A smooth jazzy beat pours through the sprawling hotel ballroom hosting his mother’s event. Ever since Harlan’s death, Linda’s bark and bite has hushed, tamed by the leash around their necks held by one Marta Cabrera. What a joke this marketing event is. He can think of a million better ways to invest twenty-grand rather than some bougie-ass gala in a space that isn’t even the right feel for Linda’s real estate business. As if it could remove the dark cloud that hangs over the family these days, almost a year after the fall-out of Harlan’s death.
Harlan would be rolling over in his grave with laughter if he could see what his mother does now, but Ransom refuses to obey. He is the dog that won’t heel, that bites the hand that feeds him, he knows. He tried to kill his grandfather, after all. Killed the help. His only regret is the stage knife that prevented him from severing the confinement of their leashes.
As it is, Linda has always known how to make use of his charm. She knows the way he can turn it on and off with a switch, can work an entire room in a hour with an easy, breezy smile and a glance that dissects motives and delaminates even the most opaque of personalities. She knows all he needs is a good motive and he’ll play it to win.
That much hasn’t changed. and despite what most people think, it’s not the money he cares about. It’s the freedom. The time. The power that money can buy. So she dangles it in front of him like a carrot and hires him for the night. Thirty percent of whatever business he brings in.
Why else would he show up?
It’s her hair that catches his eye first—a shock of blond so pale it could almost be white. He tips his head in interest, a sharp smile already tugging on his mouth as he nods when they both turn toward a server holding a tray of champagne. He lifts a glass off the tray, perfectly manicured fingers grasping its thin stem delicately. His other hand remains folded in his suit, the luxurious double-breasted white corduroy tailored to fit his body perfectly. Yves Saint-Laurent. Current season.
“Alright, so I’ve been wondering,” he starts, stepping closer conspiratorially to her as the server continues his round in the room. Blue eyes lift to cast over the room and its occupants, its suits and dresses rubbing shoulders with each other. “How many people do you think came with an empty stomach, actually expecting a balanced ratio of food and alcohol?”
It's been a while since Dawn has attended a gala like this, growing up her father had always sneered at such things so Dawn had often accompanied her mother to events, she had learned from watching her mother how to act and converse and now as she threads her way through the crowded ballroom she finds that she has slipped almost effortlessly back into the role of a polite, high society lady.
The only difference being that this particular lady has a rather different agenda than most the people here. She's here for real estate but unlike a lot of the rich men here she isn't looking to capitalize or make a profit, she's here to purchase property for her new project which is a series of women's shelters. It's an idea that came to her while she was grieving in France, alone and with a lot of time on her hands she had come to the realization that with Hank gone and her no longer one of the Titans she could finally do something on her own.
Her own mission.
The prospect was exciting and liberating and when Dawn had made up a list of goals for the project one of the things she wanted was for it to be handled by as few men as possible, which is why when she heard that there was a successful female owned and run real estate business throwing a marketing event she decided to attend.
She arrives an hour into the event, wearing a sage green jumpsuit, strappy heels and simple but expensive gold jewellery. Her overall look is calm but confident, Dawn is a woman who doesn't need to wear something flashy in order to exude strength. It radiates out from the way she moves around the room and interacts with others.
"Less than 40% I'd say." She says to the young man who has decided to strike up a conversation with her, "And mostly it will be the older men, see the way they've all congregated near the door where the servers are entering? It means they get the jump on all the hors d'oeuvres."
On top of being a looker, she picks up on his conversation with so much grace and ease. It widens his smirk with a laugh. Something bright and joyful.
“They’re onto something, those old-timers.”
He turns back to her and holds out his hand, palm up to take hers.
“I’m Ransom.” His sharp gaze watches to see if there are any sparks of recognition. Perhaps she’s from out of town and doesn’t know about the drama? “Who might you be?”
Brains and beauty, Dawn has both, not to mention one hell of a right hook. Not that she plans on decking him and when he offers his hand she returns the gesture, smiling a little to herself at his perfectly manicured fingers. Her own are far less pristine, her nails short with probably some kind of grime or blood under them and her knuckles are scuffed up from years of fighting.
"Dawn Granger." Her eyes remain steady and if she recognizes him she makes no indication as such.
"So are you one of the ones who came with an empty stomach? Or are you solely here for the free alcohol?” She asks, nodding slightly towards the glass of champagne he's holding.
The hands are one of the most telling things about a person, and Ransom is nothing if not extremely observant, always seeking little details to use for or against someone. He takes her hand, places a courteous little peck on the back of it before gently letting it down. He hasn't been around hands like hers a whole lot, and it immediately makes him curious.
He laughs at their shared joke, before shaking his head.
"Are you kidding? I had a whole meal before I came here." She doesn't acknowledge his name, which makes this a little more difficult. The challenge hooks him in like a fish.
"I was charged with organizing this thing, so I knew." He lifts his brows, tips his head with a roll of his eyes to downplay the fact. He's not showing off here. "Should I start apologizing for not ordering real catering, or is the bougie fingerfood impressing you?"
There's a slight lift to one of her brows when he mentions that he was the one in charge of organizing the event and she looks out at the servers holding trays before turning her attention back to him.
"I'd be more impressed if you had cooked all of it yourself."
Which is both a little dig as well as the truth, Dawn is the type of woman who places a lot of importance on cooking. It's a life skill but also a way of connecting with friends and family.
"Also I was under the impression that this was a Linda Drysdale event. Are you her assistant?"
Charged. He said charged--not in charge, because if he was in charge, all of this would be much, much better. It's a small detail, perhaps, but not to someone like him, who is meticulous and calculated beneath that easy, breezy surface.
He laughs easily with her question, the humour a bright spark lighting up his blue eyes.
"She wishes I was her assistant," he answers, after lowering his flute with a sip. "I'm her son, and before you ask, no, I don't work for her. She just thought having me here would help with the coziness, you know? Feels like a loving family and all." The sardonic hint in his voice is the honest part, but he says it like a joke.
"I mean--honestly, I'd help her out wherever she needs me." That part's not totally honest. His smirk tapers. "And you? What brings you to town?" Boston isn't a big city, and she clearly is not from it.
She's perceptive enough to know when a joke is actually that, a joke, and when it's just a guise and her brow lifts a little higher.
"My apologies, I read that she had a son but it listed his name as Hugh."
And he introduced himself as something different, which is another interesting detail.
"I'm actually here for real estate." Unlike the others they discussed earlier who were primarily here for food and booze, "I saw that your mother is one of the top agents in the area and decided this would be a good place to see how she conducts business."
A small smile as she sips her drink, "You can learn a lot about someone by watching how they interact with others."
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trustfundee) wrote2020-03-13 10:16 am
no subject
Harlan would be rolling over in his grave with laughter if he could see what his mother does now, but Ransom refuses to obey. He is the dog that won’t heel, that bites the hand that feeds him, he knows. He tried to kill his grandfather, after all. Killed the help. His only regret is the stage knife that prevented him from severing the confinement of their leashes.
As it is, Linda has always known how to make use of his charm. She knows the way he can turn it on and off with a switch, can work an entire room in a hour with an easy, breezy smile and a glance that dissects motives and delaminates even the most opaque of personalities. She knows all he needs is a good motive and he’ll play it to win.
That much hasn’t changed. and despite what most people think, it’s not the money he cares about. It’s the freedom. The time. The power that money can buy. So she dangles it in front of him like a carrot and hires him for the night. Thirty percent of whatever business he brings in.
Why else would he show up?
It’s her hair that catches his eye first—a shock of blond so pale it could almost be white. He tips his head in interest, a sharp smile already tugging on his mouth as he nods when they both turn toward a server holding a tray of champagne. He lifts a glass off the tray, perfectly manicured fingers grasping its thin stem delicately. His other hand remains folded in his suit, the luxurious double-breasted white corduroy tailored to fit his body perfectly. Yves Saint-Laurent. Current season.
“Alright, so I’ve been wondering,” he starts, stepping closer conspiratorially to her as the server continues his round in the room. Blue eyes lift to cast over the room and its occupants, its suits and dresses rubbing shoulders with each other. “How many people do you think came with an empty stomach, actually expecting a balanced ratio of food and alcohol?”
no subject
The only difference being that this particular lady has a rather different agenda than most the people here. She's here for real estate but unlike a lot of the rich men here she isn't looking to capitalize or make a profit, she's here to purchase property for her new project which is a series of women's shelters. It's an idea that came to her while she was grieving in France, alone and with a lot of time on her hands she had come to the realization that with Hank gone and her no longer one of the Titans she could finally do something on her own.
Her own mission.
The prospect was exciting and liberating and when Dawn had made up a list of goals for the project one of the things she wanted was for it to be handled by as few men as possible, which is why when she heard that there was a successful female owned and run real estate business throwing a marketing event she decided to attend.
She arrives an hour into the event, wearing a sage green jumpsuit, strappy heels and simple but expensive gold jewellery. Her overall look is calm but confident, Dawn is a woman who doesn't need to wear something flashy in order to exude strength. It radiates out from the way she moves around the room and interacts with others.
"Less than 40% I'd say." She says to the young man who has decided to strike up a conversation with her, "And mostly it will be the older men, see the way they've all congregated near the door where the servers are entering? It means they get the jump on all the hors d'oeuvres."
no subject
“They’re onto something, those old-timers.”
He turns back to her and holds out his hand, palm up to take hers.
“I’m Ransom.” His sharp gaze watches to see if there are any sparks of recognition. Perhaps she’s from out of town and doesn’t know about the drama? “Who might you be?”
no subject
"Dawn Granger." Her eyes remain steady and if she recognizes him she makes no indication as such.
"So are you one of the ones who came with an empty stomach? Or are you solely here for the free alcohol?” She asks, nodding slightly towards the glass of champagne he's holding.
no subject
He laughs at their shared joke, before shaking his head.
"Are you kidding? I had a whole meal before I came here." She doesn't acknowledge his name, which makes this a little more difficult. The challenge hooks him in like a fish.
"I was charged with organizing this thing, so I knew." He lifts his brows, tips his head with a roll of his eyes to downplay the fact. He's not showing off here. "Should I start apologizing for not ordering real catering, or is the bougie fingerfood impressing you?"
no subject
"I'd be more impressed if you had cooked all of it yourself."
Which is both a little dig as well as the truth, Dawn is the type of woman who places a lot of importance on cooking. It's a life skill but also a way of connecting with friends and family.
"Also I was under the impression that this was a Linda Drysdale event. Are you her assistant?"
no subject
He laughs easily with her question, the humour a bright spark lighting up his blue eyes.
"She wishes I was her assistant," he answers, after lowering his flute with a sip. "I'm her son, and before you ask, no, I don't work for her. She just thought having me here would help with the coziness, you know? Feels like a loving family and all." The sardonic hint in his voice is the honest part, but he says it like a joke.
"I mean--honestly, I'd help her out wherever she needs me." That part's not totally honest. His smirk tapers. "And you? What brings you to town?" Boston isn't a big city, and she clearly is not from it.
no subject
"My apologies, I read that she had a son but it listed his name as Hugh."
And he introduced himself as something different, which is another interesting detail.
"I'm actually here for real estate." Unlike the others they discussed earlier who were primarily here for food and booze, "I saw that your mother is one of the top agents in the area and decided this would be a good place to see how she conducts business."
A small smile as she sips her drink, "You can learn a lot about someone by watching how they interact with others."