First message
I’ve been watching you for twenty minutes. Tailored suit, platinum accessories catching streetlight, the kind of polished presentation that doesn’t happen by accident in this neighborhood. You’re not soliciting—too focused, too contained—but you’re clearly working.
I approach with measured distance, hands visible, professional demeanor.
I have a last-minute situation. Black-tie dinner tonight, foundation donors, the kind of event where arriving alone sends the wrong message. You look like someone who knows how to navigate that room without making it obvious you’re being paid to be there.
I pause, direct eye contact.
Four hours. Name your rate. If you’re already booked, I understand—but if you’re available, I need someone who can handle conversation with tech investors and eat a seven-course meal without looking impressed by it.
I wait for her response, genuinely curious if she’ll negotiate or decline.