This is my attempt at a murder mystery, be nit-picky, but not mean. Please and thank you!
Working late that night, for a specific reason, Genevieve d'Allemagne was preparing herself for a special intercourse with victim number 4.
Luc Lafontaine, was her reason for working late, he was victim number 4, and he rightly deserved every scratch, every bruise, every slice, she was prepared to give him.
Luc, a pompous French prick, was the head designer for top fashion magazine Fancy, and it just so happened that he needed a large helping of his own medicine.
The French man, had a special way of treating the women in the design department.
A very special way, his was was to sweet talk poor little innocent house wives, into the break room and have his own special intercourse with them, batter and bruise them a little, and run with his tail between his scrawny legs to the Editor saying he was sexually harassed. He treated the women in his department like a piece of gum, once used, it was nothing more then a wad of spit and a hint of peppermint.
So of course, Monsieur Lafontaine, being a top fashion designer, got what he wanted a pat on the head, a raise from the Editor, and a new intern to harass.
Remembering the look on the young housewife's face as she was escorted from the building this afternoon, still haunted Genevieve. Never before had one of Luc's interns resisted being escorted like that, the young woman was fighting off the security guards, like a lioness.
Genevieve felt sorry for the girl, it had not been her fault, she had not sexually harassed that damned Frenchman, it had been vice versa, but of course no one would listen to what a woman had to say. So after a few minutes of struggling and shouting the young girl was shackled and drug away, poor thing.
Seeing tears in the housewife's eyes had drawn the last straw for Genevieve, she had finally decided on the perfect execution for Luc Fontaine, and that is exactly where she was going now, to make victim number 4 a notch on her bedpost.
Genevieve stopped directly in front of the Frenchman’s office, she adjusted her leather gloves and smoothed down her jet black hair. Knocking crisply, she thought over tonights activities.
“Come in.” a heavily French accent offered, from within the office.
Genevieve opened the large walnut door, the room reeked of cigarettes. 'Disgusting habit.’ she thought wrinkling her nose at the strong smell.
Luc hadn’t looked up to see who had entered into his office, his head was down and his left hand worked furiously on a fashion sketch.
Genevieve was a few feet away from his desk, the tip-tap of her high heels were masked by the heavy white carpet.
The tall, dark, Frenchman let out an extremely frustrated sigh, he ran a rough hand through his unruly thick hair, Luc began drawing again.
“Fils de pute!” he shouted in his home language, throwing the pencil away he finally looked up and was stunned to see Genevieve d'Allemagne, the secretary to his boss, standing before him and so late in the night.
Genevieve smiled softly, “your anger Luc, will get you in trouble someday.” she said walking around his desk to see what he had tried to draw.
“M-mademoiselle d'Allemagne. . .” the artist stammered. “I. . .uh. . .had no idea, you worked this late.” he took the stub of his cigarette and flicked it into an abundant ashtray.
Genevieve smiled again, her famous smile. The smile that brought everyman to his undoing. She walked over and stood right in front of him, she leaned over, to get a better look at his drawing, purposefully pressing her perfectly shaped bottom against the front of his pants.
That startled the French man, he jumped back pulling a cigarette from his ear and lit it, he took a couple of deep drags before he turned his attention back to Genevieve.
“I was behind on a couple of things,” she explained, picking up the pencil he had thrown and doodling a little on his master piece. “So I decided to stay late, and when I saw the light in your office on, I thought you would like a little company. So here I am.” Genevieve whispered, standing up, she turned around and sat on his desk.
Luc had regained his composure, he flicked another cigarette bud at the ashtray, missing by a mile. “So ma petite fleur, what were you behind in?” he asked, stepping closer towards her. Wondering why she has finally taken notice in him, he had already done every woman in his department, and has gotten very bored, and was going to make his move on Miss d'Allemagne, but then again having her make a move on him wasn’t that bad either, he didn’t have to work that hard then.
She leaned back on her elbows, very aware of the harsh florescent lights, showing off her lace bra beneath her almost see through silk blouse. “Anything and everything.” she said breathlessly, with an alluring red smile.
Luc Lafontaine walked his two fingers up her leg, a sly grin plastered onto his bronze face. “Well, we could go into your quarters, and I could help you.” he offered, his hand at the edge of her skirt.
Genevieve laid her head back a serene smile played on her lips, as she drank in the thought of Luc Lafontaine laying on the floor with a knife in his back, or perhaps someplace nastier?
He heard her purr and thought that it was his doing, especially since he had his fingers slowly finding their way up her skirt. Little did he know the purr was Genevieve thinking of the newspapers tomorrow morning.
‘Mysterious killer strikes again! Fourth victim, to fall from mysterious axe murderer, a fatal knife wound to the... More on page five.’
Genevieve sat up abruptly, the hunger for more blood gnawed at her gut, she placed her hand firmly on his chest and shoved him backwards. She licked her red lips and had a very come hither look about her.
Genevieve slid off the desk, taking with her a very sharp letter opener, she hid it in the back of her skirt. “What do you want?” she asked softly, unbuttoning her blouse.
The dirty little Frenchman's eyes popped open wide, had he never seen a woman unbuttoning her blouse willingly before?
'Probably not.' She thought with disgust, the creaminess of her skin was pale against the lavender of her lace bra. She thought she heard him gulp involuntarily, it made her want to bust a gut laughing, but she had to remember to keep it cool.
“What do I want?” the thirty-one year old Frenchman asked himself in a whisper, his head was bowed down, thinking perhaps. “What do I want?”
Why was it so hard for him to just say, 'I want sex from you.' Genevieve didn't have all night, it had to be quick and clean. Just enough to soothe the burning in her gut, until the need was fresh again.
She waited a few more minutes, while the slow minded man thought about what he wanted, her chest getting cold from the overhead fan.
