Anne listened calmly as Mary explained the proposed distribution deal with the DeMuer group. Mary had offered to sell Alain DeMuer's lagers, Zeppa soda, and imported coffee in Club Babylon's bars and restaurants. He was offering a discount on these products.

"How much?" she interrupted.

"Twenty percent off the soda, fifteen off the lager, ten off the coffee," Mary repeated helpfully. Anne nodded. The difference in the numbers made sense, considering their real need for good coffee; beer and soda could be bought from a hundred different sources.

"We're also going to be helping push his products, particularly the Zeppa," Mary continued. "Our bartenders will be instructed to suggest Zeppa as a chaser, and establish cocktails containing it as a new fad."

"What's our compensation?" Anne asked, glancing at her notes so far.

"The discount," Mary replied.

"What? No, we deserve the discount just for distribution. For those numbers he can do his own goddamn advertising. We haven't actually informed our bartenders about the new initiative, have we? Good."

She continued darkly, "I'm half tempted to publicize Zeppa's use in anal torture. See how delicious people think it is then." The news about the West End female vigilante and her use of Zeppa for torture had spread quickly, in certain very dangerous circles.

Anne came to a decision, and dialed the Corporation's secretary. "Marguerite? Schedule me a meeting with Alain DeMuer. If for some reason he refuses, tell him the distribution arrangement is off." She hung up, and gave Mary a fierce gaze. "I sent you to see him so that we could make a profit off of the DeMuer Investment Group. Which is a compliment, to a little fucking fish that started out as a hack detective, who spent his evenings asking us irritating personal questions about our business interests. Now he thinks he can cheat us into making him a success, for free? F*** that s***."

"You're so stern, darling," Mary said admiringly. Between her charisma and Anne's metaphorical cojones, the Corporation never failed to squeeze any potential partner for as much as they were worth. Luckily for Alain, Anne had excellent control over her temper; she probably wouldn't send some anonymous thugs with guns his way with instructions to aim for knees. Probably.

Well, the business with Mr. DeMuer had been peacefully resolved. Meaning, Anne had been forced to apologize to Alain - for losing her temper, and for her intimidating behavior. Mary had called her fiancee a thug - an exact quote! - and threatened to make her sleep on the couch for the next decade. So Anne had sought out Alain, gave him a muttered apology, and had a few drinks with him.

In the end, they'd sort of gotten along. Alain was a decent guy and was admirably prepared to forgive and forget. That still didn't mean that the Bonny Corporation would be promoting or selling DeMuer beverages in their club. Mary wanted Anne to get along with Alain, and when Anne was negotiating business, she and nice didn't live in the same universe. She'd try to be civil and talk numbers, and would end up threatening to torture someone the minute she got frustrated. Anne knew she had a temper, it had been her major problem over the centuries.

As for the standing rule to shoot anyone on Corporate property found in possession of DeMuer beverages... she'd let that one slide. Her security staff could selectively enforce it, possibly giving them a necessary excuse to blow off a kneecap. And if she was irritated with one of her security people, she could blame them for their stupidity in taking that particular order seriously. Thus justifying their being erased.

She had lived a long and dangerous life. Being a cold bitch just came naturally to her. "After all this time, it's quite impossible to change myself," Anne said to herself. But she was a little sad as she turned back to her ledger, and her hand found itself sketching a design for a little lacy frock in the margin next to the profit columns. It had bows at the shoulders, and a matching satchel purse to carry a small dog or toy dragon. Yes. It was perfectly adorable.

Impossible to change. Who would buy a dress from a murderess? It was an image thing. She'd best stick to what she knew.