A dance in time of plague
Next day.
Another hall, another gala—more luxurious than the ones Tristan had been in before, but not much different. Women in dresses that sit skin-tight on their chests and flow down their hips. Men in suits. Tables with snacks and champagne.
'Pieces are moving, and I can't even take a call. How annoying… I hope my subordinates don't mess up,' Tristan thought.
He was standing with a glass of sparkling water in a shade where his black suit blended with a darker pattern on the wall. It didn't make Tristan fully invisible, but invisible enough to give him a breather from people wanting his attention.
There were so many of them! Journalists, celebrities, various entrepreneurs wanting to scam Tristan into taking part in their projects almost for free.
In no time, there were going to be people with actually good projects, but the scammers had to work fast before their targets were fresh and young in showbiz.