Business.

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Strategy

‘Well, What we will do now ?
That was the question from the audience.

It needed answering now, and in a hurry.

If ever he needed an answer it was now. Employing many thousands of people. Saving them form a life of misery, or so he told himself. Never mind the fact, he paid minimum wage, and only then, because of government enforcement. Still he smiled to himself, at the massive benefits of the accommodating tax havens, where he could hide most of his wealth. God Bless the British empire, as he liked to toast in the bars of the five star hotels he and his overly indulgent wife liked to frequent.
‘the industry, if you could call it that, was not of the highest moral tone. A company producing sex toys, adult films, and offering services of a questionable, ( read sexual ) nature. Would it be such a loss to the world, were it to fold ?

‘ Well were offering a service, that is needed and in demand, and has been since forever ‘. He wiped the perspiration from his forehead, with the expensive monogrammed white handkerchief. One of the benefits of wealth. Well he did of course deserve it. He was after all an entrepreneur, providing employment to many thousands of people. If other’s did not have that nonce, that ruthless streak to be entrenpuruional, well just tough titty.

The shareholders, the upstanding shareholders, who professed to know nothing of the  sordid nature of the products the company produced. That information was, of course, freely available on the internet. God bless, your man. You know, your man, the fella who actually invented the bloody internet. Sir Tim some body, whatever….
‘ In any case, the Catholic church has invested funds in our shareholdings, figure that if you can. If they believe we are okay, then we must be okay, yeah ?’

It was that self assured confidence, that sickening , undeserved  sense of genius and self importance, that physically turned his stomach. Not to mention, his personal dislike of the founder. If ever a person fitted the description of slime ball it was him. To such an extent, he actually felt the physical need to quickly wash and wipe his hands, whenever they actually shock hands, to wipe away the perceptible grease  he felt on his hands. He was after all in charge of a massive amount of investors funds. It was on his say so, if the company invested or not. He fitted perfectly the image of that boring accountant. Bald, or  shall we say shaved headed, in a gentle manner. Studious. Round rimmed glasses, and a light goatee beard and tache. Just under six feet, with a slim to athletic build. Always dressed in a grey pinstripe grey suit, that his wife had many time’s, tried to talk him out of.

His mind reverted back to that German nightclub, not so many weeks ago.

The establishment, well lets call it what it was, the brothel was in a rather select area of the city. It could have very easily been mistaken for a discreet fashionable boutique hotel, or a very wealthy persons abode. Not here the seedy undertones of cheap sex, the fear, sudden violence, and illegal activities. With its smiling friendly, healthy looking  staff. Ornate expensive decorations, and interiors. No doubt from the mind of some highly paid creative. It had more the feel, of a private, expensive gentleman’s club. For those who had reached a certain level of success in life, and deserved only the best. It gave one the impression of being safe, secure, and above all, discreet. What were the patrons to know of the hidden discreet cameras, silently recording there every move, and particularly their sexual tastes, and fantasies. Which at times bordered on the bizarre to the barely legal. To be set aside, and possibly used in the future, should favours needed to be procured from the high and mighty.
The ladies, neither through their body language or general demeanour portraying the desperation, drug addiction, or psychological human damage associated with such places. On the contrary, they seemed, highly educated, high powered business women.  Which perhaps they were. Weather they were in this profession full time or not, or out of curosity, a love of sexual encouters, or as a method to increase there finances. Who was he to ask.

‘ Let me introduce you to Isabella’, the greasy slime ball continued. ‘ She if among any of the girls, will make your sexual dreams come true. What ever you desire, whatever you have fantasized about in the privacy of  your mind, she alone is the woman, who can bring it to fruition ‘. He eyed her up. Not the image he had of a cheap whore, on the make for quick money, regardless of the  emotional, and physical cost. To the contrary, she was the antithesis of a prostitute. She had the look of a successful business woman, in her smart cut business suit. That certain walk, that oh so confident walk. The result of a middle class upbringing, and an education many dream of, but few achieve.

She offered her hand, he glanced at her, but refused to shake it. She was afer all, nothing more than a whore, a prostitute. A woman willing to sell her body and soul, at least for the duration of the encounter, for the most amount she could get.

‘ Hello, so very nice to meet you ‘, the words, empty, and meaningless.

He of course, had seen it all before. the false sense of friendship. The attempt to form an  instant rapport. The false friendliness. All with an ulterior motive of personal gain. In situations such as this, which were many, he pictured his wife, and her honest, loving ways. The cooking of meals. The questions and concerns for his health and welfare. The laughter they shared together. There gentle, good humoured teasing of each other. How she listened intently and with genuine concern, to most, but of course, not all of what he was saying. He laughed silently at the memory.

The lady in question at the nightclub, moved closer to him. The scent of her perfume, musk, if I’m not mistaken, so alluring, so powerful. She moved her rather large full bosom, and cleavage, so close to his face. The goosebumps on her more than ample   chest, were clear to see in the subdued lighting of the club. Her perfect white teeth, so enchanting, and inviting. Those luscious full lips, so ready to be kissed. Those soft, wide grey eyes, that studied his face, his eyes, for an expected positive response. So tempting. She sat close beside him, on the red velvet couch. Her finely toned and tanned legs pressing against his. She was well versed in using her ample charms to fulfill her desires. She knew what most men wanted, and she was in a position to give it to them, if she so wished. The subdued lighting, enhancing the pseudo romantic atmosphere. The soft, barely precipitable music. It was almost hypnotic, in its seduction.

Her legs, so magnificent, in that short black dress she wore. But he was solid. He was loyal. He was decent, upstanding and true. What was the choice. A night of quick, empty, meaningless sex, or a sustained love filled encounter with his wife. He moved away from her, and stood up,

‘ So nice to meet you, and make your acquaintance, but I must be going. All the best ‘.

The disbelieving look in her face, was comical. Very few had the moral strength to resist her encroachments, if only for a few moments of a meaningless encounter.

To his wretched disgust, the slime ball glided over on a river of his own psychological grease, and approached him, in the conference hall.

‘ Have I done enough, will you sanction the further investment ?

He studied the face, noting the perspiration. The overbearing arrogance and self importance, now quiet subdued. The fearful, anxious filled eye’s.

‘ Having looked over your accounts, and, shall we say ‘ operations ‘ in Germany, we as an investment fund, will not be investing further in your company. Further more to that, we will actively be seeking to withdraw our current funding as of now. Good evening and goodbye’.

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