Fitz Simmons Marvel Novels & Stories

“Alaric, you’ve been in talks with the Simmons Corps for months now. They’re the third largest conglomerate in the U.S. You know this is a very lucrative opportunity. And you’re pushing it aside for some news from Tina George about a pastry shop?” Ray didn’t understand. He couldn’t begin to. And I didn’t possess the patience to explain. So, I settled with a simple response.. “Yes.” “Yes?” He repeated with bewilderment. “You heard me, Ray,” I replied haphazardly, as I flipped through another document. “Simmons will wait for as long as I need them to and so will every other conglomerate that I’m meeting with. And do you know why? Because, he may be the third largest enterprise in the United St

He was about to lean in closer to her when he saw Mara walking toward them. Mara, who was a bit protective of Jasmine, had a watchful eye on the stranger. She approached and asked, "Who's this, Jasmine?" Jasmine smiled at Simon and introduced him, "Mara, this is Simon. He's just a photographer." She noted her step sister’s skepticism but didn't understand why. Simon quickly reached out to shake Mara's hand, trying to mask his intentions. Mara gave him a firm handshake, her eyes never leaving his. The atmosphere was charged with unspoken tension as Simon found himself sandwiched between two curious werewolves.

Shanzy stepped to the front blabbering whatever shit she could get out her throat. Simone turned around to only murder her with her one look. Ashton who was more confused than before, blasted finally, "Why in the world are you people confusing me more than I am already? And what in the world are you all to appear out of nowhere? And dare you to say that you guys are playing Fantastic Fours, Human Torch; Johnny Storm and Invisible Women; Susan Storm?" "Omg! Sir, are you Chris Evan's fan? Please, can you get me his autograph?" Shanzy who was crazy for the Hollywood Superstar became excited suddenly.

It sobered me up in an instant. I mumbled an apology, trying to pull away from the man's trench coat, my eyes dropping to his wrist. The watch he wore looked oddly familiar. A rare edition, limited worldwide. Even Charles couldn't get his hands on one. "Sorry. I'm so sorry," I said again. I knew who he was. I didn't look up. Didn't need to. "Your hand is bleeding," he said, his voice low, textured with something like exhaustion. "It's nothing."