“Ugh. This place is atrocious,” groaned a perturbed blonde, as she simultaneously stepped over a rotted crippled table, whilst dodging a hazardous broken light bulb dangling from what was left of the ceiling.

Her compact frame did nothing to help her manoeuvre through the deteriorating sorry excuse for a room, if it could even be called a room. Taking in the various pieces of furniture: the lawn mower, refrigerator, half of a washing machine; she firmly believed that in its past life the room must’ve served as a type of storage room. Although, the rusting chains hanging from the same ceiling as the light bulb, left little, or rather too much to the imagination, considering the buildings long standing history.

“Generations of ‘working’ girls have been shackled by those chains by any paying gent..or lady…” Her perfectly sculpted brows furrowed at the afterthought, visibly shaking her head to literally rid the image of herself bound by those chains from her mind. She was here on business, and so help her she will knock some sense into that Davies woman, as soon as she can find her. “Where’s my cell phone…” she mumbled aloud rifling through her purse. Phone light was better than no light, and she was not going to risk getting electrocuted by switching random switches on and off.

“Do not turn that on!” came a raspy growl.

The tiny blonde turned towards the furthest wall, where she can vaguely make out a ratty mattress thrown carelessly against it. She could see the shadow of a person. “Leigh?” she called out to the figure, gripping her phone tightly, as if it were a stake.

“Just keep it dark,” the other occupant responded. She heard a sigh. “Please. Just keep it dark.”
Brianne Giles, released the breath she didn’t know she was holding, “Ashley, do you really think this is the best investment? With the money we’re putting into fixing this place up, we’d be lucky to break even.” Straight to the point, it’s the only way to communicate with one Ashley Davies, “besides, I hear this place use to be a-” she paused, “you know, whore house.” She half whispered. Clearing her throat, “From a marketing perspective-”

“I didn’t ask for your perspective Brie,” came the snippy reply. “I want the hotel built here.”