The traffic that morning was unbearable. The only things you could hear were the horns and people yelling and cursing. Someone once said: people are nicer at Christmas time. Well, it’s a little too difficult believing that when you are stuck in the traffic in NY. Especially when you are one of the richest and most self-centered persons in the United States.

            “Jesus Christ, I’m going to be late! That’s fucking ridiculous. I hate Christmas. What the hell is good about this stupid festivity?” the brunette murmured to no one. Sitting in the back of her limo.

Another honk, suddenly made her jump off her sit. “Shit! And that’s only the beginning of the day”

It was 10 a.m. She only woke up one hour before. Ate her abundant breakfast – cooked by her personal cook – and then left, without bothering to salute anyone or clean up the table. It’s awful, isn’t it?

            Bette Porter, just like someone said, she was a fucking bitch, who didn’t bothered to be concerned about the other. She wasn’t able to see what was right in front of her. A woman pretty wrapped in her own world; a lonely and dark world, you would say. However, the description people always tried to give about her, wasn’t really exact. Despite the fact that she really was a self-centered, somehow bitch, woman, she also was an intelligent and ambitious one. A high-powered businesswoman. Who inherited the chain of shopping centers from Melvin Porter her, now dead, father. She knew what she was doing and she always managed to make people understand her own convictions. There were no chances she was going to surrender when it came to win a discussion. Any type of discussion. Even the most insignificant one: Why the sky is blue and not red, for example. In addition to that, she was a workaholic but she never lost the chance to take some time off to enjoy the company of beautiful women. No matter what, she always had at least two of them by her side. Just meaningless relationships – usually night stands – but to her it was okay that way.

            When the limousine stopped, the woman waited for the driver to open the door and exited the vehicle. She found herself in front of the center, at the doorway. She inhaled a large amount of air and entered the building; despite the fact that she loved her job and being surrounded by people, being there, among those shelves, salesgirls, and clients was like living hell. No matter what, every time she had been there something happened. She couldn’t forget when, a few years before, a kid ran into her and made her slam against a huge mountain of tins of paint, making it fall down. The consequences are obvious: the woman immediately found herself covered with paint. Her, once black suite, was now multicolored and you can imagine the fear on the staff’s faces when they saw Bette’s. She was practically fighting with the urge to strangle the kid’s parents, whom were now in front of her, for not teaching their son to behave in public places; God knows how she managed not to do that. But this is just one of the billions things happened during the years, and she couldn’t help but fear that something was going to happen today as well. Let’s call it a tradition, by then.