Walking into the Toussant building following on the heels of a man that seems larger than life is a surreal experience. I'm accustomed to controlling a room, but here I'm regarded as merely an accessory of a more powerful man. A man that holds this city in the palm of his hand.
The woman that I had spoken with the other day slingshot around the table when she spotted Christ, Jonas, and I crossing the lobby with purpose.
"Sir! Mr. Toussant, sir?" I come to a halt before Christ does, rolling my eyes with the knowledge that he's employing a power play with the young lady from the front desk. It seems I'm not the only one he does that to. It's proper fucking rude, but it serves as a reminder that he isn't sunshine and roses with anyone else either.
He turns to face her with the grace of a flower shifting in a stiff wind. A poisonous flower. The kind that will prick you with its sharp barbs if one isn't careful enough.
