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... essed in the shop’s "exclusive manager’s uniform"—a sleek black tuxedo with a necktie that felt like a noose. A stack of flyers sat neatly in my hand, their edges crisp and untouched.
Cassandra had called this "model/drip marketing."
"Just stand there," she’d said, "with your usual indifferent, cold gaze. Let the outfit do the work."
I glanced toward the trio—Cassandra, Princess Sara, and Lannete—huddled behind a statue a fair distance away. They were barely hidden, peeki ...
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