Chapter 297: Give me Now
"Give me the guidance now."
Lor nodded once. The regular, slightly lazy version of himself stepped back.
The focused, teaching version took over.
His hazel eyes sharpened as he looked at her stall properly for the first time that morning. He took in the current arrangement, the pricing signs, the placement of items, and the types of produce she was leading with.
He began speaking in a calm, direct tone.
"Placement first," he said, his voice calm and measured.
"The most visually appealing produce belongs at eye level and at the front. People buy with their eyes before their coin purses open. What stops them mid-stride. Not what they must hunt for in the shadows."
Ameth listened without interruption.
Then, wordlessly at first, she began to move. She reached for the tomato crate.
The muscles in her arms and shoulders flexed smoothly beneath her tunic as she slid it forward. The motion pulled the fabric taut across her chest, outlining the full heavy curves and the faint outline of hardened nipples.
She arranged the best specimens at the very edge, turning them so lantern light gleamed off their taut skins. Her movements were quick, efficient, born of long practice. No wasted motion. No hesitation.
Lor watched in silence for a moment, offering only a small approving nod when her instincts aligned. Inside, his pervert’s glee stirred. The cold, untouchable Ameth rearranging her stall under his guidance felt satisfying.
"Better," he said quietly. "See how the light hits them now? That red draws the eye immediately."
Ameth straightened slightly. Her icy blue eyes flicked over the new arrangement. A hint of doubt visible on her face clearly,
"Bundling," Lor continued as she adjusted another crate. "Pair slow-moving items with your strongest sellers. A slight discount on the pair. You move more volume without cheapening anything. The customer feels they’ve won something."
Ameth paused.
Her strong nimble fingers, faint dirt still under the nails, began tying small bundles.
She nested herbs against vibrant orange carrots, twisting coarse twine with practiced grace.
As she leaned forward, the neckline of her tunic dipped, offering a shadowed valley of cleavage glistening with evening sweat.
She tied another bundle, then glanced at him sideways.
"Like this?" Her tone was practical, almost challenging, as if testing whether his advice truly held value.
Lor nodded.
"Exactly like that. The herbs hide the carrots’ imperfections and make the bundle look generous. Customers will grab them without thinking."
Ameth made a small sound of acknowledgment, almost a huff, and continued tying.
Her sleek blonde hair shifted with the motion.
A faint flush crept up her pale neck, whether from the work or the resurfaced memories of his hands on her skin four nights ago, it was hard to say.
Her icy composure held, but tiny cracks showed in the way her full breasts rose a little faster with each breath.
"Pricing perception," Lor said next, his voice steady. "Odd numbers feel like a bargain to the mind. They catch the eye and whisper value. Round numbers signal premium quality or scarcity. Choose deliberately what image each item should project."
Ameth adjusted a slate sign immediately.
She scratched out a clean "10" and replaced it with "9" in careful economical strokes. She stepped back, studying the effect with narrowed eyes.
"Odd numbers," she repeated flatly, as if tasting the idea. "You speak like you have run a stall for years."
Lor gave a small, wry shrug, keeping his relaxed mask in place even in teaching mode. "The Light is wise."
Ameth’s icy blue eyes met his for a brief moment. She said nothing more, but she made the change on two other signs as well.
"And regulars," Lor finished softly. "Remember one small personal detail about a returning customer. A name. A child’s recent fever. A favorite herb for their stew. It costs nothing and forges loyalty deeper and faster than any discount ever could."
Ameth absorbed every word.
She kept fine-tuning the display, shifting a crate an inch here, turning a bundle for better light there, until the entire stall felt subtly transformed: more alive, more intentional, humming with quiet promise under the lantern light.
The first customer arrived soon after.
An older woman with a deeply lined face and a worn wicker basket hooked over her arm, the sort who had walked this exact route every evening for decades out of pure habit.
Ameth straightened. "Good evening, Mrs. Elara," she said. Her voice remained cool but carried the new personal touch Lor had suggested. "How is your granddaughter’s cough? The thyme in this bundle helps with that."
The older woman slowed. She was already shuffling past when the newly prominent tomatoes and neat herb-carrot bundles caught her eye.
She stopped. Her gaze lingered, appraising. She picked up one of the bundles, turned it over in callused hands, inhaled the fresh scent, and gave a small satisfied nod.
"Thyme, you say? I’ll take two," the woman replied, sounding pleased. Coins changed hands without haggling. She moved on.
Ameth watched her go with narrowed eyes.
A tiny huff of breath, almost surprised, escaped her. "She bought two," she murmured, almost to herself.
Lor stayed silent, arms loosely crossed, just watching.
The second customer followed shortly.
A young mother, perhaps twenty-five, with a chubby toddler balanced on her hip and the hurried stride of someone merely passing through.
The bright eye-level display stopped her mid-step. She hesitated, shifting the child’s weight, then reached out and selected two items.
Ameth quoted the odd-number figure exactly as recommended. "99 copper for the pair."
The young woman didn’t hesitate. She paid, offered a quick grateful smile that reached her eyes, and continued on her way. The toddler babbled softly.
Ameth glanced sideways at Lor. Their eyes met for a long charged moment.
"It... worked," she said. Her voice was still guarded, almost reluctant, but there was the faintest hint of acknowledgment in it. "You were right about the front placement and the odd price."
Lor nodded once, the guiding light’s focus still dominant.
A small, wry smile touched his lips.
"Of course."
