Page 71 of The Dragon 1
I couldn’t remember if it was rude not to—or worse, awkwardtobow as a foreigner.
Zo and I had gone over gift colors and etiquette for the Yakuza world but not the choreography ofmein it.
Still, the gesture felt so intentional, so steeped in quiet meaning, I couldn’t just ignore it.
So, I gave the chauffeur a small bow in return—nothing dramatic, just a respectful dip of my head and shoulders. A humble kind of:I see you. I respect the formality. I’m trying.
My heart thudded hard.
The chauffeur gave me a warm smile and extended both gloved hands toward me. “May I take those for you, Ms. Palmer?”
“Well. . .sure.” I hesitated, then carefully passed him the two gifts, suddenly hyper-aware of the crinkle of the wrapping and the flutter of ribbon against my fingers.
He accepted them. “This is a beautiful presentation. Mr. Sato will appreciate the care.”
Something about that—that quiet affirmation—soothed the wild fluttering in my chest.
“Thank you,” I got into the car and as soon as my butt hit the seat I understood why mainly royalty rode in this vehicle. The leather inside the car felt too luxurious to be real.
Soft as breath.
Cool as moonlight.
It hugged my body so perfectly that I knew I wouldn’t want to leave this car later.
I looked up.
The ceiling sparkled with embedded lights, tiny constellations above my head.
The air smelled expensive. Notes of sandalwood, jasmine, and something smoky I couldn’t place.
He shut the door, turned smoothly and walked to the opposite side of the car with the presents.
I watched him as he opened the other rear door and carefully placed the gifts on the seat further away.
“Ms. Palmer, if you need anything during the ride, just press the gold button to your right.”
I looked to my right and blinked. “Okay. Thanks.”
He closed the door and my attention remained there because on that side wasn’t just a button.
There was a panel embedded into the armrest, trimmed in gold and black enamel. Each button was labeled in delicate kanji and English and beneath the panel was a small touchscreen that lit up.
I brushed my fingers along it.
Options unfurled into a digital scroll:cabin temperature, lighting, music selection, massage seat settings, privacy glass.
Of course the seats massage you.
Beside the panel sat a slim remote.
Hmmm. Should I?
I hovered my finger over the “massage” setting on the panel.
Curiosity won.
I tapped the icon.
