I first saw her from behind. A deep blue dress hugged her curves and bright red heels popped in a room full of conservative shoes and conservative colors. Her dress was strapless and when she pulled her hair to one side, she revealed a spider tattoo on her right shoulder. But what was most striking was what she carried in her right hand—a baseball bat. I didn't speak. Hell, I couldn't. She was breathtaking and I hadn't even seen her face or anything else from the front for that matter. She was beautiful trouble. I should have been more concerned about the bat.
Emily Tarantola strode confidently up to the empty chair next to where Nick was sitting and tossed it out of the way. Then she swung the bat, shattering a crystal decanter with a baseball stopper located in the center of the table. She dipped her shoulder a bit, but the swing was pretty good. Perhaps if I took her to a batting cage .... At any rate, she had everyone's attention.
Pointing the bat in Nick's face, she said, "That damn brooch is mine. It's not going into the auction." She then took the time to glare at each person in the room, one at a time. As she did, she pointed the bat. "Is that clear?" I don't know about the rest of them, but it was clear to me. Nick didn't speak, and Emily marched out of the room.
When she got to the door (where I was still standing transfixed), I said, "You dropped your shoulder on that swing."
"Your pants are unzipped," she replied without stopping or looking me in the eyes.
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