Vauncimonte Research & Development Facility, Protogen LLC. Paris, France It was early morning and much of the city was still asleep by the time Mariko had arrived at the office. As had been requested of her, she arrived at six o'clock on the dot with a drink tray of gourmet coffees in one hand (none of which were hers), a bag of hot food in the other. Her heels clicked softly against the marble floor, the automated lights turning on as she walked through the halls. A night of drinking had been a terrible idea. She had a splitting headache, but she had managed to make herself look presentable through an act of pure will. Before entitled Mr. Moreau arrived, she stopped by the video conference room to start setting things up for his meeting with the board of directors. She was familiar with the equipment and it only took her a few minutes to bring the system online. A small camera perched in the middle of the desk clicked on, a blue indicator light at the side glowing softly to let her know that it was powered up. Against the far wall, was a holoscreen that flickered on, the connection pending display blinking cheerily. "Good, you're already here. I trust you have my notes ready, Ms. Harper?" A low voice purred from the doorway. It was a familiar one -- it belonged to Trevor Moreau. Mariko looked up from the computer screen, pushing her glasses further up her nose with the side of her index finger. As per usual, Moreau was wearing an obscenely expensive suit and a sleazy smirk. In a traditional sense of the word, he would have been considered a handsome man by most people's standards; but the way he carried himself and treated those around him was absolutely repugnant to Mariko. He was fairly tall with an athletic build. One that she suspected had been crafted by a knife, instead of hard work. She had never seen the man so much as wear a pair of gym shorts, let alone attempt to intentionally break a sweat. His golden blonde hair was cut on a weekly basis and swept back with a rather obscene amount of product. A perfectly manicured hand reached out idly as he stepped into the room. She sighed internally and picked up his coffee, pressing it into his hand with a forced smile. "Good morning, Mr. Moreau." "Mercí, mon chéri." He said in that same low purr from earlier, lazily curling his delicate fingers around the cup. "And my déjeuner?" "Your breakfast, sir? It's on the table." She forced another false smile, gesturing to his high-backed chair at the end of the conference table. "Oh, but of course." The man laughed airly then moved to take his seat. He stared at the bag expectantly, and then up at his assistant. "Well?" He arched an immaculate eyebrow up at her, curling a hand around his clean-shaven chin. Mariko frowned ever so slightly, then she stepped over to the table. "Let me take care of that for you, Mr. Moreau. My apologies." She murmured, taking the bag out of the room. Keeping her expression carefully neutral, she took the food to the break room around the corner and tossed the food into the microwave unceremoniously, intentionally overcooking it. Once she had heated it up, she set it down on a silver platter, smirking to herself as she recalled the conversation with @Evan Barnes the night before. It was a shame that he wasn't here yet to see her genius.