[center][h1][color=8882be]Ashley Gallagher[/color][/h1][/center]
[center][h2][color=8882be]The Home of a Star[/color][/h2][/center]

Ashley stared down the starlet, watching as she melted from one personality to the next effortlessly. Successful indeed. He was almost thankful for the cold, haughty demeanor she now wore— as a sudden contempt rose in him. He had little patience for those who thought they were above others simply because of money or fame. One particular statement made his blood boil beneath his skin. It surprised him, this emotion he didn’t often feel, defensiveness. He felt as though she was baiting him, though [i]how could she know?[/i]

Regardless, he took the bait. “You speak of the showgirls as if your profession isn’t one and the same, Miss.” He uttered coldly. “I see no difference between what you do and taking your clothes off for people with power and money. Showgirls, at least, don’t pretend it is glamorous.” He raised his brows, “Feel free to correct me.” He had the information he needed from her, or all that he figured she’d give him. He was sure she’d just continue to play with him like a cat and its mutilated mouse. He stood, abruptly, brushing the the wrinkles out of his trousers. “Your alibi was unnecessary, you don’t seem to be the type to rip eyes out or shove flowers into fresh, warm corpses like some gruesome florist.” He eyed her over. “You haven’t the spine. I will ask you one more question.”

He dropped his cigarette onto the floor and stamped it out with the tip of his shoe, molesting the expensive carpet with the ash and heat of the still smoking butt. She’d just pay someone to clean it up. He leveled her with a piercing gaze, but kept his tone casual and almost friendly. “Did you see anything out of the ordinary, or suspicious?”