The late afternoon California sun slants through the PriceCorp windows as Jenny packs her belongings with practiced efficiency. The unmistakable scent of expensive cologne lingers in the air. She throws her tablet, wallet, and a few folders into her leather Dior bag, barely sparing a glance at the framed photo of her family on her desk.
Her PricePhone buzzes. She ignores it.
"I'll call her back," Jenny thinks before letting out a sigh.
Outside, the city hums in the golden hour light, but Jenny's mind races faster than the Los Angeles traffic. She needs to get the fuck out of here – away from the emails, the petty corporate politics. Away from the weight of legacy she never asked for but has no choice but to carry.
Jenny makes it to the garage. Sliding behind the wheel of her black Mercedes-AMG GT, she taps the push-start ignition and fires it up, the engine roaring like an echo of her impatience. Putting the gear in Drive, she grips the wheel with one hand, the other already holding her PricePhone. She zooms out of the garage and onto the city street, before taking her usual commute home via US Route 101.
"What? What's Steinberg talking about?" Jenny asks. "Look, I've been running this company long enough, okay? He doesn't need to worry about anything! I get results."
Traffic eases as Jenny gets twenty-five minutes from her home in Calabasas, and cars blur past as the late afternoon rush hour intensifies. Jenny's foot presses harder on the accelerator, the speedometer climbing past the limit without hesitation.
Suddenly, flashing lights ignite behind her – a police cruiser's siren blares through the cacophony of honking horns. Jenny's heart jumps.
"Shit," Jenny curses under her breath. "Look, I've gotta go but remember what I said. We'll talk more later. Alright, bye."
She pulls over to the shoulder, breath steadying as the policeman approaches. His expression shifts from professional to starstruck when he sees her.
"Oh... Miss Price," the policeman says, scratching his head. "I didn't know it was you…"
"Hey officer," Jenny says, feigning innocence. "Did I do something... wrong?" A mischievous smirk tugging at her lips.
The officer shifts uncomfortably. "I mean, you were driving pretty fast. The speed limit is 75, you were going 105."
Jenny sighs, then reaches into her purse. She pulls out a thick wad of cash and holds it out with a faux-flirtatious smile.
"Look, I am not a bad girl," Jenny says. "I've had a long day, I was on the phone with a shareholder, can you look out for me? Pretty, please?"
Her eyes widen, a theatrical frown softening her arrogance. The silence stretches.
"Come on bruh," Jenny says charmingly. "Take it! It's $8,000 in cash. That's more than you make in a month. Just look out, just this one time."
The officer hesitates, then mutters, "Alright, fuck it."
He grabs the cash and slips it into his pocket. Jenny's smirk deepens.
"See how easy that was?"
The officer's face darkens. "I'm gonna get in trouble for this…"
Jenny waves him off, satisfied.
"We done here?" Jenny asks.
"Have a good night, Miss Price."
She rolls up her window and peels away, tires burning rubber as she disappears into the neon glow of the approaching night.
The unforgiving sun has finally set. Jenny's car pulls up towards the massive Price family compound. It was her father's home, the home she grew up in. Her father left it to her and Gina in his will. An out of sight, out of mind kind of place nestled deep in the hills with no other neighbors to the left or right. It's a fortress of solitude, the perfect place for someone like Jenny.
With the push of a button, the gate opens and she pulls into the compound where she is greeted by the rest of her vehicle fleet, all neatly lined up in the massive parking lot inside the compound: her brand new custom-made replacement black G-Wagen here, a Shelby Mustang GT there, a Bugatti here, a Porsche Panamera there, a random BMW X5 in the back chillin' – nothing impressive really. Her baby is the AMG GT though, that's her daily commuter. She puts it park, grabs her belongings, and steps out of the vehicle.
She finally makes it inside the house, making a sigh of relief. Her mind flashes back to all of the day's events: The drama with Sable, her fallout with Gina – she was tired. Just then, she gets a notification on her phone:
"SCANDALOUS GRAND OPENING AT 10:00PM!!!!!!"
"Finally," Jenny says. "The fun part of my day." She drops her stuff on the floor, slips out of her stilettos, and goes upstairs to take a shower.
Jenny stands beneath the steaming water, her slender build and bronze skin glistening as she runs a sudsy washcloth across her body. The heat fogs the glass around her, softening her figure as she moves with unhurried grace, the water cascading over her like silk unraveling down her spine.
Jenny places her hand on the water lever and turns it to "OFF". Jenny steps out of the shower, steam curling around her as she wraps herself in a thick black towel. The bathroom is sleek and modern, all polished marble and chrome. She wipes the fog from the mirror with one hand and stares at her reflection – sharp cheekbones, calculating eyes, the face of a woman with an empire to maintain.
She moves into the bedroom, towel tucked tightly around her, and crosses to the walk-in closet. Rows of shirts, blouses, and dresses – each neatly organized into sections – greet her like loyal soldiers. Tonight is important – the grand opening of Scandalous, her first nightclub. Every detail has to be flawless. Especially her.
She selects a black leather jacket with a black button-up underneath, along with black leggings and a pair of open-toe strap-on pumps – a style that is brash and simple, but still elegant and guaranteed to break necks. As she is done dressing, she slips into her usual armor – a spritz of Elizabeth Taylor Passion at her pulse points and chest, a dangling diamond earring on her left ear, a diamond-coated pendant, and peach-colored lipstick. When she's finished she stands tall and proud, a queen ready to enter her court.
Tonight, all eyes will be on her.