Chapter 1: Ana Marie Gomez

Ana---Before we start the story, I should introduce myself. As you see my name is Ana Marie Gomez. I am the middle daughter of Mr. Hector Gomez. If that name does not ring a bell maybe you should read “The Guard” before you go any further.

Ok, now let’s get on with the story. My dad has still not re-married after the death of our mother. This bothers me and my two sisters. He is one of the richest men in the country so he could have any woman he wants but he refuses our efforts as matchmakers. Since the attempted kidnapping of Patty he has become even more protective of us. We are accompanied everywhere we go by bodyguards.

Like I said, I am the middle daughter. I majored in hotel management at a university in the states and my father plans on me taking over his company. My oldest sister, Carmilla, works as Dad’s company attorney. Patty, the youngest? Well, she and John are on the way to filling up all the extra bedrooms in daddy’s mansion with little rug-rats.

Me? I haven’t met the right guy just yet. Not that I haven’t tried. Both in college and since coming home. Everybody loves me and why not? I am tall, 5’ 8”, thin, I weigh 115lbs. with long black hair that falls to the middle of my back. But my best feature is my 36-d breasts with their long sensitive nipples and dark silver dollar size areole. But above everything else, I am the one of the un-married daughters of Mr. Hector Gomez, the richest man in the country. That attracts a lot of sleaze balls.

You should know I am not a slut. Oh, I would be if I could. I love sex! It is just that with the constant fear of being kidnapped, which results in having bodyguards 24/7, it is just hard to find the time or place to slut around. Know what I mean?

I was in my office at the hotel in the capital when my head chef barged in. He is nice looking and at one time I thought, maybe? But then I found out he was dating the pastry chef. Another man!

“What’s wrong now, Rodrigo?”

“The meat, I cannot work with this meat. It is like shoe leather.”

He sits the plate he is carrying down in front of me. It looks good, the presentation and all. But when I pick up a piece and try to chew it, I realize he is right. It is so tough I have a hard time with it.

“You must find us another supplier. I cannot have my staff recommending this to our guests.”

He is right. I tell him I will find somewhere else to order from and he leaves mumbling about his reputation. I remember an ad I saw in one of the trade magazines.

I thumb through a couple until I find what I am looking for.

“O’Shea Beef Guaranteed 100% Angus beef. Melt in your mouth tender.”

I pick up the phone and dial the international number. I wait a minute and a salesman comes on the line. He explains the various packages they offer, and I order the super deluxe. It contains 20 rib eyes, 20 sirloin and 20 T-bone steaks. For ordering today he throws in 5 lbs. of what he says will be the best ground beef I have ever tasted. I gave him my credit card number and he took my address. He thanks me for my order and assures me it will be delivered in 3 to 5 days.

Three days later a DHL driver was outside my office with a styrofoam ice chest filled with meat. I signed for it and told my secretary to call the chef. I gave him the ice-chest and told him that tomorrow night there would be a private dinner party in the penthouse. There would be 6 guests and they would order the type steaks they wanted. Then I told him to guard that meat as if his life depended on it. I did not want any of it to be pilfered (stolen).

I called father and the rest of the family and told them what was happening. They all agreed to come.

The next morning the chef was in my office around 11am. He was gushing.

“This meat! I can work with this meat! I am going to offer several different selections tonight. Try this.”

He sat a plate in front of me. On it was a half of a hamburger. I picked it up wondering where the other half had gone. It was delicious! He wanted me to order more right then! I told him I would wait until after dinner tonight. I wanted to get the opinions of the rest of the family.

As he opened the door and left, I saw my secretary wiping her mouth. She rushed in.

“That was the best hamburger I ever ate.”

That answered two questions, first where the other half of the sandwich went, and another person thought it was good.

The dinner party went well. Various steaks were ordered then people shared with each other. All loved the meat!

I asked a question.

“Why does this meat taste so much different than the meat we buy here locally?”

John answered.

“This meat is from Angus cattle. Probably a steer. He was raised by his mother until he was about 6 months old. Then he was turned out into a pasture to graze and grow until he was a year old. At that time, he was shipped to a feed lot and fed for the next 4 or 5 months until he weighed about 1100 lbs. Then it was off to the slaughterhouse and tonight he is on our table. The U.S. raises the best tasting beef in the world.”

My oldest sister said she thought the best beef came from Japan.

“The U.S. raises the most and best commercial beef in the world. With the feed lots in the Corn Belt, Americans are used to eating grain fed beef. That beef in Japan is high priced, only the wealthy can afford it. A mother in Penn. or Mass. shopping for her family can afford this beef.”

That got me wondering. Why couldn’t we produce this beef here in my country? I am going to find out.

I spent the next two days researching Angus beef cattle on the internet. I am not an expert, but I know a lot more now than I did three days ago. I started making some calls.

No one in my country raises Angus cattle! We raise Brahmas. They are grass fed for two or three years then slaughtered. No feed lots exist here! I decided to call O’Shea Beef, but not the salesman. I look them up on the internet and find that it is a huge conglomerate of companies run by a woman! A certain Angel O’Shea. She has her e-mail address posted on-line so I wrote to her and explained what I wanted to do and asked for her advice. Within 30 minutes my secretary buzzed me that I had a call from an Angel O’Shea. I picked it up and she introduced herself.