Ethan Desmond Moretz:

I touch the right side of my forehead, usually obscured with a lock of my hair that keeps on falling over it and close my eyes in frustration.

God, damn it.
Confound this throbbing headache.
This hangover will surely be the death of me.

Now I can't even think properly.
A business deal needs to be finished and I can't even decide what's left and what's right. My head feels as heavy as a punching bag filled with sand and rocks.
I stand up, still a bit dizzy and make my way to the balcony, no scratch that.
I actually hobble all the way to the balcony and the vast blue sky is the only witness of my deranged state.

But a little fresh air would be nice.

I close my eyes and let my mind wander aimlessly to all those girls I have spent the night with.
None of them really made quite an impression.
They were too easy to get, too easy to say goodbye to.

Subconsciously, I tap an impatient finger on my digital Rolex watch that can spew out orders to my butler and he follows suit.
I press the button and my butler, Henrick's voice looms in, the familiar earthy and always serious voice greets me from the watch.
'Yes, sire, what can I do for you?'
'Send in today's newspaper and a protein shake.'
'Incoming, sire.'

Then it clicks and goes off and I stare at the city sprawled out luxuriously, my arms leaning against the balcony railing, I try to avoid the constant beating and drumming against my own head and try to breathe in the welcoming silence.
That magazine company that interviewed me, that went pretty well.
The interviewer asked me if I had any special someone and I had answered truthfully,
'I don't need to pursue any girl.
No girl's worth my attention.'
And I had said some more stuff which I bet any feminist would blow their top if they read the article.

But that's the truth.
Except for my female family members who are quite dear to me, like my dear mother who stays worried and too concerned about my health even though I have a personal nutritionist and an extremely adorable niece who wants to dress me up in Barbie dresses, the other girls from the outside world aren't really...well...permanent or the one, whatever that means.

None of them were right enough for me to bid adios to my bachelor's life and greet commitment with a cheery wave.
It just...doesn't happen. Hasn't happened. Won't likely ever happen.

I hear a brisk knock and I gather myself up, time to become my suave business self, when I turn around to see my best buddy of all time,
Jeremy.
He's standing behind the glass door holding the newspaper, a flask of protein juice while sporting a devilish grin.

Throwing a grin his way, I go back to being my real self, the one who smiles more openly and smirks less.

He comes in and takes a ballerina of a kind bow and says in a squeaky, high-pitched voice, 'Is this enough, my dear sir?'
'Yes, it's enough, my dear knight in shining armour.' I reply gruffly, playing along with him.

I have always admired how easily Jeremy could bring smiles on other faces. And perhaps envied how his own smile was never a ruse, never a disguise.
He always managed to stay happy.

Unlike me.

Grinning broadly again, he puts the newspaper and flask in a nearby coffee table and gives me a bro hug.
First we clasp each other's hands then we pull ourselves into a side hug.

'So,' Jeremy chirps, hands in both pockets, 'Sup?'
'Man, you have no idea, I have a hangover that is worse than your grandma's cramps.'

He frowns, 'It can't be that bad.'
Then he adds, with much enthusiasm, to my constant dismay,
'I have got only one solution for that!'

Amused, I say,'Yeah,what?'
Knowing Jeremy, he will probably say something incredibly stupid.
He comes closer and stands beside me in the railing, 'Let's go to the bar.'

I arch my eyebrows at him, not surprised at all.
'Seriously dude?
Not funny.'

'Fine then how about:
"The club isn't the best
Place to find a lover
So the bar is
Where I go."
Let's go to the damn bar!'

I sometimes wonder how he still retains this energy, I can barely muster the energy to socially interact with others at times.
Especially those men who keep chasing after my properties and the media who keep bugging me with their questions which somehow always have to do with marriage, love or any of my affairs.

It's...exhausting, I tell you.

I shake my head, a disapproving frown etched in my face,
'No man, I am not going to any bar, I have had enough of this pathetic headache over here. I think I will just relax for half an hour then I will finish all the work that needs to be done.'

Jeremy shakes his head too and sighs mournfully, 'I will never understand you Moretz men, all you do is work, work and work.'

'You sound just like my mom.' I smirk at him.
'Yeah, right.'
'No, really, I won't be surprised if my mom assigned you here to patronize over me and my well-being.'
His pale green eyes narrow slightly and his hand comes up to lightly slap me in the arm.
'Hey!',I exclaim while rubbing the spot where he hit me.
'What was that for?'
'That was for calling me a nanny. Although, I can't blame your lovely mother for being so worried about her only son, especially if he continues to waste his life with one night stands.'

It was pointed enough that I mutter,
'Am I really getting a pep talk while I have a hangover that will most likely kill me?'
Jeremy throws up his hands in the air, defiantly,
'I am just saying, buddy, you might want to stop with this playboy rubbish and actually settle down.
Look at me for instance. I am completely happy in my life right now.
You know why? Because Maria's there with me and she will always be there. She makes me so happy.'

Here we go again.

'I know, I know, man.
Don't start again.'

He keeps on shaking his head, like a wet dog frantic on getting the water droplets out of his drenched fur.

'The day you actually start listening to me will be the day hell freezes over but still think on it.' He stands up straighter, his hands tucked deep in his pockets, 'Anyway, I should go, grandmere wanted to meet Maria for the fifteenth time this month. I swear to god she loves her more than her own grandson.'

But his voice holds no envy, no anger, only love and affection for his two favourite women.
Then he shakes my hand again and we do the bro hug and as he's stepping out of the glass door, he turns his head around and just the way he's giving me that serious look, I can tell what's coming from a mile away.

'Someday, buddy, someday you will fall in love too.'
Reining in my eye roll, I give him a brief salute and watch as his footsteps fade away.

'Yeah, that won't ever happen.' I mutter under my breath, only after my best friend's gone.
Do I look like I want to hear another lecture on true love and all that impossible nonsense?

The newspaper catches my eye, it's dark font glinting in the sunlight and I grab it along with the flask and stroll into my office.
I sit down carefully on the coach, still cautious of the pounding headache that has lessened only a bit and open the newspaper.
The headline is in bold lines:
WHERE ARE THEY?
Then there's a long article about a team of criminals who have robbed in the most richest places in the world but have always evaded the police's capture.
I scan the article but one line catches my eye.
A bystander says,
'It is heard that the leader of them all is a girl.
Not a normal girl-next-door type but a girl who is deadly.
No one has ever seen her face but everyone knows her by her pseudonym:
RHEA MASOCHISTIC.'

So the leader of top-wanted criminals is a girl.
Interesting.
Well, I won't say I am not curious, anyone who can escape from the clutches of the likings of CIA,FBI have definitely earned my respect.
I wonder how this Rhea Masochistic looks like.

Taking out my iPhone, I curse myself for drinking all night and call Harry, my assistant security,
'Yes, sire?'
'Harry, there is an investment plot that I have left pending right?'
'Yes, sire.'
'Which continent?'
'Western Europe sire.'
'Great, book a flight, will you?'
'Of course, sire.'
'And Harry?'
'Yes, sire.'
'Which country will I be visiting this month in Western Europe?'
'The country of fashion, culture and language sire. France.
We will be flying straight to Paris, sire.'
'Okay. That will be all.'
'Yes, sire.'

I close my eyes and lay down on the couch, telling myself, maybe if I stop thinking about my headache, then perhaps, I. will. stop. feeling. it.

But what Harry just said...hm.
France,Paris,huh? Not bad. Not bad at all.
Let's see if I can take a special someone in this business trip. Who will it be? 
Oh, I know. She will love it there.
Even the lovely thought brings an involuntary smile to my face.
I will call her later and tell her all about it.
She will say yes, won't she?
Of course, she would.

She would jump with joy at the mere thought of it, lighting up the entire atmosphere with just one magical smile of hers and seeing her elated would surely make my raging hangover disapear and bring the widest grin on my own damn face.

*************************************

A/N:Hello wonderful people!
Sooo who is this she?
And will Ethan meet Saira?
Or not?

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