The penthouse smelled faintly of perfume and expensive candles. Garment racks glimmered like weapons. Angela stood in the middle of the room armored boots, slightly braided hair, arms folded, looking like she’d rather be facing frost giants. Emma Frost circled her like a jeweler appraising a gemstone.

EMMA:

Darling, you are magnificent — but if I may-

ANGELA:

I came here because you said this was strategic counsel. Not… grooming.

EMMA:

I'm just saying. You're a beautiful girl, you should have the full marks of one.

Emma pushed a stylist’s chair forward.

ANGELA:

No.

Emma gives her a sweet smile. EMMA:

You didn’t even hear what I was going to suggest.

ANGELA:

You were going to say ‘sit.’ Then you would attempt to paint my nails.