always make your client think they're special. it's one of the maxims ingrained so deeply into her very self that sometimes she suspects she bleeds madame's rules, and it's always served her well. if they feel special, they'll try to keep you for their own; if they keep you, or if they think they do, you have leverage, and when you have leverage... you can get anything you want. it's a law that only applies to ordinary men—but the chairman of the board is just an ordinary man.
not even a full day after striking up a conversation with him, sévérine is on a plane back to shanghai, with thirty-six, not thirty-three, servers in the cargo hold below her, compliments of the chairman. ( "for the inconvenience," he'd said. sévérine had just smiled at him and climbed into the waiting car. it hadn't even been hard, once she'd separated him from the flock, so to speak.
she managed to 'lose' his phone number somewhere between the building and the car. )
they land in shànghǎi with no problems—not that she would ever expect any—and while the servers get loaded onto boats to make their way toward silva's little island, sévérine merely heads back to the high-rise apartment downtown to wait for his return. she sits on one of the chairs in the foyer, legs crossed demurely at the ankle, scrolling through the economic observer on her sleek mobile. she knows what she's looking for: one very specific táiwānese manufacturing company, whose finances do not seem to have taken a precipitous dive in the past forty-eight hours.
☲ action
always make your client think they're special. it's one of the maxims ingrained so deeply into her very self that sometimes she suspects she bleeds madame's rules, and it's always served her well. if they feel special, they'll try to keep you for their own; if they keep you, or if they think they do, you have leverage, and when you have leverage... you can get anything you want. it's a law that only applies to ordinary men—but the chairman of the board is just an ordinary man.
not even a full day after striking up a conversation with him, sévérine is on a plane back to shanghai, with thirty-six, not thirty-three, servers in the cargo hold below her, compliments of the chairman. ( "for the inconvenience," he'd said. sévérine had just smiled at him and climbed into the waiting car. it hadn't even been hard, once she'd separated him from the flock, so to speak.
she managed to 'lose' his phone number somewhere between the building and the car. )
they land in shànghǎi with no problems—not that she would ever expect any—and while the servers get loaded onto boats to make their way toward silva's little island, sévérine merely heads back to the high-rise apartment downtown to wait for his return. she sits on one of the chairs in the foyer, legs crossed demurely at the ankle, scrolling through the economic observer on her sleek mobile. she knows what she's looking for: one very specific táiwānese manufacturing company, whose finances do not seem to have taken a precipitous dive in the past forty-eight hours.
good. that bodes well for this meeting. ]