Vincent Keaton glanced at the beautiful woman trembling in the corner, his temper flaring up instantly. He shouted angrily at her, "Get out, now!"
The beauty's big, watery eyes suddenly contracted. Instinctively, she bounced up from the floor, grabbed a random bath towel to cover her bare body, and frantically ran out of the room.
The coffee shop belonged to his son; it was a private place, the perfect spot for the men in their circle to unwind. Because it was discreet enough, no matter what they did inside, no one outside would know.
Besides, the coffee shop offered supremely "humanized" services. Those "well-dressed" powerful men, if they didn't want to get caught, would act oblivious as they walked into the coffee shop. When leaving, someone would naturally deliver whatever information they needed.
After the deed was done, the coffee shop would take a cut from those "servers," and the leftover money was enough for these "servers" to live well for a month.
