[ sévérine knew from the start she was fighting an uphill battle in macau—she's a woman, she's pretty, and she's foreign, which are three immediate strikes against her. but in comparison to silva, she's a saint, and she is very good at reading people, which gave her a chance ( or so she thought ). half the board was child's play: a chunk of the younger ones were eating out of the palm of her hand by the first meeting, and a few of the rest are smart enough to recognize that if she's a cat's paw, chances are good they don't want to deal with the rest of the cat.
so she has half the board on her side by the end of the first meeting.
unfortunately, it's the wrong half.
playing the good cop is really only effective when there's also a bad cop, and apparently the mere threat of raoul silva, separated as they are by 400 miles and the east china sea, isn't enough to bring the rest in line. ( which is not a wise move on their part, but she's certainly not about to warn them that they're making a very, very large mistake. ) ]
I still need more time.
[ negotiations are closed for the day. she gets on a plane tomorrow evening precisely at seven, giving her twenty-three hours to close the deal—or, hopefully, more, but given the inauspicious start to the conversation, she's not holding her breath. ]
[ silva doesn't say how much, because silva isn't fond of letting people think he's being lenient. he is all for the misleading appearance—of course he is, that's why he bought sévérine. but not on time-sensitive transactions.
he needs that machinery. ]
DO THEY NEED A LITTLE PUSH?
[ unspoken, that means: do you need my help. but there are layers there—do you need my help, because if so, there will be an extra fee; do you need my help, because if so, i will take it out on you later; do you need my help, because if so, you are worthless at the job which i have provided you, despite your advantages.
consistently, silva has been finding that he is failed more and more often by those he keeps closest to him.
(that isn't new.)
ah, well, they are all disposable in the end. as long as the deed is done. ]
[ sévérine sits curled on one of the couches in her hotel room—hair down, barefoot, guards outside the door and in the rooms on either side of hers—and looks down at her phone.
there's a long, long pause before she sends her next message. ]
Two days. That's all.
[ she could do it in one, if she pushed—but there's an advantage to not seeming desperate at the negotiating table, and things aren't so far gone yet that she needs to sacrifice their position and a fairly useful shell corporation for what's ultimately a short-term gain. would things go faster if she swallowed ( what's left of ) her pride and asked for help? yes. is it worth it? she's not sure she wants to find out. ]
[ táiwān's night traffic is moderate, so they aren't at lights for long. silva's fingers pause on his keys, a faint frown pulling at his mouth. roadblocks. he hates those.
—but sévérine was worth every penny. it would be a pity to let her off now. ]
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.
[ silva enters the foyer silently, but not without flourish, long coat and light suit and bright hair sucking up all of the surrounding attention. he spots sévérine immediately and darts a look to his side, at one of five who had entered the complex with him, snapping his fingers and pointing to his right. without a word, the lackey peels off towards the lifts with silva's sparse luggage in hand, leaving him free to turn his attention back to sévérine and her small company of bodyguards. ]
Ah, my dear, my dear. [ he opens his arms wide, his smile wider still, closing the distance between them with an amiable, lively gait. when he reaches her, he leans down for a kiss—hard, and conscientious—people do tend to stare, after all.
drawing back an inch, his breath ghosts over the shell of her ear, an eerily compassionate-looking gesture from the outside: a husband consulting his gorgeous wife, or a concerned partner utterly absorbed in how his significant other's day really went. his arm finds the back of the chair, head tilting in faux-concern. ] I trust everything went well?
[ of course it did; he'd checked hours after she was scheduled to meet again. very good girl; that deserves some reward. in addition to punishment, of course, but some reward. ]
[ to an outside observer, the pair of them look like a couple in love: the kiss, the proximity, the compassionate conversation, it all adds up to something almost painfully domestic ( if you can call life in a high-rise penthouse, surrounded by help, domestic ).
from the outside, though, it's almost too easy to miss the way sévérine's spine stiffens as silva stays just a little too close for comfort, the kiss that teeters on the verge of too-hard, the guns strapped to her thigh and tucked into his waistband, the three black-suited men stationed unobtrusively into the background who are less an entourage and more a set of prison guards. still, sévérine musters a small smile as she answers. ]
As well as can be expected. [ hedging her bets; the circumstances were hardly what anyone would call ideal, but the job got done. she leans back gently, keeping her voice light as she tucks her mobile back into her slim purse. ]
[ a quick exhale, and he presses his lips to her temple, charmed at her subtle rejection—the fear is ever-present, he knows it well, knows she would leave if ever she got the chance and kill him herself if she had any means to, without immediate and remarkably painful repercussions. silva had never commented on her restraint, but he knows she knows—knows she knows that he relishes reaction, response. it's all in the provocation, all in the catalyst. always has been, even for an ex-agent. cause, effect. it's all linked, all important.
he stands up straight, offering a hand. ]
No, not as much as you. [ the small, private smile softens it, but the jab is obvious—a promise, and a threat. another snap of the fingers and her bodyguards move to accompany them, silva's own entourage slipping ahead in order to check around corners. ] Come, you must be exhausted.
[ sévérine's smile flickers momentarily as silva's jab lands, but she recovers quickly, gracefully wrapping her fingers around his hand and pulling herself up to her feet. she's not relying on him for balance, even in skyscraper-tall heels—but neither does she let go of his hand, loose as her grasp is. appearances must be kept up, even if the only people around to act for are the guards, and she knows for a fact that they're all aware of what she is. ( it's never been much of a secret, but at least this way she gets to keep a sliver of whatever dignity she has left. )
she doesn't want to go into the privacy of one of the bedrooms. she doesn't want to, and she knows silva is well aware of that ( and enjoys it, on some level that she hasn't speculated on, and never wants to ) but what option does she have? so she takes a breath, inclines her head toward the hallway, keeps smiling. ]
[ in response, silva offers her only an assessing, indulgent look, before turning to lead the way towards the lift that would take them directly up to the penthouse suite.
as much as silva appreciates an audience (well, depending on the audience), he had bought two separate rooms for a reason: sévérine was allowed her own quarters almost everywhere they went, as befitting a lady, and silva often preferred to work alone in his own space. no interruptions, no questions asked. it's the same here, with only a locked door to separate their luxurious accommodations, expansive as they are. silva, of course, has the key to the dividing door—the only key—but he hasn't bothered her unduly yet, having been occupied with the acquisition of the servers and the evacuation of the island. but as they wait, ascending the floors, his hand finds the small of her back—a warm weight with an unmistakeable meaning, a threat that lasts until the lift doors open to their floor.
he stops her after they exit, pausing in the corridor, leaning in close. ]
I have something to take care of. [ he looks at her apologetically, like it's the last thing he wants to do. ah, business. ] Why don't you visit me in an hour? We can discuss things then.
[ this was not part of the original plan, and sévérine can't quite stop herself from flicking a nervous glance over at silva when he stops her. ]
Well. In an hour, then. [ with that, she gently disentangles herself from silva and makes her way toward her room, guards silently in tow. she can recognize a dismissal when she hears one, and frankly she'd prefer to leave him to whatever business he might have as soon as possible.
once she makes it inside her room, she pivots around, locks and deadbolts the door, and kicks off her shoes all in one smooth motion. she's not worried, per se, but force of habit is strong—and it's something to occupy her hands, albeit temporarily. her hair is next, as she carefully unpins her hair one piece at a time, shakes it out to remove some of the flatness from the plane, and repins it into a less stringently corporate style, a few tendrils hanging loose around her face.
having completely exhausted her list of things to do ( and having no desire whatsoever to unpack ) sévérine sinks down into one of the angular chairs clustered in her sitting area and sprawls as much as she dares, complimentary magazine in one hand and some hideously syrupy drama playing on the television, volume turned down low. she's barely paying attention to either, using the show mainly as a way to mark the time and the magazine as a way to practice her reading in mandarin. she's still fluent, albeit faintly khmer-accented, in spoken mandarin, but her hànzì skills are rusty, to put it politely. if they're intending to stay in china for long, then she needs to bring herself back up to speed; even if they're not, it's still a good idea.
time seems to have slowed to a crawl, but eventually the clock on sévérine's bedside table says that it's been an hour—although only after she's made it through some of the most excruciatingly boring articles on tourism abroad she's ever read. there's a polite tap on the door almost immediately after she notices that a full hour has passed; it seems one of her guards was also marking the time. how thoughtful.
she hesitates before standing up, then reluctantly unstraps the beretta, placing it delicately on the nearby end table, and peels the holster off her thigh. she'd really prefer not to be unarmed; even if they both know she'll never shoot him ( if she was going to do that, she'd have done it a long time ago ) the weight is reassuring, now that she's gotten used to it. still, going without is the safer option, under the circumstances. satisfied that she's—well, ready isn't quite the right word, but prepared, sévérine pads over to the door separating her room from silva's and knocks twice, smoothing out her skirt anxiously with her free hand. ]
[ the door opens. silva greets her with an open expression, polite in all ways except the ones hidden, tucked just under the surface. he had stripped out of his suit jacket, waistcoat, and overcoat, left in just the patterned button-down and casual slacks, the ambiguous image of a bachelor graciously welcoming his guest. ]
Just on time. Come in, darling, there we are. [ he opens the door wider for her, stepping aside. ] I didn't tell you how lovely you look.
[ the heavy hand to the small of her back returns, a reinforcement, a precursor. silva leads her to a stiff-backed chair next to an appropriated desk and bades her sit, and then disappears off with an absentminded bounce to his step. he returns with two glasses in one hand, a bottle of chardonnay in the other, sets them all down on an adjacent coffee table and commences with pouring her a generous glass. eyebrows up, he offers it to her, then pours for himself before sitting down primly on the desk chair.
after a savoury sip, he nods somberly, as if he finds it unfortunate that he can no longer put off the inevitability of this conversation. behind him, a complicated, spidery-blue map blinks at them both—half finished—from his computer. ]
So. [ silva leans forward, elbows on his knees, the glass cradled in his hands. ] Would you like to tell me what happened?
[ the computer display earns a slightly curious look, but no comment; she'll either get no answer or too much answer if she asks, depending on silva's mood, and she's not interested enough to receive a computer science lecture on whatever-it-is.
sévérine sits poised on her chair as silva vanishes and reappears, her legs crossed gracefully—not quite on her guard, but close—and although she takes the wineglass when it's offered, she hasn't touched the wine. instead, she taps one plum-colored nail on the base of the glass, humming quietly to herself before responding. ]
I'm—not sure.
I think our sources may have been misinformed about the board, and the original plan wasn't going to work.
[ it would have been nice, for instance, if someone had mentioned that the heads of the pan-american and asia-pacific divisions loathed each other before she'd started talking to them both. and she certainly hadn't been told that the vice president for development and corporate strategy was either clinically dead or completely uninterested in women, judging by his total lack of reaction to her overtures. which was a shame, because her initial plan had him on her side.
she'd managed to get a majority of the board to deal with her eventually, but only just barely—and only after some very abrupt course correction in the middle of their meetings. ]
I had a backup plan, but I needed more time than I had to put it into action.
[ silva looks at her a moment, void of emotion, before sitting back. he doesn't look disappointed; merely ponderous, swirling the wine idly in its glass (an action that in itself should not be threatening, but... there is nothing under the sun silva does that could be considered completely innocent in intention.) he takes a sip before addressing her, keeping eye contact over the crystalline rim. ]
I see. And you neglected to tell me this earlier... why?
It's not that I don't trust you to make your own decisions. [ (actually, to some extent, that is true.) ] But waiting until the last minute does nobody any favours, Sévérine. I applaud your ingenuity, but I would have preferred to know the instant our plan started to [ he makes a flighty, communicative gesture ] crumble.
And I'm afraid, [ he sighs, shaking his head minutely, ] that such a miscalculation on your part nearly cost us another four months of negotiations. You wouldn't have needed to utilise a backup plan if you'd notified me of the problems you had encountered beforehand.
[ it's not something silva is angry about; it had all worked out in the end, and they had secured more servers than technically necessary out of the deal. but he's no fan of bumps in the road—and when they do happen, he prefers to know about them. nothing good was ever built on ignorance or miscommunication.
setting the wine glass down on the desk, silva slowly laces his hands together, affecting a subtly rueful expression. ] So. What can be done to prevent this from happening again?
[ if sévérine was wary before, she's certainly on her guard now; she sits on the edge of her chair, barely breathing, one hand keeping a white-knuckled grip on the edge of the desk. ( if she tries to pick up her glass again, she knows her hand won't be steady enough to keep her chardonnay inside. best not to, really. she's wearing cream. )
she wants to run. and when does she not, really, but it's moments like this that make her want to flee or shoot him dead or both, the skin-crawling anticipation almost worse than anything that could possibly come after. silva is... unpredictable, at the best of times, and even sévérine—who has possibly spent more time around him and with him than anyone else, and isn't that a comforting realization—never knows what he'll do next. for example, right now? when he's at his most affable. ]
I'm sorry. [ there's a small, hesitant pause before she speaks again. making excuses won't help, but... ] I thought I had it under control.
[ she doesn't respond to silva's last question; she's—relatively sure that was meant to be rhetorical. ]
[ silva knows fear, he knows what it does to people. as much as she tries to hide it (and she does, bless her), he knows she's afraid. it's a product of their time spent together, and her circumstances, her past; she's lived in fear all her life, so why should now be any different? he's certainly not helping the situation, never made it a priority to—which is exactly why he values her so much. caged dragons are still dragons, and it would be remiss of him to let her get too comfortable. that's not what this relationship is for. ]
Mm-hm, you thought. [ there it is again, that pitying noise—but this time with lowered eyes, pursed lips, a tightening of the jaw. little, minute nods. then he drops his head with a dramatic sigh, letting it hang from his shoulders in mock disappointment. ] No, I'm sorry.
[ he rises abruptly, crooking his fingers in a swift, perfunctory motion, before turning and walking toward the lavish bedroom. ] Come with me.
☲ action • bonafide lovin' is the worst soundtrack for this tag jsyk.
[ and there it is. it's almost comforting, somehow, the way she can almost manage to rationalize this to herself. this is what she does—and even silva's more inventive moods pale in comparison to what she's seen before. it shouldn't be anything she won't be able to handle. ( none of this changes the fact that she fiercely, desperately, irrationally wishes she had her gun, or that she had the courage to shoot him and damn the consequences, but she likes survival too much to ever try again. so perhaps it's not all that comforting, in the end. )
sévérine taps her nails against the desk once in quick succession before gracefully uncurling herself from the chair and standing up, following two steps behind silva. when she makes it into the bedroom, she stops as close to the door as she can, bracing herself ever-so-slightly against the back of the nearest chair. she doesn't move beyond that, save for watching silva—but after the events of the past few days, forgive her for not being terribly eager to take the initiative. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
☲ text
[ sévérine knew from the start she was fighting an uphill battle in macau—she's a woman, she's pretty, and she's foreign, which are three immediate strikes against her. but in comparison to silva, she's a saint, and she is very good at reading people, which gave her a chance ( or so she thought ). half the board was child's play: a chunk of the younger ones were eating out of the palm of her hand by the first meeting, and a few of the rest are smart enough to recognize that if she's a cat's paw, chances are good they don't want to deal with the rest of the cat.
so she has half the board on her side by the end of the first meeting.
unfortunately, it's the wrong half.
playing the good cop is really only effective when there's also a bad cop, and apparently the mere threat of raoul silva, separated as they are by 400 miles and the east china sea, isn't enough to bring the rest in line. ( which is not a wise move on their part, but she's certainly not about to warn them that they're making a very, very large mistake. ) ]
I still need more time.
[ negotiations are closed for the day. she gets on a plane tomorrow evening precisely at seven, giving her twenty-three hours to close the deal—or, hopefully, more, but given the inauspicious start to the conversation, she's not holding her breath. ]
☲ text
he needs that machinery. ]
DO THEY NEED A LITTLE PUSH?
[ unspoken, that means: do you need my help. but there are layers there—do you need my help, because if so, there will be an extra fee; do you need my help, because if so, i will take it out on you later; do you need my help, because if so, you are worthless at the job which i have provided you, despite your advantages.
consistently, silva has been finding that he is failed more and more often by those he keeps closest to him.
(that isn't new.)
ah, well, they are all disposable in the end. as long as the deed is done. ]
☲ text
there's a long, long pause before she sends her next message. ]
Two days. That's all.
[ she could do it in one, if she pushed—but there's an advantage to not seeming desperate at the negotiating table, and things aren't so far gone yet that she needs to sacrifice their position and a fairly useful shell corporation for what's ultimately a short-term gain. would things go faster if she swallowed (
what's left of) her pride and asked for help? yes. is it worth it? she's not sure she wants to find out. ]☲ text
—but sévérine was worth every penny. it would be a pity to let her off now. ]
I WANT TO SEE RESULTS.
[ and you had better deliver them. ]
☲ 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. ]
☲ action
Ah, my dear, my dear. [ he opens his arms wide, his smile wider still, closing the distance between them with an amiable, lively gait. when he reaches her, he leans down for a kiss—hard, and conscientious—people do tend to stare, after all.
drawing back an inch, his breath ghosts over the shell of her ear, an eerily compassionate-looking gesture from the outside: a husband consulting his gorgeous wife, or a concerned partner utterly absorbed in how his significant other's day really went. his arm finds the back of the chair, head tilting in faux-concern. ] I trust everything went well?
[ of course it did; he'd checked hours after she was scheduled to meet again. very good girl; that deserves some reward. in addition to punishment, of course, but some reward. ]
☲ action
from the outside, though, it's almost too easy to miss the way sévérine's spine stiffens as silva stays just a little too close for comfort, the kiss that teeters on the verge of too-hard, the guns strapped to her thigh and tucked into his waistband, the three black-suited men stationed unobtrusively into the background who are less an entourage and more a set of prison guards. still, sévérine musters a small smile as she answers. ]
As well as can be expected. [ hedging her bets; the circumstances were hardly what anyone would call ideal, but the job got done. she leans back gently, keeping her voice light as she tucks her mobile back into her slim purse. ]
And you had no trouble, I see.
☲ action
he stands up straight, offering a hand. ]
No, not as much as you. [ the small, private smile softens it, but the jab is obvious—a promise, and a threat. another snap of the fingers and her bodyguards move to accompany them, silva's own entourage slipping ahead in order to check around corners. ] Come, you must be exhausted.
☲ action
she doesn't want to go into the privacy of one of the bedrooms. she doesn't want to, and she knows silva is well aware of that ( and enjoys it, on some level that she hasn't speculated on, and never wants to ) but what option does she have? so she takes a breath, inclines her head toward the hallway, keeps smiling. ]
Shall we?
☲ action
as much as silva appreciates an audience (well, depending on the audience), he had bought two separate rooms for a reason: sévérine was allowed her own quarters almost everywhere they went, as befitting a lady, and silva often preferred to work alone in his own space. no interruptions, no questions asked. it's the same here, with only a locked door to separate their luxurious accommodations, expansive as they are. silva, of course, has the key to the dividing door—the only key—but he hasn't bothered her unduly yet, having been occupied with the acquisition of the servers and the evacuation of the island. but as they wait, ascending the floors, his hand finds the small of her back—a warm weight with an unmistakeable meaning, a threat that lasts until the lift doors open to their floor.
he stops her after they exit, pausing in the corridor, leaning in close. ]
I have something to take care of. [ he looks at her apologetically, like it's the last thing he wants to do. ah, business. ] Why don't you visit me in an hour? We can discuss things then.
☲ action
Well. In an hour, then. [ with that, she gently disentangles herself from silva and makes her way toward her room, guards silently in tow. she can recognize a dismissal when she hears one, and frankly she'd prefer to leave him to whatever business he might have as soon as possible.
once she makes it inside her room, she pivots around, locks and deadbolts the door, and kicks off her shoes all in one smooth motion. she's not worried, per se, but force of habit is strong—and it's something to occupy her hands, albeit temporarily. her hair is next, as she carefully unpins her hair one piece at a time, shakes it out to remove some of the flatness from the plane, and repins it into a less stringently corporate style, a few tendrils hanging loose around her face.
having completely exhausted her list of things to do ( and having no desire whatsoever to unpack ) sévérine sinks down into one of the angular chairs clustered in her sitting area and sprawls as much as she dares, complimentary magazine in one hand and some hideously syrupy drama playing on the television, volume turned down low. she's barely paying attention to either, using the show mainly as a way to mark the time and the magazine as a way to practice her reading in mandarin. she's still fluent, albeit faintly khmer-accented, in spoken mandarin, but her hànzì skills are rusty, to put it politely. if they're intending to stay in china for long, then she needs to bring herself back up to speed; even if they're not, it's still a good idea.
time seems to have slowed to a crawl, but eventually the clock on sévérine's bedside table says that it's been an hour—although only after she's made it through some of the most excruciatingly boring articles on tourism abroad she's ever read. there's a polite tap on the door almost immediately after she notices that a full hour has passed; it seems one of her guards was also marking the time. how thoughtful.
she hesitates before standing up, then reluctantly unstraps the beretta, placing it delicately on the nearby end table, and peels the holster off her thigh. she'd really prefer not to be unarmed; even if they both know she'll never shoot him ( if she was going to do that, she'd have done it a long time ago ) the weight is reassuring, now that she's gotten used to it. still, going without is the safer option, under the circumstances. satisfied that she's—well, ready isn't quite the right word, but prepared, sévérine pads over to the door separating her room from silva's and knocks twice, smoothing out her skirt anxiously with her free hand. ]
☲ action
Just on time. Come in, darling, there we are. [ he opens the door wider for her, stepping aside. ] I didn't tell you how lovely you look.
[ the heavy hand to the small of her back returns, a reinforcement, a precursor. silva leads her to a stiff-backed chair next to an appropriated desk and bades her sit, and then disappears off with an absentminded bounce to his step. he returns with two glasses in one hand, a bottle of chardonnay in the other, sets them all down on an adjacent coffee table and commences with pouring her a generous glass. eyebrows up, he offers it to her, then pours for himself before sitting down primly on the desk chair.
after a savoury sip, he nods somberly, as if he finds it unfortunate that he can no longer put off the inevitability of this conversation. behind him, a complicated, spidery-blue map blinks at them both—half finished—from his computer. ]
So. [ silva leans forward, elbows on his knees, the glass cradled in his hands. ] Would you like to tell me what happened?
☲ action
sévérine sits poised on her chair as silva vanishes and reappears, her legs crossed gracefully—not quite on her guard, but close—and although she takes the wineglass when it's offered, she hasn't touched the wine. instead, she taps one plum-colored nail on the base of the glass, humming quietly to herself before responding. ]
I'm—not sure.
I think our sources may have been misinformed about the board, and the original plan wasn't going to work.
[ it would have been nice, for instance, if someone had mentioned that the heads of the pan-american and asia-pacific divisions loathed each other before she'd started talking to them both. and she certainly hadn't been told that the vice president for development and corporate strategy was either clinically dead or completely uninterested in women, judging by his total lack of reaction to her overtures. which was a shame, because her initial plan had him on her side.
she'd managed to get a majority of the board to deal with her eventually, but only just barely—and only after some very abrupt course correction in the middle of their meetings. ]
I had a backup plan, but I needed more time than I had to put it into action.
☲ action
I see. And you neglected to tell me this earlier... why?
It's not that I don't trust you to make your own decisions. [ (actually, to some extent, that is true.) ] But waiting until the last minute does nobody any favours, Sévérine. I applaud your ingenuity, but I would have preferred to know the instant our plan started to [ he makes a flighty, communicative gesture ] crumble.
And I'm afraid, [ he sighs, shaking his head minutely, ] that such a miscalculation on your part nearly cost us another four months of negotiations. You wouldn't have needed to utilise a backup plan if you'd notified me of the problems you had encountered beforehand.
[ it's not something silva is angry about; it had all worked out in the end, and they had secured more servers than technically necessary out of the deal. but he's no fan of bumps in the road—and when they do happen, he prefers to know about them. nothing good was ever built on ignorance or miscommunication.
setting the wine glass down on the desk, silva slowly laces his hands together, affecting a subtly rueful expression. ] So. What can be done to prevent this from happening again?
☲ action
she wants to run. and when does she not, really, but it's moments like this that make her want to flee or shoot him dead or both, the skin-crawling anticipation almost worse than anything that could possibly come after. silva is... unpredictable, at the best of times, and even sévérine—who has possibly spent more time around him and with him than anyone else, and isn't that a comforting realization—never knows what he'll do next. for example, right now? when he's at his most affable. ]
I'm sorry. [ there's a small, hesitant pause before she speaks again. making excuses won't help, but... ] I thought I had it under control.
[ she doesn't respond to silva's last question; she's—relatively sure that was meant to be rhetorical. ]
☲ action
Mm-hm, you thought. [ there it is again, that pitying noise—but this time with lowered eyes, pursed lips, a tightening of the jaw. little, minute nods. then he drops his head with a dramatic sigh, letting it hang from his shoulders in mock disappointment. ] No, I'm sorry.
[ he rises abruptly, crooking his fingers in a swift, perfunctory motion, before turning and walking toward the lavish bedroom. ] Come with me.
☲ action • bonafide lovin' is the worst soundtrack for this tag jsyk.
again. so perhaps it's not all that comforting, in the end. )sévérine taps her nails against the desk once in quick succession before gracefully uncurling herself from the chair and standing up, following two steps behind silva. when she makes it into the bedroom, she stops as close to the door as she can, bracing herself ever-so-slightly against the back of the nearest chair. she doesn't move beyond that, save for watching silva—but after the events of the past few days, forgive her for not being terribly eager to take the initiative. ]