The door to Alice's private office clicked shut, instantly muffleing the stunned whispers of the agents in the lobby. The room smelled of expensive sandalwood and success, a sharp contrast to the cold, dismissive air of the reception area.
"Ignore them," Alice said, gesturing for Jake to take a seat in a deep, charcoal-gray armchair. "They're trained to hunt for suits and watches. They haven't realized yet that in this city, the real money often wears sneakers and a t-shirt."
She sat behind her desk, her fingers flying across a sleek tablet. "Last time we met, you were looking for processing power. This time, I'm guessing you're looking for lifestyle power. Upscale, right? What's the floor plan looking like?"
