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She subtly mirrored Donaia’s movements and posture as they all sat, leaning forward when the other woman did, straightening her gloves a moment after Donaia touched her own. Overdoing that risked the other person noticing and reading it as mockery, but small amounts of imitation would build a buried sense of rapport, whether Donaia wanted it to or not.
Ah, I see you've worked in customer service.
Years of smiling charmingly when he wanted to murder someone were all that kept Vargo’s pleasant expression in place.
Ah, so you've worked in customer service.
That, more than anything, was what she longed for: the assurance that when trouble came, she’d be able to survive it.
Why is money the answer to this?
