different. As if that would happen. Something held her here and it wasn't just Greyson who didn't seem to have the time to replace her. She stifled a laugh at the thought of him doing such a thing. Knowing him he would probably ask her to do it herself. Demand that she find him a suitable and probably more attractive version of herself knowing fully well that once she did she'd be fired. Would she acquiesce to that request? Probably.

Staring at the virgin drink sitting idly before her Margret made no move to touch it. It was too early to drink, at least for her. Her murky brown eyes travelled from the bar to the analog clock hanging not too far in the distance. Sighing she reached into her clutch purse and pulled out her cell phone before placing it on the long stretch of a table. Staring at it she could almost hear the tick tock of the second hand in her mind. This was a strange sixth sense to have and beyond this one job it was completely useless to have. Perhaps she could go to Vegas and make a magic show out of it, but as any decently intelligent person could deduce there was a pattern to his calls. She hadn't been called in some time and she figured now as about the time when he'd be finish with his work out. This meant one of a few things to her; either he was tired and she was in to be chewed out yet again or he wanted her to arrange something for him. It was almost always one of those two. Everything he wanted from her he got, that was the way it went, and no matter what he did it wasn't good enough, wasn't fast enough.

When the cell phone started to vibrate and ring she wasn't surprised. It had been set to both ring and vibrate so she could answer it even when she couldn't hear the ring tone. Oh so handy, she would never have to miss a call from Greyson, and it was always Greyson calling. It shook in her hand as she flipped it open and held it to her ear. Margret opened her mouth to say something when she heard the click on the other end indicating that he had hung up. Not unusual. Sighing she dug into her purse and pulled out a twenty dollar bill, placing it on the bar for the absent-minded bartender to pay for the drink she hadn't touched before disappearing.

She hurried over to Greyson's side, Miss Kipling could recognize him with only a towel on and with his head down, she'd been trained in that way. Unfortunately she could also boast -is that the right word- that she knows what he looks like entirely unclothed. She looked up from him to the masseuse who was touching him in ways she pitied the girl for. It was the young woman's job, an excuse she supposed both of them were intimately acquainted with. "Seems as if things are getting along swimmingly." Margret said, "What do you need me for?" She crossed her arms across her chest, turning her attention back towards Greyson

[Greyson Cynster]

Dear lord the girl was brilliant with her hands. Biting down on the inside of his lip, he tried to hold back any sort of noise. Nothing could have been better than this girl, this moment, and those two hands. And then Kipper was there with her poncy little English accent. One day he would buy that damn country and get rid of every English sounding person ever. Give them all a new, less pretentious way to talk. Not to mention the woman just randomly showing up like she did was worse than getting caught having sex by a parent. Nothing more than a wet blanket on a very nice time. She ruined everything. Well, almost everything since the groan that came out when he opened his mouth to speak was not intended. But hey, that girl was working on his leg and damn it all if he wasn’t liking it, her skilled little fingers working up into dangerous territory. Not that it was her fault or his that his legs were tensed from too much running and that his legs, like everyone else’s, connected to a rather intimate section of his body. It was a small fact that couldn’t be helped , though the thought to ask her to make the massage a bit more fun for him was there. Not that he would dare touch the frail looking young lady, but those hands felt like they would leave him in a quivering mess once she was done, an effect to which he had always wanted to try.

Sighing happily, he turned his head to the side, resting it on his arms. The dreamy smile on his face turned into a smirk when he noticed the skirt next to him. Might be fun to try and get into that, maybe even a threesome with the girl who made him feel half as nice as he did. Certainly wasn’t exactly bad, just a bit frumpy. Nice chest too, or he figured it would be if a little more cleavage was shown since cleavage made the world go round. Honestly, that’s why women so rarely had power. Sure, it was fine for the uglier ones to dress like they did, but the pretty ones ought to put a sexy slit in their skirts, show off some cleavage. Hell, if models had any sense of politics the world would be at it’s knees. Flexing his hand underneath his head and arm, he debated if it would be worth it to move just so he could fix the small cleavage problem himself. With those thoughts in mind he continued looking up, screaming when he noticed it was Kipper. Gagging and coughing, sputtering like a broken car, he shook his head furiously, trying to get rid of those horribly disgusting thought. “Dear God, Kipper! Stop standing so close! It’s… annoying as hell.” He complained loudly, as he tried to make himself feel less dirty for such a thing.

Huffing with an annoyed little noise, he tried to regain his calm. The masseuse who was working on him nearly went unnoticed, but when he turned his head to look at her he felt a bit bad that the girl looked so terrified from his sudden outburst. It wasn’t what he had intended to do, but he couldn’t help it. Thinking dirty thoughts about Kipper made his skin crawl since girls like that were nothing more than the bad regret from a night spent getting too drunk. “Sorry, dear. Um… continue with what you were doing.” And just like that the girl nodded and started back on his leg, probably knowing she might have to go over some places again. Sighing, he looked back at Kipper, pushing her away so that he got to view a bit more of her and mistakes like that couldn’t be made again. “I have a task for you since I’m sure you weren’t even working. I have a place in my schedule where I can fit in a new masseuse, yes?” He questioned, knowing perfectly well that he didn’t. His life ran on a well worked schedule and very little could be squeezed in without a good amount of planning and, well, shoving more troubles Kipper’s way.

[Margret Kipling]

This was downright abusive. The things Greyson Cynster did, well, the only reason he got away with the most of it was because he had more money than she figured he had things to do with, one of the only things that superseded his wealth was his arrogance. The boy sometimes thinks all there is to life is having a handsome face, Margret often felt as if she should smack some sense into him. Only thing that held her back most days was the paycheck written figuratively from him to her each week; something she could unfortunately not do without. Miss Kipling didn't have the money to afford getting fired. Again. Her eyes narrowed, her bottom lip jutting out as she took two steps backwards, her heels clicking on the floor as she did. Sure Margret was not the most attractive woman there, such a statement would be a difficult one to say with any ounce of honesty when it came to Des Baroches. The high roller lifestyle was appealing almost exclusively to the rich, famous or beautiful; which made it hard for just about anyone to compete for another's affections. There was always someone better, richer and prettier though most of the last had suffered through extensive bouts of plastic surgery so maybe they deserved that title. The need to be better wasn't an urge Margret took an obsessive part in. Intellectually she already felt she was better than most here, particularly the girls, and saying things that went over the model's head was her pathetic idea of fun.

"Course," she scoffed, sucking her cheeks in with a harsh intake of air, "I'm the annoying one." Uncrossing her arms she placed one hand on her hip, the other falling to her side still clutching her bag. Was this even necessary? He could've simply told her what he wanted politely and without the dreadful outburst. He'd managed to catch everyone's attention but Margret supposed that's how he wanted it. He was always quite the damned little drama king with a painful flair for dramatics. Now she truly pitied the poor girl who was forced to touch him. Somewhere along the line she must have made a tragic lifestyle choice to end up here as a masseuse. Not that her trade was even that difficult. Unbeknownst to all but herself and her former love Miss Kipling had taken a few classes on massage therapy when she was in college. It was originally intended to be an intimate thing her and him shared and she had gotten pretty damned good at it. Now it wasn't much more than a sour regret and absolutely worthless talent. to think she might've ended up something along the lines of this nervous wreck here, nothing but a pair of hands no matter how good.

"I'm glad you have a bloody lojack on my location at all times," Margret commented, "Least I know if I'm ever murdered someone'll know where to find the body." It'd be like him to insist that her bruised and beaten corpse do something for him, Greyson would certainly find every use out of her before tossing her to the garbage. Sighing she reached into her purse, pulling out a small black agenda book. Not her own agenda of course, she had no such thing, what would she have to schedule besides work? It was Greyson's, she had to obsessive plan out her boss' every day and it was no easy thing to do. With running the resort and casino, press issues, meetings with vip clients, well he managed to keep himself, and in turn her, busy. "Another masseuse?" Margret asked incredulously, "How more untense can you be?" Pulling out a pen she flipped to the current day's page. Then the next, then the next... Booked almost completely solid. Who the hell needs that many massages in a damned day?! "Of course, not a problem," she quipped, smiling, "Screwing Miss Whatshername, your secretary, will only take a minute or two right? I suppose it's a good thing you can't keep it up long, hmm?"

[Greyson Cynster]

Nodding, he completely agreed with her little statement. She was the annoying one. Everything she did was annoying and she had to know that. Because if she wasn’t so annoying to him, he wouldn’t constantly feel the need to yell at her. If she was prettier he might not criticize how she looked, not that he would ever want to bed the woman without a decent amount of liquor. Well, looking her over, he decided that he may need a near lethal dose of liquor to bed that. Not that… well, yeah, she was pretty much near the bottom of the barrel around the place. Had the personality of a porcupine and was just as pleasant as a pissed off wolverine. Honestly, he’d rather go on a diatribe about how his father was an obnoxious bastard to the man’s face than have to screw Kipper. It might prove more interesting too. Pissing off his dad, while a thing of the past, was a pleasant thing. Walking that fine line between getting away and getting hit, it was a thrill.

Greyson only rolled his eyes, not caring one bit for her or her dramatics. Honestly, she couldn’t just shut up and do whatever it was he wanted. No, she had to talk back and add in her obnoxious two cents even though no one cared what she had to say. Glaring at her, he sighed. “Kipper, only pretty blondes get killed and, frankly, you’re neither. So shut up and do what I say.” It was what he paid her for. If he said jump, she had damn well do it until he got bored with her antics and she better do it well. Though, with those hands fighting to keep him nice and happy, he closed his eyes and tried to enjoy it. Not that it was easy with Kipper’s annoying presence there. Always ruined the mood. Rolling his neck from side to side, liking the cracking noise it made, he growled when she made yet another unnecessary comment. He really ought to glue her trap shut. Give her a raise if she didn’t speak unless spoken to? No, she didn’t deserve a raise. Well, she did, but he didn’t particularly care. “I thought with all the moaning you could hear from there you’d know it lasted much, much longer.” He shot back with a dark smirk. If there was one thing he could do right, it was he secretary, whatever her name happened to be.

Still, now that he had her here he magically thought of a list of various things he needed for her to do. Looking over his shoulder at the girl who was doing such a nice job, he waved her off. “Darling, you’re free to go.” He said, looking her over as she walked away quietly. If only Kipper could be so nice and well behaved. Sitting up, he ran his hand through his hair before sighing as he rolled his shoulders. There didn’t seem to be much to do in the place with the masseuse gone, but there always was the nice private jacuzzi that was to be cleared out when ever he stopped in since he hated to have to conform to the rules of his own place because there were people there. Getting up, he openly redid his towel, not much caring what Kipper saw in the process. The woman should’ve been immune to the way his body looked, or at least used to it. After all, she claimed not to like it, but come on, everyone liked his body and the way he looked. It was a simple fact of life. “Come on Kipper, we’re going to go to the jacuzzi and I’m going to rattle off a list of things I need you to do today before six. Understood? Great.” And without waiting, he turned toward the door and headed toward his nice private hot tub.

[Margret Kipling]

She really ought to have shut up by now, perhaps put duct tape over her mouth to prevent such comments from spilling out. By now she could hardly help it, it had become such a second nature to the young woman. At home she had never bothered talking back or taking part in anything more than blind obedience; here she seemed to get rid of anger she had been holding on for years without realizing it. Her anger, though partially well placed, didn't deserve to be burdened solely on Greyson Cynster. Not that he wasn't a particularly awful man and absolutely miserable on most days, a mood he always imparted upon Kipling herself. The years of saying nothing came back to haunt her and now she would say just about anything without fear of retribution. After all what could Cynster do, fire her? She might even appreciate that, certainly more than he would enjoy having to find a new personal assistant. People with almost zero backbone are hard to come by these days and Margret figured that although from the outside her job might seem appealing and glamourous it was far from that. An average citizen wouldn't last long dealing with the always difficult Greyson, listening to every one of his demands which her often unreasonable. Not to mention jumping when he said jump. It's hard to do in heels. Give any one of them a week and they'd catch the next flight out of this hell-hole. He's a tough boss to have; Margret had become nearly immune to it.

Still, she should shut up. Not push him too far, though being fired wouldn't be the worst thing to happen to her. She silently wondered what would happen if one day she did stop with the extra commentary. Would he even notice that her voice has ceased to annoy him, would he enjoy the silence? Margret personally thought their talks would be empty without it, she figured he'd notice and maybe even say something about it. When you become used to something and it roots itself into your life you inevitable feel something when it disappears. If Margret left she figured he wouldn't say a thing but in some way he'd miss her. That's the way she felt about him; she'd 'grown accustomed to his face'. As if this were some sort of chic and saddening modern day version of My Fair Lady. "Brilliant," she replied to his insult on her appearance. Only pretty blondes get killed? Occasionally she'd love to prove him wrong. "Then you're stuck with me."

"Strange, the secretary always seems rather unsatisfied afterwards." Perhaps if she had kept her mouth shut, nodded when he told her what to do and quickly disappeared as the masseuse did she wouldn't have to follow him to somewhere she most definitely did not want to do in order to find out what else she could do to best serve him. Bloody servitude. Gripping her pen and schedule book close to her chest Margret turned her gaze obviously to the side as her boss redid his towel, choosing not to see that again. Greyson was attractive and unattractive at the same time; such talent. Rolling her eyes as he demanded her attention she hurried after him. This was her job after all and she planned on doing it well. Or well enough, lord knows she needs to take breaks from the man once in a while. His personality was absolutely grating.

[Greyson Cynster]

“That secretary is one not unsatisfied. If anything, she’s probably just pissy I kick her out afterwards.” Because after his afternoon delight he needed to get back to work and having her there wasn’t going to help anything. So, he often booted her out much like how he often fired Kipper or pointed out how unattractive she was. Which of course reminded him of that. “By the by, guys like girls who look good so work on… that.” He said, gesturing to her face and general body. He didn’t see why it was so hard for this girl to try and look nice. Honestly, it wasn’t rocket science. He managed to look good every day. Still, she wasn’t as generally attractive as he was. Still, with that said, he quickly set about heading to the room with the hot tubs, ready to fire anyone at the front desk if someone was in there.

Walking into the room, he smirked. It was nothing short of spectacular since there was not a single person in there. Perfectly empty just for him. Going over to the Jacuzzi, all bubbling and steaming as it should have been, he smiled a bit more. Looking over his shoulder at Kipper, he undid his towel, tossing it to her with one simple command. “Hold that.” After that, he slipped in to the waters, sliding down a bit more. His head resting against the floor, he stared up at her with a frown. At least she was far enough away so that he couldn’t see whatever may lurk up that skirt. Really, she almost looked a bit more pleasant, but that would still be a bit more Kipper than need be. In a perfect world, when the woman took off her clothes all that was there was more cloths. Irrational, maybe, but it kept his mind happy.

Sinking down a bit more, he let his head slip under the depths for a moment. Coming back up he wiped the water from his face, brushing his hair back in the process. “So, I need you to set up umm… a meeting between the people here. Send my dad a postcard, general shite I don’t care what it says. Umm, oh and start getting everything ready for the annual costume party that will be happening in October.” No pleases or ‘if you’re not too busy’s. He had a list of things that needed to be done and he needed her to do them. And hopefully she knew that wasn’t all because he never had something as simple as three things he needed done. No, there was always a list that often got longer and longer each time. It was the one time they communicated and he wanted to make sure he didn’t have to do it again. It never worked, but that was alright with him.

[Margret Kipling]

Oh yes, that pissy attitude she had gotten all too used to, and for once the insult was not directed towards Greyson. When she was first hired Margret had attempted to make friends with her co-worker, the secretary. She had to admit that she was taken by surprise during that first mid-day rendezvous that took place between her new 'friend' and her boss. It's hard to find anyone with decent morals round Des Baroches; something she learned quickly. Her friendship with the almost brain dead girl obviously faded, she wasn't able to keep up in conversation that included anything more than elementary vocabularly and truly the only thing she was decent at was what her and Greyson did between the sheets. And on table tops. And other places that Margret preferred not to mention or have knowledge of. Listening to what he said she rolled her eyes and sighed, why did it even matter to him how she looked? He had as much interest in her as she had in him and added together that made zero. Miss Kipling had no intention of looking like the rest of the girls in this place, those who constantly had to fight off drunk guys and perverts all who were obviously after one thing. She didn't have the time for that.

Greyson had built a kingdom and crowned himself king. When he was in a bad mood and wanted to be alone people fled and they all singed his praises. The leader of Des Baroches, a place where everyone but her wanted to be. She wasn't surprised to see the hot tub already empty, they must have seen him coming. Silly peasants, they would do anything to keep their royalty happy. Kind of like her she guessed; if he was king what did that make her? The whole bottom rung of the royal court: the jester, the personal advisor, she played all those and more. Her soul was to be bought with a lump of gold. She moaned audibly, not turning away soon enough as he undressed without any advanced warning. Catching the towel she wrinkled her nose in disgust before busying herself doing something, anything, else.

Looking down at the small notebook she flipped to the list section; it practically filled up half the pad with a never ending to do tally of things for her to do. Scribbling down whatever he said she nodded. "Mmmhmm..." she murmured, "I'm sure your father will feel so lucky to have such a kind son." She couldn't help but comment; she'd stayed silent for too long. "And do you need help picking out your own costume?" He must be treated as a child, that's what Margret figured. Else he would through a damned temper tantrum. She laughed silently to herself, a self-satisfied smirk appearing on her face.

[Greyson Cynster]

Greyson only scoffed as he rolled his eyes. “My father and I have an decent relationship. Hell, I sent him my first and last born child.” He said, specifically referring to that hellish kidney stone he had lovingly named Spencer before have her ship it off to his parents. Smiling proudly he chuckled to himself before looking at her, actually seeming pleased. “You know he actually kept it? It’s somewhere in their house.” He laughed, before turning his attention back to the water. Despite how much he hated to admit it, he had a nice bond with his father and… loved the man as a son should. It was a scary thing to realize, but hell, he tried not to ruin it too much.

Well wasn’t she just being wonderfully helpful for once? Looking at her with a small glare, he shook his head. Not that he wouldn’t like to be able to rely on her to pick out his outfits, but her tastes were obviously lacking and he didn’t trust her to pick out something positively dashing for him. No, he’d rather waste his own good time and make that choice himself. “No I do not. I am perfectly capable of doing things myself.” He pointed out snidely before turning his attention to the ceiling, head resting on the tile of the floor. Rubbing at his eyes, he frowned as he tried to think of what else he needed her to

Lifting his head, he turned to look at her again before frowning. He looked her over carefully, the frown growing more and more as he did. No, that wouldn’t do. He didn’t like the way she looked and he would need her at that party looking, well, fairly decent. “Book a date for next weekend, I’m going to supervise you as she pick out a decent costume for the party since I don’t want you there looking like…well, you.” Not that he meant that in a bad way, just that she didn’t look nice or pretty, or even mildly attractive and that he would much rather her looking as dazzling as something like her could. She’d be his Mona Lisa if all went well, which he hoped it would.

[Margret Kipling]

Miss Kipling shuddered as he mentioned that thing. Certainly one of the most disgusting tasks she had the displeasure of doing for him during the past two years. Mentally she reminded herself to add a comment about that event into the note she would eventually write. A little personal something to bring a level of realism though by now Margret knew just about as much of Greyson's life as he did. She figured she could fairly accurately portray his voice. Sadly. Her brown eyes flicked over the page she had the notebook open to. The first few items were already scratched off but of course that wasn't the end, it never was. Greyson kept her busy at almost all moments of the day, when she had just started she hardly got any sleep trying to keep up with all of his demands. Since then she had realized she would never please him and had started putting her own existance before that all. After all it wouldn't do well to serve her boss if she was dead. Whether she was miserable or sick didn't matter. She silently wondered what type of family Greyson had. They had to be... interesting in order to create the mess of personality and looks that was before her. Alas they had not visited Des Baroches, at least not that she had witnessed. Inwardly she grinned, thinking of how she could potentially make that happen in the future. After all it was her that was in charge of his schedule and she was the one who got to decide whether was time for a small family reunion. That would most likely get her fired but would be awful amusing. She tucked the idea back into her wishful thoughts for the next time Greyson did something she didn't enjoy.

"Really now," she muttered under her breath, "Capable of doing things on your own, who would've thought..." However Margret was glad that he would be picking out his own costume as she didn't want to hear him bitch and moan about how it didn't fit right or how he'd expected her to read his mind and know exactly what she wanted. if only she was a mind-reader, this would be a heck of a lot easier. With him making his own decisions Margret figured at least for this event that beyond the planning it wouldn't be too awful. The most of Des Baroches would be out partying somewhere and she'd be left alone for a little while. Quiet time, maybe she could finally finish reading the book she had started over a month ago. Reading a page or two a day was hardly conducive to getting to the conclusion of things much. It would be a welcome relief to the...

Wait. What? Margret had simply assumed that she would be told to stay away from any sort of celebration. She was the type to ruin those sorts of things, she wasn't very talented in the social skills department. If anything he should want to hide her in the background, this was unfair. "What?!" she gasped, frowning, "You're going to find something absolutely horrid for me. Besides, your schedule is booked solid for next weekend." It wasn't and even so she could always squeeze time in, that was the main part of her job description. Still she hated to think of whatever he'd dress her up in, certainly nothing she could ever feel comfortable in.

[Greyson Cynster]

Well that was a valid point, but looking her over yet again, he shook his head. “Time can be made for this particular project. I’ll… stop screwing my secretary. That frees up a good two hours of my day.” Would also make him a bit more edgy and angry, distracted by anything that happened to pass by in a nice set of heels, but he was doing this for Kipper. She ought to be grateful that he was so willing to give up part of his sex life for her, though as he thought about that, he frowned and thought it over a bit more, wondering if it was such a bright idea after all. Scratching at his jaw, he shrugged it off as easily as he could. It was for a good cause. It was damn near charity work. Glancing at her, he rolled his eyes and scoffed. No, he should considered for sainthood if he could fix that particular problem.

“Besides Kipper, old girl, you have to be at the party. You know how things tend to go awry and I need you to fix that.” He stated calmly, probably due in part to the hot tub since he hated his rules being questioned. Some may say he ruled like a spoiled king, but he didn’t. He controlled everything with an iron fist, knowing that no one could do anything to stop him. He was every naughty dictator balled into one and the best part was, he would have no downfall. There would be no Waterloo or Battle of Normandy, no bombings of his Nagasaki. Shifting, he sat up a little straighter, resting his arm on the side edge of the small pool of hot water. “So you’ll be there and you, well, will be near enough to solve these problems when I ask you. After all, I’m the closest thing you will have to a decent date that night. Be happy.” It wasn’t as though she could do much worse, and she certainly wouldn’t be getting anyone for an actual date. Partly because she would be working, but also because, well, she wasn’t a social butterfly from what he noticed. Why that was, well, he didn’t particularly care to know.

Snapping his fingers in his typical fashion for when he wanted something, he held out his hand for the towel. “Now, please.” He added, the almost sweet comment ruined by his usual stuck up tone of voice. Not that he cared one way or another if Kipper saw him naked again, but certainly to allow the girl to see him in such a state was mean. Like teasing a hungry tiger with a bloody gazelle. Or did they eat antelopes? He shook his head since it really didn’t matter. “Oh, and I will not pick out something horrid. You would. If anything I may make you… look decent for the first time in your life.” He commented before lifting his hands passively. “Yes, I know that’s a horribly hard mission, but I feel that if I can make you look pretty, I can do anything.” Or at least such logic made sense to him.

[Margret Kipling]

Since when was her appearance something that needed to be changed. Margret was perfectly fine with the way she looked. The insecurities rooted deep into the shallow complex of the physical weren't enough to motivate her to change. There was comfort in remaining the same despite the contant stream of insults she heard usually from Cynster himself though occasionally from a stranger she had just met. They all made her feel insignificant, which she had come to the conclusion she was. At least appearance wise. Miss Kipling could never compare to the models that managed to find their ways to Des Baroches. She had accepted that fact and didn't even bother trying; that's why her skirts didn't possess slits that would practically make the skirt pointless and why her blouse was buttoned up far enough to now show off any cleavage. She played the modesty card because lord knew she wasn't exactly flat undeneath the looser fitting shirts she was usually seen wearing. But this? She didn't consider this to be charity work or whatever other excuse Greyson had come up with in that sickened mind of his to justify it. Margret wondered; there had to be some sort of law against forcing one's personal assistant to change clothes like they're also your own life size doll. Not that she wouldn't end up doing it anyway. Greyson had lawyers who could prove that it was somehow in the nation's interest and she didn't want to lose her job yet.

Margret reluctantly added this latest event into the planner, striking out the times she had him written down as personal time with the secretary. "You're going to be in an awful rotten mood that entire day aren't you," she muttered, "I much prefer you after you've screwed." Least then he was somewhat calmer and most of his energy had gone into something that didn't require thinking of witty new ways to insult her, her intelligence, her clothes, etc. This weekend would not be a pleasant experience for either of them. He may swear he wouldn't find the worst looking thing the world has in stock but Margret figured otherwise. His taste varied greatly from her own meaning they were sure to argue over almost everything before sunday night came around. "You hired me to be your assistant, not to dress up in silly little costumes." she retorted though she knew she had already lost, especially considering she had already written it down in the planner.

"Besides," Margret added, "I might already have a date..." Not that she wanted to speak before something actually occurred, but speaking in the future, well. There was a guy. She'd only been on one date with him thus far but he'd called for a second. Seemed like progress despite her consistently mistrustful nature, who knew what it would lead to? Even if it ended before the third meeting, which was what her greatest hopes led her to believe, she wanted to think she could find a better date than her boss. Really. A complete stranger would be better. "It's wrong of you to assume I'm not busy that night." She rolled her eyes, tossing him the towel. "Oh yes, dressing me up like one of the sluts here is on the level of bringing about world peace, truly."

[Greyson Cynster]

Thinking it over, he nodded since she was right. A day without sex for him was like a day without drugs for an addict. It made him feel wrong, more prone to lashing out on who ever and inevitably leading him down a dark and desperate spiral where anyone woman could likely fall prey to his wants. “I am doing you a favour, alright? There’s nothing else I can move around like my sex times.” He pointed out, knowing his schedule well enough to know that nothing was exactly changeable. Everything had to happen when t was scheduled thanks to a series of meetings and various needs. Sex was the one thing he could cast aside.

Stopping everything, he looked at her with a surprised and confused look on his face. Really it was as though someone had just showed him proof that the loch Ness monster and big foot were married with kids, something he definitely would’ve expected to happen before Kipper got a date. She didn’t have the time to date, nor the looks or personality. Opening his mouth, he only sighed as he scratched his head, trying to wrap his mind around a man wanting to date his assistant. “Is he blind and deaf?” He asked since that was the only thing that made sense to him. If a man couldn’t hear or see Kipper than maybe, just maybe they might go out with her, especially more than once. Still he just shook his head as he tried not to dwell on it too much. Trying ever so hard not to try and picture a man so… desperate as to date Kipper. “And either way, you won’t be busy now since we have decided that you are going to that party.” Simple as that the world could go on as he liked.

Getting out of the hot tub, he walked over to her, wrapping his towel around his waist in the process, though it was really more of a second thought type of thing. For whatever reason he was oddly comfortable being naked around, well, most people, but especially Kipper. It was like being naked in front of a wall, it didn’t matter, for him at least. Crossing his arms over his chest he looked her over again, still not understanding why a man would date her before stepping closer and unbuttoning her top. Not too much, just the first two or three to help him try and determine just what kind of assets she had. “You actually have cleavage. How odd.” He muttered before going over to one of the lounge chairs and relaxing there, making sure that the towel around his waist actually did it’s purpose and hid anything that might bother his less than lovely assistant.

[Margret Kipling]

It would be hell, that day. Greyson Cynster, the sexually repressed individual with far too much energy left to burn and no decent outlet with which to use it. Not something she looked forward to, the man was difficult enough to deal with on the days where he got laid. She still didn't understand what Cynster ever had to complain about in the first place; he surrounded himself with riches and beauty (though she'd be an exception in that matter). He had her to do all the hard work when it came to projects, she set things up, made the calls, made sure things ran smoothly. All he had to do is show up most of the time, if he even bothered doing that. Sure he used to run Des Baroches but lately a good chunk of the work fell upon her. She'd been around long enough that she knew how things were dealt with round the resort and casino. She knew more than most when it came to secrets, gossip and the latest news. One can learn more than they would wish to simply lounging around the pool or enjoying a virgin daiquiri in the bar. Drunks will share their's, and anyone else's, life story so long as you sit still long enough. Thanks to her boss Miss Kipling was quite talented at sitting still; the patience of having to listen to him all day wore her thin. "I could pick something fine on my own," she sighed though she had already given up hope of appealing to any other sort of reason. His mind was made up.

"Don't look so damned shocked." Margret huffed, frowning. She heard more than enough out of that mouth of his, especially about her appearsnce. Slowly she had become self-conscious when she started working here. It took her a while to realize she should simply ignore the things he said. Course there was the fact that she hadn't been in a relationship that lasted more than three dates since she broke up with her college love. That past failure hung over her, absolutely intimidating and a hint to what lies in the future of any sort of serious relationship. She figured herself to be attractive enough; she was often the one who didn't pick up her phone after the initial date and didn't bother to try and contact the person again. It made Des Baroches rather ideal. The people here were usually just passing through. This was a job, it was a vacation, but rarely was it something permanent. She wasn't in any danger of creating lasting connections. "You cannot boss me around all willy nilly," Margret shot back, "I'm capable of taking days off, you know."

She didn't see that coming. Her jaw dropped. Yes after all this time he was still capable of shocking her. Somehow. Her hands immediately went up to her chest, her brown eyes widened in horror. Quicky she fastened the buttons back up; covering whatever left of modesty and dignity she had left after that. "What did you think, nothing was there?!" she said, her voice raised. "And that's absolutely wretched of you, I am not your secretary!" Thank god for that too, she didn't know how those young women felt about themselves but they couldn't possibly have great lives to consider taking on a job such as Greyson's secretary. A sex toy really. Absolutely no intelligence in the lot of them. She would never be that kind of girl.

[Greyson Cynster]

While he did have Kipper do just about anything that he didn’t care for, there were also those little things during the day that he did that couldn’t be forsaken just so he could get his sex time back. The meetings required him actually there and there was always someone wanting his attention for something. From deals, to concerts, to major events, they all seemed to happen in the hotel and because of that everyone wanted to see the man in charge, which was a kick he wished that they would simply get over since he’d love to be able to hand off such things to his secretary like he did his paperwork. So, rolling his shoulders, he shook his head. His mind was made up and nothing would just that. "I'm taking you out to get a decent costume and that's that."

“Kipper, how could I not be? You’re not quite dating material.” She needed to be a completely different, prettier person in order to qualify as being dateable. Perhaps if she showed a bit more of a figure, didn’t have those horribly average looks of hers, actually put a bit of effort into her appearance every now and again. If those simple things were to happen at any point, then yes, he may just believe that she might be able to get someone who wasn’t blind and deaf. Or at least blind, since she’d have to be a hell of a lot prettier in order to make her looks a lot more attractive. Focusing on the fact that she was speaking yet again, he let out a soft sigh. “I can so because if you aren’t there, dressed up nicely, you’ll be looking for a new job.” He threatened with a casual shrug of his shoulders as he didn’t think much of having to inform her of such things yet again.

He rolled his eyes as he watched her button up her top yet again, not really understanding. Thinking over her shrewdly asked question, he nodded. “You cover everything up. I just figured that there was nothing to show.” He said as casually as he would state something about the weather. Not that he couldn’t appreciate the female form, but he could also distance himself from such views, especially with someone as unattractive as Kipper. “Honestly Kipper, you have a rather nice chest. You shouldn’t hide it like you do.” Greyson stated, thoughtfully stopping there since he could go on and on about what she could do to improve her image for him.