It's No Cakewalk

“Dad, you got to be got to be kidding me!”

Man, he seriously regretted picking up the phone right now.

“I’m sure as hell ain’t kidding, young man! Do you have any idea the damage you caused!?” Even without the phone on speaker, the voice was loud enough to be heard without putting it on the ear. “Not only that, you lied to me! You lied to your own mother! You said you were going to Japan for a job position! Not to…do whatever the hell you did and make a fool of yourself on television!”

“It wasn’t supposed to go down like this!” Pierre yelled. “I said I was going to fix all of this! I was going to fix my image-“

“And how the hell did that went!?” Papa Vulliard interrupted, which made Pierre stop whatever he was going to say. “Not only did the same damn thing happened for everyone to see, but now I hear you've been involved some gang!? I lost a lot of investors because of your absolute stupidity! So now you forced our hand. We will cut off giving you money from then on.”

“WHAT!?” His eyes were wide in complete shock. “You heard me! You know the one rule that we have here. You do not embarrass the family and me. And I will not support such foolish and absurd endeavours no longer!”

“Oh, come on, Dad, you can't do this!! I can still fix this!!” “You know…I had hoped you’d come to your senses and come work with us, but clearly, I was-“ Papa stopped himself before he would say something he’d regret. A beat past before he’d continue. “I just wish you would for once consider your options, young man. You have a degree, a respectable one. And after what happened in France, I figured this was divine intervention that this road you’re taking won’t lead you to success-“

“But Dad, this I what I want to d-“

“Don’t you dare interrupt me!” Even when not face to face, Pierre flinched. There was nothing behind him, but he felt his back was against the wall. “I do not want to hear any more talk of this nonsense. You get back home, or you get a job. Either way, we’re done. Understand?”

*BEEP*

Papa Vuillard didn’t wait for a reply. Perhaps he knew he wasn’t going to get one. Pierre stared at the phone in disbelief; the grip on his phone tightened as if he was going to break it in his hands. However, as he threw the phone in a complete rage, the collision to the wall eventually did. “FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCCCCCCCCCCCCCK!!!” Yeah, that dent on the wall is going to cost him extra. “GODDAMFUCKINGSUNUVA!!!!” He sat dejected in his chair as he stared at the window of the city skyline. The apartment that he resides in was brought by his parent’s money, yet something he’d brag about and showed off as if he has gotten it himself. Not that he was getting much action with the ladies to make it count. In and out of AFW, to be honest. The match with that Scottish twat was just a slight turbulent bump, but the one with that cunt of a woman definitely derailed his hopes. It was worse because AFW couldn’t help to show those moments every now and then, not letting them be forgotten in memory. It was like that moment in France again. Over and over, it kept replaying, and it just haunts him to this day. The countless bottles of alcohol pilled up on the table, almost like a collection you see in college dorms. Those two losses hit him hard. And he didn’t need those idiot stooges to fuck up what was supposed to be easy. But to see the reports of one woman taking out a band of thugs is just mindboggling. It’s as if whatever he tries to do, it keeps going wrong. It’s just like a curse. Maybe if he-

*DING*

The notification on his MacBook went off, snapping him out of his self-loathing. Turning his body around, he scrolled over to open his mail before seeing that message. It was from one of the companies he had applied for. One that he wasn’t expecting to hear back from. But as he opened the message in full, his eyes widened up.

The Email:

---

He kept staring at that email, thinking back to it as the gates opened to the fabulous mansion. The limo that drove him to the residence. A smart blue suit and red tie as he lounged in the seat of the fancy vehicle that took him from his place. It had everything in there. A good screen for movies, a bar, fancy lights above him and a lovely carpet to boot; it was a limo that trounced other limos. Though he expected nothing less from the Primol Group. Although the French-Canadian has his reservations about the whole thing, Pierre had no other options. This was perhaps the most lucrative option he was given, and Pierre cannot afford to be patient. The limo rolled up towards the illustrious mansion, passing through a large fountain placed in the middle. At the very least, she has taste. Coming to a stop, the chauffeur exited from his car to open the door for the Quebecoise. The red carpet already out for him. Safe to say, he wasn’t expecting this kind of welcome.

"Never ceases to amaze..." The limousine driver remarked while standing beside the gobsmacked Canadian, no doubt not having noticed the driver's presence until he suddenly spoke up. For now allowing the majestic lavishness of his employer's sprawling estate to speak for itself until opted he to chime in with a tip of his hat and waving direction towards the palatial front doors. "If you'll follow me, sir..." The chauffeur performing double duty tonight by escorting Pierre up the red carpet, a task typically reserved for one of the myriad of maids and servants at his employer's extensive disposal. However, the exact reasoning for their mysterious absence would be made clear once the limo driver placed both of his hands on to the mansions doors, took a breath to brace himself, and opened them to a dramatized reveal.

"COMING THROUGH!!!"

"WE NEED HELP MOVING THE 12th BATCH!!!"

"THE CHEFS SAY THEY NEED THE EXTRA FROSting tubes and-

Swarms of frilly-skirted maids and tuxedoed servants would be within the Grand Lobby frantically scampering through the room from one hallway to another in panicked distress. Clearly stressed out and working themselves ragged over a matter that seemed of utmost importance, but still somehow managing to stay coordinated in spite of the substantial tasks they'd been issued. Some being witnessed caring boxes of food stuffs or pushing along serving carts but with the mystery meals veiled underneath silver plate covers. Others fanning a frazzled maid now seated upright on a dining room chair who passed out from exhaustion earlier but was now being fanned and offered water to by her compatriots. However none of them were paying any mind to the strapping Canuck having been led inside the mansion by the chauffeur who would close the doors behind him after having done his duty. But one individual who had noticed Pierre's arrival would now begin casually striding down the twisting staircase while adorned in her royal blue dress-suit. Her skirt wafted with each refined step, stretching down to her ankles to showcase her white Manolo Blahnik high fashion stilettos. Her dulcet tones drawing attention to her once she was midway down the staircase...

G.D.B.~...:

“Bonjour and Salutations, Monsieur Vulliard~…I bid you a heartfelt welcome to my modestly humble abode. My apologies, do excuse the rather frenetic backdrop to your arrival. The exact reasoning for such a manic environment will all be made clear momentarily, I assure you. But suffice to say, tonight I am feeling particularly..." Gwendolyn interrupted her own introduction to seat herself atop the arm rail of the stairs she was descending, to instead now whimsically go sliding down to a nimble hop and step upon landing before Pierre. "...festive. Gwendolyn Dupont Bettencourt, a pleasure I'm sure~..." A heavenly smile and dignified curtsy would be bestowed to the Canadian, both of her white satin gloved hands uplifting her skirt from the sides as she bent one leg behind the other for the conclusion of the heiress' royal introduction.

Pierre never gave much notice or attention towards chauffeurs, something that his father had brought up in the past. Something about him treating them the same way as taxi drivers. Which he’d reply that he’s treating them both equally. While most form a bond between most drivers, especially her parents, the Quebecoise kept himself detached. They have a job to do, and usually, Pierre’s mind would be occupied with much other stuff. Not a great first impression, especially if Pierre was to secure that job of his. Then again, it’s unlikely he’d ever see him once more, with how affluent Gwendolyn is. The French-Canadian watched from the window as he’d arrive at the sprawling estate, a stark, grander contrast to Pierre’s parents’ apartment’s modern design. It had a much more classic appeal to it, something that had a lot more character and history behind it. With how much in awe the driver was, Pierre was surprised he didn’t give a lengthy description of the mansion. Which is good since Pierre didn’t care about it. His mind was thinking about many things at once, and while Pierre is usually good with keeping excellent appearances, he’s a mess inside.

The limousine driver stopped the vehicle right at the entrance before opening the door and escort Pierre up the red carpet. Pierre was puzzled at first, but he went with the chauffeur regardless. “Huh, this is different.” The Quebecoise muttered underneath his voice, but his concerns were valid. He was expecting Misaki to show up in front of the mansion. And yet, for the kind of person, Gwendolyn is, nary a soul was roaming around the estate. No maids, not even Maiden Sakurazaki herself. Pierre would still follow behind the limo driver, and his answers would soon be answered once those grand doors opened wide.

Needless to say, absolute chaos was not one of the things Pierre was expecting when he entered the mansion.

Way beyond his expectations, Pierre watch the countless maids and servants scurrying around the halls. Pretty much everyone was panic-struck, frantic and distressed, Pierre even catching one that damn near fainted. His lips mouthed a “what the fuck” as he’d stepped from the doors, the limo driver leaving him be now that his duty is done. Pierre’s head turned towards the shut doors, now stuck here inside the disorder and disarray, before a voice called out among the pandemonium. The French-Canadian didn’t even notice Gwendolyn was there until she was midway down the stairs. The Snooty Socialite seemed graceful as she slowly went down the stairs, something you’d see from those of royalty. “Bonjour and Salutations to you too. I appreciate the welcome to this-” A loud crash of what sounds to be metal and glass could be heard in the distance, Pierre waiting a beat for the clatter to die down. “…*ahem*...humble abode.” Pierre cleared his throat before turning his whole body to face her. His hands tugged on the lapels of his sharp blazer, cracking a smirk as Gwendolyn slid down the rails. Not so uptight all the time, it seems. “Pierre Duhem Vuillard, as you already know.” A simple bow to return the curtsey, not too deep like some of the upper class do. “Festive, eh? That explains why you seem to be in good moods. What’s the occasion, if you don’t mind me asking?”

The mass bedlam unfolding within could not have served as a more diametric contrast to the opulent decor of Gwendolyn's quaint residence than if a rampaging bull had come stampeding between Pierre and his refined host at that very second. Voices echoed down hallways alongside the clanging commotion of pots and pans from the distant kitchen having it's doors swung about by maids scurrying in and out. Plans only having come into fruition quite recently given the absurd specifications Gwendolyn had tasked her workforce with upholding, which was that all culinary fabrications be cooked the day of tonight's little experiment. A prospect that her staff thought to be a nigh impossible feat given the scant preparation time and sheer mass of confections intended to be cooked that day, but a rousing motivational speech bestowed upon them by their illustrious employer turned out to be just the pep talk they required~...perhaps peppered with interspersed insinuations of swift terminations should they not find themselves capable of stepping up to the task. Gwendolyn's knack for stirring up ambition within those under her employ remaining stellar, as always. All of this for reasons...which will be expanded upon later.

"Oh, the breaths of oxygen it would take to verbally divulge mine own intricate machinations would be better served discussing more pertinent matters. Such as perhaps discussing how to improve upon that absolutely dreadful bow of yours. Besides, casting thine eyes upon my works should impart upon you all the information you seek, alongside perhaps whetting the appetite of your competitive drive~..." Gwendolyn elegantly wafted her hand towards an adjacent hallway before twirling in place and proceeding to waltz through herself. Humming pleasantly as she passed by the frazzled employee still getting fanned by fellow co-workers and seemingly recuperating. The luxurious hallway that Gwendolyn was now guiding Pierre through was littered with portraits of herself and various beautiful landscapes...

Breathtaking Artistry:

...and would inevitably lead them to the expansive room that held tonight’s festivities. "...*giggle*...Never you mind. The herculean effort put forth today by my gallant workforce is well within their capabilities. I'd naught hired them if that were to be untrue. Father always impressed upon me the importance of regularly challenging one's employees with menial yet stringent labor in the hopes of having them exceed their own perceived limitations. Consider this fair warning should I deem you worthy of continuing to serve here under my mine own metaphorical thumb, Monsieur Vulliard~..." A piercing hazel-eyed gaze directed at Pierre with a congenial smile as she glanced over her shoulder before continuing onward, the clacking of her boots upon the shimmering floor becoming more audible the further they traveled away from their hectic point of origin. "However, I must inquire before the interview can be started proper...have you perchance found a way to address your little...*ahem*...issue, when it comes to engaging with the fairer sex in grappling spars and the like?~..."

Pierre knew that this isn’t so much a common occurrence in the manor. That sort of thing would be seen in the kitchens when they are prepping for the fanciest food deserving of the Michelin five stars. Even then, those kitchens were far less clustered and frantic than this showing right now, surprising that the host remained a calm demeanour about it. The French-Canadian was right to ask if this was a big occasion because those maids and servants wouldn’t be pulling all the stops like this. Much as he’d like to think that it’s for him, Pierre doubted Gwendolyn herself would go out of her way to bring such a massive welcome, especially for someone who’s a simple employee. The man had seen enough from her to know what to expect from the former multi-champion. Such workers here are expendable as they come, easily tossed aside for someone who’s much more willing to work. Frankly, he figured there would be some particular treatment coming his way. He is a trainer, after all. Well, hopefully, he does land the role. Options were very slim. So slim that he’d consider training someone like Gwendolyn.

“Hey, I bowed. That’s at least something.” The Quebecoise chuckled as he’d shrug his shoulders. Even his dad critizised him for being a bit too casual in front of esteemed guests. “Alright, surprise it is then. Shouldn’t I be blindfolded or something? I believe that’s how this usually goes.” Speaking with a suave, charming grace that comes so easily for the buzzcut beefcake as he’d follow Gwendolyn’s lead. Passing by those poor employees, especially the one that had fainted which Pierre nodded to the poor sod. Eventually finding themselves in the vast room that apparently was where all of this will take place. The French-Canadian stifled a chuckle at Gwen’s mention of her workforce being up for the task. Still, he definitely agrees that whoever can go through all of that is deserving of the role. The Cannuk knew where Gwen was going with this, however. “I believe you’ll find me up to the task.” Pierre looked around the hall, seeing all those portraits littered on the walls. No doubt the artists have to be major talented for those too. Some showing off what you’d expect from someone who carries themselves as royalty. Self-portraits, some showing off her successes in the ring itself, a few awards here and there…typical stuff. The snooty socialite brought another question that had to be asked, something that she was concerned about. “Hmm? Well, I-“

“OHHHHNONONONONONO! WATCH OUT!!!”

Pierre’s head turned quickly to the side, and all he could register was a large silver tray containing a piece of cake. That and it was heading straight towards the heiress herself, the tasty treat in a crash course straight for Gweniecakes…had Pierre not dashed in from behind her and caught the plate before it leaned too much to the side. It is a bit of a balancing act to keep the cake in place, capturing the silver plate with both hands. It all happened in a flash; the cloche was left rolling beside them as such a magnificent cake was in near tatters. Probably even more so when that exact cake could have splattered all over Gwendolyn. “Regardez où vous allez! Jeez!” Pierre called out to the maid, giving the tray to her as she dusted herself off. She gave a deep bow towards Pierre and the heiress, knowing she made a terrible mistake and trying to hold back the tears. She grabbed the cloche and hurried down the hall where most of the chaos was going on. “Femme stupide…” The Quebecoise muttered to himself as the maid dashed off in the distance, and only did he noticed that some of the cake leaned onto his right hand…and the very expensive Alexander Amosu Vanquish II Bespoke blazer. “Ugh...gotta be kidding me.”

One may not expect it, but playing the role of museum guide suited the affluent heiress remarkably well. Often times she would have to entertain esteemed guests of highborn privilege. Be they socialistic compatriots or business associates of her parents wishing to greet the fabled daughter of those captains of industry, Gwendolyn has often times taken it upon herself to be the cordial hostess elegantly strolling down the hallways of her palatial estate alongside whomever graces her doorstep. Entertaining them with fanciful witticisms, intellectual anecdotes and in-depth explanations of all of the various artworks they would pass by. Paintings of various styles and specific eras that she herself memorized...although her personal favorites were typically, and unsurprisingly, the ones brandishing her immaculate visage that ranged from the abstract to the uncannily realistic. Regrettably, the artworks were habitually Gwendolyn's favorite part of any of these tours considering that her high-class visitors were usually visiting in her some ill-mannered and thinly veiled attempts at currying favor with her parents by ingratiating themselves with their daughter. Droll and pathetic though they were, Gwen manipulated them all the same to secure business dealings of her own that favored her far more than these pitiable associates of theirs. At least tonight she was assured no such tactic would be expected from the French Canadian with the terrible bow following her from behind.

"Now, Now...there's no use muttering to yourself en français, Monsieur Vulliard~...I'll take that to mean you've not quite surpassed that particular hurdle, so I will refrain from broaching the topic any further. However, weakness of any kind is merely an opportunity for growth in disguise as my dear grandmother would frequently impart to me on Summer vacations in St.Barts..." Unbeknownst to Gwendolyn as she prattled onward with her eyes closed and her index finger wagging authoritatively, the entire cake debacle transgressing behind her would somehow go unnoticed by the aloof highborn. She'd continue to step forward whilst lost in her reverie and at one point start speaking to absolutely no one in particular as Pierre stayed behind to scold the apologetic maid. Unaware as to how close the heiress had come to once again being creamed upon by that ever so loathed pastry, the perplexing magnetism that attracts those cakes to her as fierce and undaunting as ever. "...ere they just so happen to serve the most delightful Mai-Tai's and-eh?" Gwendolyn balked upon turning her head to notice her bald-headed company was no longer beside her, the heiress blinking emphatic before twirling around to see Pierre cavorting with a maid just than fleeing down a hallway. "...*AHEM*...If you're quit finished frolicking about and courting my employees, our destination is hitherto. Or would you prefer to continue wooing my personal staff?" Gwendolyn pouted with her arms folded and her left boot tapping impatiently for Pierre to get a move on already.

Pierre wouldn’t have expected Gwendolyn to be taking such a hands-on approach in leading him through her humble abode. A person like the snooty socialite would have used any maids and servants to do her bidding, considering the massive workforce she has under her thumb. Pierre could relate somewhat, having to entertain his father’s guests and business friends when he needed the distraction. His father always had something elaborate planned and fit in some few tweaks to make it spectacular at the last minute. Pierre had learned how to charm and bluff his way through many stories. Some of those that are true and those that aren’t. The only difference is that the Quebecoise would sometimes be the one to curry favour of future would-be flings. When he was motivated well enough, he’d do what he could to woo someone. Though that was when he was young and much dumber. And before that particular incident…

Regardless, Pierre remained focused on the task at hand, which was just to secure the role and earn the favour of the one Gwendolyn DuPont Bettencourt. He would pass through the paintings, giving them nothing more than a passing glance. Some of them weren’t bad; others seemed rather tacky to his taste. As expected, most well-done paintings were about the heiress herself, not much more than self-indulgence. Pierre wondered just how much he needed to know while he’s in this role, wherever or not the French-Canadian is strictly a trainer first and foremost and if he needed to put on the monkey suit and be at her beck and call. Certainly not what he’d sign up for, but Pierre wouldn’t be surprised if she did. It was perhaps the reason as to why he didn’t try to curry any favour to get integrated into the Primol business in any higher position. Well, there were few other reasons. Most notably, Durham Inc would not be so pleased to see a Vulliard be a part of Primol. And if his father caught with this dealing with Gwendolyn, he’d shut it all down. Pierre knew well enough of the companies he did not wish to partner with in any fashion.

So why did he just step in to protect Gwendolyn? At the time, Pierre couldn’t tell you the answer. It was just instinct, getting in the way to take the cake avalanche, rather than the highborn herself. He’d tell you that it wasn’t to impress Gwendolyn, though that would at least earn some points of favour. Or so you would think. Gwendolyn was too absorbed in her own monologue that she was utterly aloof to the situation, only noticing as soon as Pierre finished scolding the clumsy maid. Pierre’s attention turned at the sound of the heiress chastising him for ‘frolicking with her employees’. He gave a bewildered stare before he’d turn his whole body towards Gwendolyn, showing the mess the maid left on his suit, with some of the icing stuck on his hands. “What, you can’t be-“ He groaned as the Quebecoise bit his tongue to hold back whatever came into his mind. Pierre moved towards Gwendolyn to continue following her lead. “Don’t get points for saving you, I guess…”

First impressions were historically a luxury only bestowed upon an individual once. And with the proper etiquette, an aura of regal refinement, and conversational perspicacity, any lowborn ragamuffin can ingratiate themselves to those of a more dignified social class. For all of Monsieur Vulliard's substantial shortcomings, from his lackluster eloquence and abysmal posture whilst genuflecting, Gwendolyn still maintained the far-fetched presumption that the French-Canadian would at least make the attempt at placating his generous hostess and play the role of a gentlemanly visitant whilst being guided throughout her humble abode. Instead, what should she stumble across but Pierre breaking free from her tour to gallivant about with one of the posh blueblood's legion of frilly dressed maids whilst she was still in the process of making the penultimate preparations for tonight's frosting flavored festivities. Pierre's cake splattered attire cluing Gwendolyn into the fact that her guest may have indulged his sweet tooth further by partaking of one such pastry himself, a vexing proposition considering that this may have in fact served to spoil tonight's grand unveiling in the process. The affluent aristocrat none the wiser to the truth of the matter, which was that her Cake Curse would have struck again if not for the quick-thinking Quebecoise taking the proverbial bullet in her stead. His sacrifice therefore going further unappreciated as Gwendolyn patiently waited for Pierre to pick up the pace...

"Saving?...Hmph, do not mistake me for some twitterpated damsel in distress awaiting a valiant knight to whisk me off on his noble steed into the sun-drenched horizon. I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself, Monsieur Vulliard. The very notion you would assume otherwise is a besmirchment upon mine honor that I will not abide..." Gwendolyn held her snooty head high as she continued the tour with her arms folded and her obliviousness to Pierre's act of chivalry still firmly intact. The odd pairing at last coming upon their destination behind two ornately decorated wooden doors, wherein Gwen would forego the pomp and circumstance of a grand unveiling by uplifting one of her svelte legs and with a thrusting kick have those seemingly hefty doors slam outward. Unveiling not only the substantial strength Gwendolyn had cultivated in her elegantly sublime legs, but the training hall within containing a prototypical wrestling surrounded by and decorated with a bevy of pastries, multilayered cakes, cherry tarts, croissants, and other dessert trays that the heiress was now waltzing past before coming to stand before the ring and twirling about to face Pierre. "Ta-Da~...Welcome to the centerpiece of tonight's festivities, and the backdrop upon which I intend to conduct a...let's say, pre-employment assessment examination~...A grappling contest betwixt us with all that you see at your disposal, and upon it's culmination, win or lose, I will determine whether or not you I deem you worthy of becoming adorned in Primol Blue, or become awash in shame as you tarry on back to the unemployment line~..."

Situations like this cake catastrophe call for having a cool head and knowing when to just grin and bear it. It’s not as if the French-Canadian isn’t new to making himself as the saviour or the white knight in shining armour for a lady. His charm had helped to make someone swoon and sweep them off their feet. Whilst he wouldn’t admit it, there had been some occasions where he’d use one of his friends as the grenade, setting them up in situations so that he could come in and reap the benefits. It was a ‘bro’ thing, or so he’d claim. He was basically the best choice, so it might as well be him. And the Canuck didn’t need the buzz of alcohol to do it either. Stuff like this comes very quickly for him, believing he was born for it rather than experience. However, those moves are usually made in the hopes the female is drawn to Pierre’s heroics and suave demeanour as a result. That there is a reward in the end; otherwise, what’s the point? But in this circumstance, where Gwendolyn somehow got the wrong impression, then that is where it all falls apart. It wasn’t as if Pierre planned to save the disconnected damsel from the reality a massive cake was about to hit her; it came from instinct. So many tangible clues were apparent in this situation that a snooty socialite would be able to piece together. The massive mess on his expensive suit was the biggest one, and if the warning of not muttering en français was to be believed, his language and tone should have clued her in. It is axiomatic that Ms Bettencourt had gotten the wrong impression, but with the vital witness running off in a hurry, it meant that debating the demonstrable would be all for naught.

“That you are not, mademoiselle. Forgive me for speaking out of line.” Pierre would say as he flicked off the last clump off his suit, having been stuck to his shoulder. Remaining incognizant and detached from the actual event, the Quebecoise chose to move on. There was an interview that needed to occur, and not getting to that would be the worst outcome. Pierre will have to carry the truth, with the affluent aristocrat never knowing what transpired and the fate she had been saved from. Made him feel like a soldier, though there’s less chance he’d get recognition from it. There’s still a chance for him to gain points and curry favour from the potential proprietor. His first idea was rushing past her lead and offering to open the doors for the snooty sachem, but a swift thrust of her leg impelled onto the grand and heavy doors wide open. Pierre pursed his lips and nodded silently. Its no denying that the years have continued to bestow some more leg strength to the graceful athlete. Once the doors are parted shut, would the Quebecoise manage to see why those servants and maids have been running ragged with post-haste. If there wasn’t a ring in the middle of the hall, Pierre would have assumed this would be for something else. Various delicacies were strewn and places all around the arena, cakes, croissants, pies, tarts, pastries, copious amounts of treats that he wondered how will be eaten. The surplus of desserts was innumerable to the point he pondered if it will go to waste. It was a marvel to the eyes, which almost taken his attention to the real issue at hand. Both would find themselves standing next to the ring, the pristine Primol heiress finally letting in on the details of the interview. As expected, it was indeed going to be a physical one, Gwendolyn issuing a grappling contest. An assessment to perceive his skills and discern his talents. Regardless of the outcome, Gwen would be examining his performance, so it must not be anything less than stellar. Even satisfactory wouldn’t get him anywhere; that’s the mentality he was going for in this interview. It was his best shot, significantly so after his father cut him off of his funds. There was nowhere else to go but forward.

...

Such thoughts would run through his mind as he found himself adjusting his kneepads. The last part of Gwen’s sentence still ringing through his psyche, even as minutes have passed since then, and it made his heart thump hard inside his chest. He didn’t think of himself as a nervous man. Always seen to have gotten things together and keeping his relaxed, suave demeanour. That part was genuine, at least outwardly. Perhaps it rang true that he didn’t wish to fail, especially not to embarrass himself. He figured a showing akin to his PPV debut would be less than favourable. Even if she would take some sick pleasure in it. Still, he looked ready, just making a few adjustments to an all-white ensemble rather than the red/purple garbs that he wears in the ring. It was simple in its looks, pristine even, the white shade not looking washed out but remained its pearl finish. His chest and face relieved from the icing that was landed upon him, looking spotless and exemplary, free from blemish. The woody, citrus fragrance of Burlington 1819 radiating off his body like a natural scent, adding to the classy and sophisticated appeal. Opening with the incredibly bright and juicy Citrus burst, the freshness of which is further enlivened by a bold note of Mint. A spicy spark of ginger and a heady note of Rum continue the dynamic energy of this fresh Oriental accord as a deep and luxurious base begins to unfurl. Patchouli and Casmir Wood’s distinctive qualities with the enveloping qualities of Tobacco and Benzoin form a bright but enduring creation that is rich in personality. Without the suit, his body remained bare, showing a solid, cut build. “You know, pleasant as those treats are looking, I gotta wonder why they are all here like that.” A question that would take his mind from his worries. “Are we expecting an audience whilst they watch the fabulous showing?”

To comprehend the paradoxical machinations of Gwendolyn's labyrinthine mind was a task ill-suited to the most learned of scholars. An intellectual savant like herself could scarcely fault anyone for considering the deed beyond the bounds of possibility, for it was within her cognitive mindscape that Gwen came upon this abjectly brilliant scheme to once and for all conquer the fear and paranoia that had been plaguing the highbrow heiress since first debuting her Creme De La Creme segments. A malicious, frosting caked curse plaguing her days ever since. Where whenever she was in close proximity to delectable pastries or flavorsome foodstuffs of any kind within a wrestling setting, they would invariably be decorating the infuriated highborn in a splattered hail of pie-facing shenanigans. Well...today is the day Gwendolyn seeks to circumvent this dastardly affliction by outright embracing this savory scourge and reigning victorious in a bout where becoming splattered by creme-filled delicacies is an abject impossibility!!! And henceforth, reign supreme over the palatable plague itself. Twas an ingenious stratagem that dawned upon her in a eureka moment just this morning when reminded of her potential Quebecois employee and the scheduled vetting process. An initiation Gwendolyn would normally refrain from taking part in, but the snobbish aristocrat ousted the typical process for this newly concocted idea. One that her maids and gentlemanly servantry only had that day to make a reality. Exquisitely crafted pastries of numerous quantities needing to become perfectly prepared within the hours of Pierre's impending arrival. An order that required all hands-on deck in a frantic cooking maelstrom that had only just been achieved under the wire...

The sight of her virtuoso masterpiece of an idea practically bringing a tear to Gwen's eye, but in reality only had her maliciously swiping her gloved hands together with a sinister smirk from perhaps at long last coming across the means of vanquishing this scrumptious malediction. The fine line between genius and insanity perhaps never appearing thinner before Gwendolyn outlined the rules of tonight's evaluation to the fortunately accommodating Canuck. Who thankfully opted not to inundate the heiress with incessant quandaries probing any further and was within the ring limbering up within minutes of accepting. Pierre may not be aware of it yet but blind acceptance of an employer's seemingly ludicrous tasks was a trait that Gwendolyn always sought for in her employees. The posh socialite simply cannot be bothered to detail the delicate intricacies of her ingenious planning phases, not when willful obedience is all that's required on their part. Such compliance was what had led to a smooth transition of Gwendolyn departing towards the adjacent Woman's Locker Room and emerging several minutes later in her elegantly fetching royal blue and marble white wrestling attire that hugged every supple curvature and left scant little to the imagination. One mindful addendum being the padded shin guards worn instead of regulation wrestling boots to allow free roam of her bare feet. A rich satin fragrance of sublime elegance scented upon the posh aristocrat who was currently performing preliminary leg stretches and continuing do so as Pierre asked an adorably naive question that as a result, Gwendolyn did not mind answering. "...*giggle*...well, I could certainly request that my workforce of maids and butlers fill these vacant seats and provide us with an audience to this spirited bout, although you may find their allegiance somewhat skewed in my favor. No, Monsieur Vulliard. These confections you see before you are to be the frosted weapons with which we will pelt, assault, and pieface to our best disposal in achieving victory by any means necessary~..."