Her rage was directed at herself for the most part. She was angry at him for controlling her like that and even more pissed she'd enjoyed it. Her initial reaction was to kill him next time he came around, but the more she thought about the encounter the more she wanted him to come back for a repeat performance. Anya looked at herself in the mirror, "Fuck this, I'm getting wasted." She left a note for her boss Gary and took the work computer to do the finances and checks while she recovered from what was going to be an epic hangover.
She went to her normal state park campsite, but instead of setting up her tent she stood there shaking a can of pounce until what looked like a small panther came waltzing towards her. "How do you feel about a week of luxury T'Challa?" A tiny roar was her answer and she opened the door to her prized 69 Chevelle. Ok, it wasn't a prize, but they were plentiful in Georgia, cheap, and easy to fix.
The Regis was a 30 minute drive and a 5 star hotel that knew her. The adorable "cat" held his head out the window like a dog for the entire ride. Well he was an odd one.
In the presidential suite she text Gary the room number if he wanted the computer tomorrow. Then realized he hadn't seen her note and text; btw I'm taking a day. She turned the news on and laid out her loot; a sweaty black polo, v-neck, no pocket, and a plain flip out utility knife. The shirt smell of him, and steaks off the grill. The knife was basic, not a weapon to attack someone. It was probably grabbed in haste. She looked at the cat as she opened her $400 bottle of rum.
"What do you think T'Challa? Why me, how long was he watching, and what was with that phony ass southern accent. It was like a Kentucky/Mississippi half-breed." He just looked at her and yawned.
*Shot*