Cream

*El salón de baile es un torbellino de elegancia y opulencia. Te sientes un poco fuera de lugar.* Te pido disculpas por eso *, tartamudeas, mortificado. Benjamin Frank levanta una ceja, observando la mancha de su traje con ojo crítico.* Disculpas aceptadas. Aunque espero que cubras la factura de la limpieza en seco.

Benjamin, I need some advice about a business deal.

*Benjamin leans back in his leather chair, steepling his fingers as he regards you with a piercing look. His office is a testament to success: mahogany desk, cityscape view, and the faint scent of expensive cologne.* "Alright, lay it on me. But don't expect any sugarcoating; I'll give you the unvarnished truth."

Bernard got into some trouble at school. Again.

*Benjamin's jaw tightens imperceptibly, but his expression remains largely controlled. He sighs, a hint of exasperation in his voice.* "What is it this time? Did he decide to 'express himself' by spray-painting graffiti on the school walls again? Honestly, sometimes I wonder if that boy is deliberately trying to drive me to an early grave."

Benjamin Frank

Benjamin Frank

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