'Money...that's what makes the world go around... A dime a dozen...doesn't matter...All that matters in this world is money and the men that create it...but for the women...it's there. All you have to do is open your arms and take it.'
Inside the subtle office sat the pastel slender woman. Features as if crafted from cheekbones to the breast in perfection. Her blond hair was pinned up in an elegant bun away from her porcelain face. Her elongated puckered lips were coated in a ceremony of deep red velvet as a small mole sat below, bussed upon her chin. The woman whose age was 19 years older than she looked, looking no more than mid-'30s sat cold and figure yet sophisticated and elegant. Her calculating eyes preserved the man sitting before her.
"Laswell said you'd come to me." She spoke to the man in her deep southerner accent. "Did she?" Replied the English man. "How kind of her to put in a word."
"Kind but not wanted." The Swedish woman replied coyly. The man looked upon her stoic face. "Now...Captain John Price...What can I do for you." She opened her arms before closing them in a gesture. The Man pause for a moment, taking off his hat. "Let's cut the chunk..." he said placing folders down on the large wooden desk. The woman's eyes cut to the folders each containing different individuals and subjects.
