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“Perhaps, Mr. Mayor, I will leave you to make the rounds. Let’s reconvene later, yes? I think we have much to discuss about my arrival in your wonderful city.”
“I believe you may be right, Mr. Nicolaevich.”
With one more smile, I depart. I’m pleased with my performance – one step on the long path of putting the mayor right in my pocket. Such delicate matters can’t be rushed. They take time, patience, and work – like all good things in this life.
“Bored without me, ladies?” I ask as I approach Svetlana and Sasha.
Sasha gets right to the point. “Please don’t tell me you’re going to ask me to sleep with him. The thought of that pig of a man on top of me…”
I grin, placing my hands on the women’s shoulders. “Not my style, ladies. Though I wouldn’t be averse to you both doing a little recreational flirting with him this evening. Not to mention, I’ve found that denying a lech what he wants keeps him on the hook longer than simply giving it to him.”
“I’m happy to do it,” Svetlana says, her eyes alight. “Whatever you need of me, Roman.” There’s eagerness in her eyes, and I can see she means every word. “I’ll flirt, or…pleasehim. Whatever you ask.”
“Suck up,” Sasha retorts, her words accompanied by a roll of her ice-blue eyes.
I chuckle as the women work out their own strategies to gain my favor.
“Enough, ladies. You’re both here for fun, to be admired. Perhaps enjoy that rather than clawing at one another, no?”
They sigh, sharing a look that suggests they’re ready to play nice – for now, at least.
I return to the task at hand, the women at my sides.
The art museum buzzes with the hum of soft conversations and the tinkling laughter of the city's elite. The spotlights hit the glistening champagne flutes just right, creating a dazzling spectacle. With a flute in my hand and a charming smile on my lips, I’m ready to delve into the world of intrigue and power play.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" I ask a city councilman, nodding toward a contemporary art piece. The abstract shapes and bold colors serve as nothing more than a backdrop to our conversation. His nod of agreement is my cue to delve deeper, discuss the museum’s finances, its contributions to the city. With every exchange, I weave a thread of mutual understanding, of owed gratitude.
Schmoozing—it’s an art. It isn’t about the words that escape your lips but the impressions they leave behind. An honest compliment here, an amusing anecdote there, an offer of assistance when the time calls for it. The trick to being a successful Closer is to make sure everyone in the room owes you something. I'm not just selling a deal; I'm selling a persona—Roman Nicolaevich, the man you can rely on, the man you can come to when you need something. And, in time, the man you owe. The man whowillcollect.
As the night darkens, the gala morphs into a blur of faces and names, each one a stepping-stone on my path to control. The police commissioner, a stern woman with piercing gray eyes, falls for my well-timed humor. A powerful media mogul, draped in an expensive Armani suit, warms up to my shared affinity for classic literature. I'm not only making contacts; I'm earning their trust, their favor.
The beauty of this dance is in its subtlety. I play no games of overt power, no shows of force or dominance. Instead, I paint myself as an ally, an equal, a friend. And everyone trusts a friend, right?
"I must say, Roman, you do have a knack for these sorts of things," Mayor Yeltsin comments during another one of our conversations, his gaze shifting around the room as he notes the growing number of influential figures in my orbit. “Personally, I’ve never been one for galas and balls and such. The true work of a mayor is done behind a desk.” He’s revealing himself to me – an excellent sign.
"Mayor, in my business, one has to be a people person," I respond, matching his shrewd gaze. "After all, aren't personal connections the real art we are here to appreciate?"
There’s a pause, then a hearty laugh from the mayor. "I suppose you’re right, Mr. Nicolaevich."
In the end, it all boils down to control. Not the kind asserted with a gun or a threat, but the kind that thrives in the undercurrents of favors and alliances. As the Closer, my arsenal doesn't contain weapons; it holds debts, promises, and, most importantly, trust.
Well,sometimesit contains weapons.
The conversation with Mayor Yeltsin goes on, taking a promising turn in regard to his willingness to consider a development project in the troubled Vasileostrovsky district, a part of the city that has proved notoriously elusive to many. As we clink our glasses in mutual understanding, my eyes rove across the dwindling crowd. They fall upon a sight that sends a jolt through my core—a woman, stunningly exquisite, standing alone by a grand, floor-to-ceiling window.
Her hair, a lush cascade of chocolate brown, falls over her shoulders, contrasting against the pale hue of her gown. Eyes, a deeper brown, sparkle in the room's soft light, capturing the beauty of the night within their depth. A curvaceous silhouette is hugged by the flowing material of her dress, while her poise hints at an athletic strength.
I've known the company of countless women, their allure as varied as the city's skyline. But this woman... she's a masterpiece, a breathtaking fusion of elegance and strength. Her beauty is the kind that unsettles you, makes you forget your surroundings, forget yourself. Her brown eyes flick over to me for the briefest moment, as if instantly appraising me and finding me unworthy.
A warm sensation, unfamiliar and thrilling, radiates in my chest. I seemed to have been tamed by a single glance. Yet the realization lies dormant, obscured by the intrigue tugging me toward her.
“Mayor Yeltsin,” I say, barely able to tear my eyes away from the woman. “I just spotted an old friend from many years back. Forgive me for being rude, but I must excuse myself.”
“Of course, Roman,” he replies, using my first name, his tone warm, suggesting he’s already developing an affinity for me.
I smile. “Perhaps you can pass the time with my lovely companions, get to know them a little better?”
A lascivious grin forms on his face. Svetlana and Sasha respond with inviting smiles of their own. But the smile fades as the mayor seems to realize something.
