"Damn, it's raining again. Hopefully, it won't rain tomorrow."
The young assistant unexpectedly got caught up in something fortunate, which meant that William White was going to have a child, out of wedlock.
William White didn't find anything amiss. In the early 1980s, if a wealthy man didn't have a few illegitimate children, he could hardly hold a conversation with people.
Naturally, the boss needed someone to take care of him, so Sophie Marceau claimed she'd stick around to learn English from him.
With such beauty by his side, William White naturally didn't mind. After all, if he had nothing else going on, it wasn't a problem. However, he wondered how many vocabulary words one could truly learn from such studies.
Well, he estimated over half of them would be onomatopoeic words. And based on someone's experience, during particularly happy moments, people still tended to use their native language.
"Heavens, you've kept me locked in here for two days. I don't even need clothes. Damn it, what kind of crazy spell are you under?" Listening to the lady's complaints, William White felt a bit sheepish.
"Don't be mad, darling. They're bringing the latest dress today. You can shop right here in the hotel. London's weather is just too awful."
The young lady's complaints were merely for show and weren't to be taken seriously. In fact, the indulgence of recent times had made her quite pleased.
William White was speechless. It was important to note that if it continued raining here, his new car launch would be relocated to Los Angeles.
Alright, if that happened, the gentlemen here would be very disappointed. William White's invitations weren't that easy to come by. The guests appearing in London tomorrow evening were nothing short of the rich and famous.
The British were a bit thin-skinned, especially considering their ancestors were once quite lavish, so William White tried to accommodate as much as possible.
The most complex feelings belonged to Rolls-Royce. This so-called luxury car completely used their chassis and engine. However, why did it appear so much more high-end than their own?
"Gee, this red dress really suits you. You look stunning. Hahaha, those damn guys must be so envious of me."
"Don't, it'll wrinkle, and I won't be able to wear it tomorrow."
The next day, when a ray of sunshine broke through the curtains and shone on a heap of men and women, William White slowly opened his eyes, staring blankly at the surroundings.
"Darn, buddy, what did I do yesterday? Why is there no memory at all?" Well, while some people lose memory from drinking, William White seemed to do so from, uh, other activities. It's safe to say the notion of unique talents still holds some truth.
"Get up, sleepyhead. If you don't, there won't be enough time. You can't go out looking all unkempt."
In a flash, the sleepy girl dashed into the bathroom, still grumbling.
William White shook his head and smiled bitterly. Looking at his own mess, he could only head to another bathroom.
...
After lunch, a bunch of folks began to file in. These days, William White had quite a team to pamper him with all sorts of skincare, beauty, and hairstyling services.
Even though Sophie had seen such a scene before, she still found it a bit unreal. Was this truly a billionaire's daily life?
Yet the carefree guy next to her was usually so unkempt. Which one was the real William White?
She didn't know that William White was actually quite impatient with all this. However, without these standards, you'd just be a country bumpkin.
Someone asked, "What are you now?"
The answer was simple: a country bumpkin with style.
In the U.S., perhaps you could afford to be lazy, as long as you weren't attending any parties. But in London, you couldn't afford laxity. The more you paid attention to detail, the less you worried about sophistication. This was the norm for the London elite.
Which big family doesn't have a few tailors on call?
Sophie Marceau wasn't the hostess, after all, or else those so-called high-end goods sent to the hotel really wouldn't have matched her status.
The launch venue was beautifully decorated without needing William White's introduction. He was no longer a salesperson, and unless the product was exceptionally outstanding, it was better to stand smiling offstage.
The prototypes, after all, were just prototypes, even if they were the boss's special edition. The three cars on stage were excellent, especially the silver one, which was practically blinding.
When the velvet covering the cars was pulled down, the VIPs in the audience were still very supportive, whether sincerely or pretending. The applause was enthusiastic.
...
After the promotion concluded, of course, there was a banquet.
Sophie successfully completed her role as a trophy, collecting countless compliments. She could tell those guys were utterly pretentious.
The launch was successful. While the British gentlemen were still hesitating, a rich desert tycoon ordered over a hundred cars. If they wanted to place an order now, they might have to wait over a year.
Well, the production capacity issue remained unsolved for the time being, but anyhow, the asset in hand was now activated.
The American auto industry was at a loss, with one word encapsulating the situation: dismal. The official numbers suggested a 50% production cut.
Honestly, if these numbers weren't inflated, then 60% of America's auto production capacity was already gone. With the Japanese enterprises growing annually by over 20%, a massive reduction without even an increase was terrifying.
If half of the car-related industries cut production or went bankrupt, the accumulated unemployment rate would definitely exceed half.
America's economy may have improved, but it had nothing to do with cars. In fact, the IT industry had always been on the up, their high growth masking the struggles of other sectors.
Auto industry workers were furious, even taking Paul Volcker to court, accusing him of plotting to destroy America's small and medium enterprises.
Heh, I must say, there are many insightful people, as this was indeed Paul Volcker's intention. These so-called outdated capacities needed to fend for themselves.
However, they seemed to target the wrong person. This was the fundamental national policy at the time, and changes were unlikely. Paul Volcker was merely the scapegoat.
The current boss was annoyed with him but, after securing re-election, hesitated to let him go. After all, this scapegoat had real skills, and replacing him with someone suitable wasn't easy.
*****
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