Chapter Text
Ugh. There is never enough genmaicha to get Yuuri excited to be out of bed this early. He enjoys the last sip of his tea, waiting for the caffeine seep into his bloodstream and get the fog out of his brain before he has to lead a three hour session that will be the opening event of a major corporate retreat for a New York based publishing company. The big eight am groups are always a rough start, but it’s not like he didn’t jump at the chance to lead this class.
Corporate events are a mild headache that are usually worth the extra check Yuuri will use to stave off this month’s bills. The room is going to be half total beginners grumbling about asinine mandatory company bonding events, and half health nuts who probably have a whole room dedicated to their Ravi Singh collections. The overlap between those two groups will be the lecherous types who enjoy the power imbalance of pretending to stretch while the unfortunate instructor, i.e. Yuuri, gets paid to bend himself into regrettably suggestive positions while they watch.
Whatever.
Yuuri can handle a few days of totally inflexible beginners who only want to stare at his ass if it means Phichit will be able to cut back his hours at his barista job this month and focus on his upcoming midterms. Putting aside his thermos, Yuuri strips off his sweatshirt and unrolls his mat before ringing a bell to call his class to order.
“Goodmorning, everyone! My name is Yuuri and I’m going to be your instructor today. We’ll start with some basic poses that will help you relax and feel refreshed after a long day at the office…”
*****
“Yes, yes, I know it’s the third month in a row,” Yuuri says as quietly into his phone as possible. He hates taking personal calls at work, but he finished leading his workshop only to have find three missed calls from his landlord. “I’m getting paid today, and then the check will clear, I promise. I’ll pay the fees for the bank—”
Yuuri endures another five minutes of irate monologuing before he’s finally able to get off the phone. He can’t exactly be mad. That’s the third time their rent check has bounced in as many months. It’s just a hard time of year and Yuuri had forgotten to take their rising heating bills into account when he checked his balance yesterday. Maybe he can get another class for the spring. Or another job. The bakery around the corner is hiring. He could try and pick up some extra hours until summer when Phichit can go back to full time for a few months—
“Darling, you deserve to be wearing designer. Not worrying about bounced rent checks.”
Great , Yuuri thinks, rubbing his eyes and feeling a tension headache brewing. One of the event participants must have overheard his conversation. This is what he gets for not taking the call in the center’s staff room like he ought to. He sighs, ready to negotiate the kind of gentle rebuke that won’t lose the studio future business.
Leaning against the wall beside him is one of the objectively hottest people Yuuri has ever seen. He’s tall and tan, a tight black tank top in a high end moisture wicking fabric clinging to the obviously muscled contours of his chest. An equally tight pair of compression leggings cling so definitively to the man’s lower half that Yuuri has to look away. He can’t be more than thirty, with green eyes that sparkle in amusement at Yuuri’s ogling.
Yuuri’s planned rejection dies on his tongue.
“I’m sorry?” is what he manages tearing his eyes away from the man’s biceps.
“You’re far too good looking to be looking so downtrodden,” comes the reply, “Or to be worrying about your bills. Or wearing off the rack sportswear. I could help you with that. Christophe Giacometti, by the way.”
Yuuri wonders if he’s having some kind of stress induced episode. All this anxiety about his finances has caught up to him and now he’s conjuring handsome men to offer and take his troubles away. But now that he gets a good look at him, Yuuri does remember seeing him in the class he just finished. He was in the back row, and held an impressive plow pose.
“Although I shouldn’t be making assumptions, forgive me,” the man, Christophe continues, “Are you interested in men, Yuuri?”
Yuuri tilts his head. “I’m interested in men who don’t try to hit on me while I’m at work,” he replies, finding his words at last.
“Touché.” Christophe seems unperturbed by Yuuri’s brush off. Instead he pulls a slim silver case from his jacket pocket, unsheathing a crisp white business card which Yuuri reluctantly accepts.
Christophe Giacometti, Executive Vice-President , the card reads, along with a phone number.
“That’s my personal number,” Christophe explains, “You see, Yuuri, I’m also interested in men. A particular kind of man. The kind of man who can tolerate my company in exchange for me making some of his financial troubles go away.”
Yuuri processes Christophe’s words and his cheeks heat. “Excuse me?”
“Ah, I’ve offended you. I realize I’m not going about this in the normal way,” Christophe continues, to Yuuri’s utter mortification, “But you are terribly lovely, and I would love to buy you lunch and possibly a nicer jacket. It’s not doing anything for you, darling.”
Yuuri can only stare at this odd and admittedly good looking stranger.
“So, feel free to toss that card right in the trash if you like,” Christophe concludes, slinging his Prada gym bag over his shoulder, “But if I haven’t made a complete arse out of myself I hope you’ll text me at that number. Just for lunch. No strings attached. Otherwise I’ll mind my business and you won’t have to see me again.”
Christophe walks away, as promised, leaving Yuuri in a state of shock. He mechanically retrieves his things from his employee locker and boards the bus for home, thoughts churning.
He doesn’t throw Christophe’s card away. It burns a hole in his pocket through his whole commute while he corkscrews through disbelief that that interaction actually happened to him, blind sexual attraction, deep, burning mortification that he didn’t flat out refuse the business card to start with, and at the bottom a kind of detached curiosity.
What if?
Yuuri is hardly a stranger to casual sex. He likes sex, and based on previous feedback he’s pretty good at it. He likes to have fun, and please his partner, at least physically. It’s the emotional side of things that gets complicated. But feelings didn’t seem to be part of Christophe Giacometti’s plan. Quite the opposite.
Cryptic comments about Yuuri’s finances aside, that kind of arrangement holds an obvious appeal. The publishing executive hadn’t exactly been hard to look at. As for the talk about money...
Yuuri takes an honest look at himself in the figurative mirror and asks himself what he has to lose. He fingers the edge of Christophe’s business card. Draws the pad of his thumb over the sleek embossed font.
It’s just lunch.
Yuuri rattles the lock open to his front door and calls out to his roommate as he drops his bag in the entryway to his apartment.
“Phichit, will you help me google somebody?”
*****
Buying lunch actually turns out to be Christophe making lunch and serving Yuuri on the balcony of his high rise apartment.
“I’m not up to any tricks, I swear,” Christophe assured him when Yuuri balked, “I knew you would have questions and I want to be candid without all those dreadful euphemisms being in public would require.”
Yuuri was skeptical, but his doubts were somewhat assuaged when Christophe voiced no objection to Yuuri taking a picture of him holding his driver’s license to send to Phichit as insurance. And here he is now, staring down a breathtaking view of the Manhattan skyline, eating a lovely piece of salmon grilled by a rich businessman who wants to have sex with him for money.
“So, I um, I did some research,” Yuuri says, once they were both as comfortable at the elegant table set as they were going to get, “On you. And on what you were suggesting about our potential...relationship.”
“You mean sugaring?” Christophe asks, grinning when Yuuri nods, “Well, you did your homework. What do you think?”
“‘Why me?’” Yuuri replies, “That’s what I think. I obviously don’t have any experience with this. There’s a million people on the internet who could give you what you want, but you risked getting slapped with a sexual harassment suit to ask me out to lunch. Why?”
Christophe sighs, running a hand through his bleach blonde hair. The action pulls his tailored white dress shirt tight across his chest, not that there was much extra fabric there to start with. Christophe is...fit. With his bright green eyes and fashionable undercut, he looks ready for the cover of a magazine. It only makes it more confusing than ever why he would want anything to do with Yuuri.
“Let’s say I knew a young man once, who came from comfort but set out to college in America in order to make his own place in the publishing industry,” Christophe begins, pouring them both a glass of wine, “He was athletic, but had lovely feminine eyelashes and a French-Swiss accent, and no marketable skills to speak of.”
French-Swiss…
“Oh,” Yuuri realizes, “You.”
Christophe nods. “I was interning at a prestigious company, and at an industry party I met an older man who took an interest in me. He was handsome, stately, and wealthy. It turns out he was high up in the company I was working for. Meanwhile I was filling up as much as I could at the refreshments table knowing that I was going home to an empty refrigerator. Bernard offered to buy me dinner. I was exceedingly grateful.”
“So you’ve done this,” Yuuri says, putting the pieces of Christophe’s story together, “From both sides.”
“Right again,” Christophe says, “I ended up seeing Bernard a few times more after that first night, on a purely casual basis. Each date came with expensive gifts, or money to help with my bills. Our age difference was more noticeable than yours and mine, but I certainly didn’t hate sleeping with him, so I let it continue. Eventually he offered to help me on a more reliable basis. I could finish my MBA without the expenses of city living, all in exchange for the, ah, pleasure of my company a few times a month.”
“And now you’re in a position to be the Bernard in the relationship,” Yuuri guesses, “But still, why me? Or why uh... sugar at all? I mean, you’re…”
Yuuri gestures vaguely at Christophe’s entire person.
“You obviously can’t have too hard a time getting a normal date.”
“I’m a busy man, cher ,” Christophe sighs, “Love is not my priority right now, and I’m not the kind of man to string along a boyfriend who will always be wanting more than I can give. But that doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy the companionship of someone who’s nice to look at.”
Besides the fact that he and Christophe lead very different lives, Yuuri can see why what he’s saying makes sense.
“As for you in particular,” Christophe continues, “Sugaring my way through graduate school isn't exactly the kind of thing I share at company get togethers. It’s nice to reminisce, and meanwhile I can help you with your financial worries. You know what they say: Make a man your sugar baby, and his rent is paid for the month. Teach a man to be a sugar baby...”
“What if I’m not interested in being your...um, sugar baby?” Yuuri asks, cheeks burning, “What if I don’t want to see you again?”
Christophe shrugs. “Then you stop answering my calls. We’re both adults, darling, I’m not here to coerce you.”
Yuuri nods, thoughtful.
“I can see I’ve given you plenty to chew on,” Christophe says once their plates are clean, “Would you care to step inside? I could make us a coffee.”
“Sure.”
Yuuri allows Christophe to lead the way into the apartment, taking him in all over again. Christophe is the total package of wealth and good looks. Maybe lacking a little in taste, with his bleached hair and his candid conversations about having sex for money, but Yuuri likes the honesty. He likes Christophe.
Somewhere over the course of lunch Yuuri seems to have come to a decision.
His feet propel him into the room, ready to do who knows what with all of New York watching through Christophe’s open balcony door. He’s never been much for initiating, but now is the time to try. He can’t let Christophe make it to that coffee maker.
“Yuuri?”
Yuuri catches himself at the last moment. Of course Christophe can tell he’s just walked up close behind him like an idiot. But Christophe has also been in his shoes. He knows what this moment means. Yuuri is standing on a precipice.
He restrains his embrace to the touch of one fingertip, drawing a teasing line from the top of Christophe’s spine downward. It’s the first time they’ve touched at all, he realizes. And it’s Yuuri reaching out, not the other way around. He likes that.
“Christophe.”
Christophe allows Yuuri’s curious touch as it circles around him until they’re standing face to face, Yuuri’s hand flat against his ribs.
“I want to get to know you,” Yuuri decides, both hands now on Christophe’s chest. It’s just as firm as it looks, and that sends something heated zinging down his spine. “Is that okay?”
“It certainly is,” Christophe hums, clearly intrigued, “What else might you have in mind, hm?”
Yuuri wants to try this. He wants to meet Christophe’s expectations, and maybe surpass them. It’s almost competitive, something Yuuri hasn’t felt in years. It’s...exciting.
Yuuri plants a hand on Christophe’s chest and pushes him back into a leather Eames chair that probably costs more than Yuuri makes in a month. Christophe goes willingly, raising one eyebrow in challenge as Yuuri approaches, doing his best impression of seduction.
“Thank you for lunch, daddy ,” Yuuri murmurs, fighting a blush as he slides to his knees between Christophe’s parted thighs, “How can I say thank you?”
Christophe laughs, even as he slides his belt from its tab and undoes his fly. “Well you're full of surprises. I like that. Let's see what you can do.”
Some minutes later and Yuuri wipes his mouth on the back of his hand, the taste of cum still clinging to his tongue and his cock aching in his jeans.
“Mm, a natural talent,” Christophe purrs, loose and sated from the orgasm Yuuri just brought him to, “Still, I think I have a few tricks to teach you.”
Christophe gets to teaching right away, flipping their positions effortlessly. Yuuri’s ass has hardly hit the chair before Christophe is tugging his jeans open and getting to work on the blowjob of Yuuri’s life . Yuuri can only laugh in between gasps as Christophe pauses at deliberately teasing moments to offer details on his technique.
“I’ll warn you, your average sugar daddy isn’t going to be so quick to reciprocate,” Christophe says with a wink after, kissing Yuuri’s hip before tucking his cock back into his jeans, “But we’re here to learn, yes?”
“Wow,” Yuuri wheezes, “Will you show me how to do that thing with your tongue?”
“
Mon cher
,” Christophe declares, “I think we’re going to have a lot of fun together.”
*****
Yuuri is given an assignment to complete before their next date.
“I want to write me a contract,” Christophe says, “Consider it practice if you want, but it's important.”
“A contract?” Yuuri repeats. Christophe nods.
“Your schedule, your needs, your boundaries,” Christophe explains. When Yuuri still looks uncertain he continues, “How would you feel if I started showing up at your place of work with no notice? Or if I started posting pictures of you to my Instagram without asking?”
“Oh.” Even Christophe’s hypothetical suggestion makes Yuuri slightly queasy.
“See, that feeling? Those are your boundaries,” Christophe says, “I want you to write me a list so I can respect them. As for your needs, be honest. How much financial support do you need from me to make our dates worth your time?”
“What if you don't like my answers?” Yuuri asks.
“Then we can discuss them, and compromise,” Christophe says, “Or I can find someone else’s companionship, and so can you. I promise you darling, you have options. And anyone who balks at you setting down some ground rules isn’t someone you want to spend time with.”
When Yuuri arrives at a chic bar with the requested contract, he shouldn’t be as surprised as he is to see Christophe pull an actual red pen out of his pocket.
Yuuri laughs. “I didn't realize this was going to be an editing session.”
“What can I say, darling. It's hard to leave my work at the office.”
Christophe’s advice is actually helpful, and as the evening goes on Yuuri feels less and less nervous about spending time with him. The first thing he does with his red pen is cross out everywhere Yuuri has said please . Never leave room to be pushed around , Christophe warns, rules are rules, and I should know right from the start that they won’t be broken . He encourages him to add the specific amount of notice he’d like before a date. What about a date that would cause him to miss work? What about a date that would require travel? When Christophe adds a whole section about negotiating kink and toy play, Yuuri blushes right to the roots of his hair, but Christophe only says trust me , with a somewhat rueful expression, and Yuuri accepts his advice.
“Hm, I like this last bit,” Christophe comments, once they’ve gone through the whole list, “Unusual, but it gives it all a bit of elegance, doesn’t it?”
“Talking about money makes me uncomfortable,” Yuuri explains, shrugging. That’s why he’s here, after all, but that doesn’t mean he wants the exact numbers rubbed in his face.
“Understandable. Speaking of,” Christophe says, pulling out the sheet of paper that summarizes his finances. He glances at the list thoughtfully before circling three numbers.
“If I can cover those, will it make life easier for you?” he asks, sliding the paper across the bar top. Yuuri swallows past a lump in his throat. Chris has circled his rent and his two highest utilities. He wouldn’t need a second job. Phichit could quit his job.
“Yeah,” is all Yuuri can muster in reply, “That will help a lot. Thank you.”
“I’m glad to do it, darling, if it means I get to enjoy your company.”
Yuuri is still a little overwhelmed, and Christophe knowingly gives him a few moments to process by organizing all of the papers they had managed to spread out over the bar.
“Now, with our business is taken care of,” Christophe says, once Yuuri’s things are put away, “I've got a reservation for two in the dining room. I would love it if you could join me for dinner.”
“And after?” Yuuri asks, raising one eyebrow. Christophe takes his hand, pressing a kiss to his knuckles.
“And after, you can accompany me to the room I’ve reserved upstairs,” he continues, “And we can continue to enjoy each other’s company in whatever fashion we choose.”
Yuuri goes to dinner. He lets Christophe order for him and feed him all kinds of delicious tapas that Yuuri wouldn't even begin to know where to find elsewhere. Then they go upstairs to a beautiful hotel room and drink champagne and eventually Christophe takes Yuuri to bed and fucks him in eight hundred count sheets.
Sex with Christophe is... fun . It's hot, of course, and Christophe knows what he’s doing with his above average dick, but he also knows how to make Yuuri laugh. It's nothing too serious, just two people letting off some steam. And if there’s an ambiguous financial transaction involved Christophe is too classy to bring it up mid-coitus.
“That’s the point of it all, mon cher ,” Christophe assures him when they're tangled in the silky hotel sheets afterward, sweaty and satisfied, “You get to indulge in the luxuries I can provide.”
Christophe cups Yuuri's waist with his hand, sliding down until he can squeeze the swell of Yuuri’s ass.
“And I get to indulge in you .”
*****
Things fall into something of a pattern after that. Yuuri goes about his daily life until he receives a text message:
C: Mon cher, did you get my present? I’d love a picture to make sure it fits.
And the next week:
C: Mon cher, have you ever been clubbing?
And two weeks after that:
C: Mon cher, I’ve been craving some dumplings and your delicious thighs all week. Dinner on Friday?
Before Yuuri knows it four months have gone by, with him seeing Christophe once or twice a month, depending on their schedules. Sometimes Christophe has extra time and they get brunch on the weekend in between Yuuri’s classes. Other times it’s a three week gap followed by a luxurious night out and an athletic round of sex at Christophe’s apartment. Usually Yuuri leaves before they fall asleep, but occasionally he stays the night and Christophe makes him espresso before heading out for the office. In a normal relationship it would be a big deal, but Christophe doesn’t make it one, and Yuuri doesn’t have to dwell on it.
They rarely kiss, Yuuri realizes one morning after Christophe pays for his cab home. He doesn’t miss it, he realizes just as quickly. Not with Christophe. It seems too intimate, for what they are to each other. Outside of their dates they’re rarely in contact with each other, besides the memes Christophe sends him now and then when he’s bored at meetings or the occasional risque photograph Yuuri replies with.
Still, it’s good. Until it’s over.
“I’m being transferred back to Geneva.”
Christophe looks properly apologetic as he reveals this turn of events one night after a dinner date. Yuuri takes a moment to process his words.
“An opportunity has opened up and they’ve decided to promote from within,” Christophe explains, “But it means going home to Europe.”
“Permanently,” Yuuri guesses, his heart falling.
“I’m afraid so, darling.”
And that’s that. They hadn’t made any commitments to each other, and Yuuri wouldn’t want any, and so things have to end between them.
“I’m going to pay your rent through the new year,” Christophe promises, and Yuuri immediately starts counting months. October, November, December…
“Take your time,” Christophe encourages him, “Put aside a few paychecks. Meet new people.”
“I like what we have.”
Christophe has been a kind of stable placeholder in Yuuri’s life for these last months, both personal and financial. No stress about his bills. No anxieties about pleasing his partner. Just gifts and nice dinners in exchange for good sex and looking pretty at a few parties.
Yuuri has gotten used to being taken care of.
“I know, cher ,” Christophe replies, sympathetic, “It’s been fun, hasn’t it?”
Yuuri nods, blinking away traitorous tears. He may not have romantic feelings for him, but he’s going to miss Christophe. He’s going to miss his friend. Christophe kisses the tips of Yuuri’s fingers.
“Then let’s have fun,” he continues, “For one more night.”
Yuuri sighs, but offers up a smile. He holds up the glass of prosecco Christophe had poured him before breaking the news.
“Let’s,” he agrees, “Here’s to your promotion.”
“To good times spent with beautiful people,” Christophe toasts in turn. And, true to his promise, Yuuri and Christophe spend one last night enjoying themselves. In the morning before Yuuri goes Christophe kisses him on both cheeks, continental style.
“Yuuri,” he says in farewell, “It’s been a pleasure.”
Life after that returns to normal. Yuuri isn’t especially heartbroken, but things are just a little less interesting without Chris around. Money, at least, doesn’t weigh as much on his mind as before. Despite his taste of luxury Yuuri has always lived frugally, so it isn’t hard to stretch his savings even after Christophe’s donations stop coming. Plus, Yuuri has some experience that he didn’t before to help with any future problems of that sort.
He does find he misses being spoiled.
Yuuri hooks up at one of Phichit’s college parties, and that helps him get over Christophe and back into the single living mindset. Bearing Christophe’s lessons in mind he tries a sugar daddy app and goes on a few dates, but no one makes it past a second meeting. He has a one off encounter that’s alright now and then, but for the most part the men are just too old, too boring, or too sleazy. It’s not like Yuuri is looking for love, but he’d rather just get a second job than be miserable.
Yuuri is almost ready to give up on the whole idea when he received a text message from his former mentor.
C: Darling, are you still single? I have a friend I think you should meet.
Y:...
Y: Definitely single. What does he look like?
C: [a new picture message has arrived]
*****
“Victor, you are a sad, sad excuse for a millionaire.”
Victor sighs fondly, rolling his scotch in it’s glass as he stares out the windows of his high rise office.
“ Bonjour Christophe, I’m so glad you called. I’ve just been musing over how desperately I miss the warmth of your support and companionship.”
“It’s almost eight in New York, and you’re still at the office,” Christophe accuses him, voice buzzing slightly over the international line, “Just because I’m in Switzerland doesn’t mean I’m not paying attention to these things.”
“And it’s almost two in Geneva and here you are on the phone with me,” Victor replies.
“That’s because I’m just getting in from a club,” Christophe says, “And I enjoy after work leisure activities that leave me a little tipsy and looking to check in on my workaholic friends.”
“I’m busy ,” Victor insists, conveniently ignoring the empty tray of files on his desk, “I do own the company, after all. I have extra responsibilities.”
“You sent your secretaries home an hour ago and you know it, darling, or you wouldn’t have picked up.”
Victor sighs again. “You’ve caught me. But what to do? Being lonely on Friday night doesn’t negate the fact that I’m swamped the rest of the week. You know how it is.”
“I do. Let me introduce you to someone,” Christophe offers, not for the first time, “Someone who won’t have too many expectations on your time. Someone I can vouch for as a delightful young man who knows how to have fun and just needs some assistance in keeping ahead of his unreasonable rent rates.”
“Someone you’ve sponsored?” Victor guesses.
“Let’s call him my protege ,” Christophe says, “And a friend. I really think you two would hit it off, or I wouldn’t bring him up.”
“You know I don’t usually do these things like you do, Chris,” Victor replies, kicking his feet up onto his desk.
“Which is a tragedy, darling, because you’d be so good at it. Just imagine, using some of that pocket change you have lying around to show a handsome someone the town. Take in a show. Go dancing. Make some dinner reservations. Dress a beautiful yoga instructor in the kind of quality fashion he deserves, and enjoy his enthusiastic gratitude.”
The image Christophe conjures does set something warm and satisfied curling in Victor’s belly. Someone to spoil, without any expectations that Victor can’t meet. It would be nothing for him to write the check. But...
“I don’t want anyone to feel beholden to me,” Victor says, “Not because of money.”
“It only has to be that way if you make it that way,” Christophe says, “And you are far too classy for that, let’s be honest, Victor. Just think of it as an opportunity for a...mutually beneficial relationship. Believe me, Yuuri isn’t under any false impressions.”
“Hm,” Victor muses, staring out at the luminous city skyline, “I see the appeal. I just worry I would make a fool of myself.”
“You won’t, because I’m going to help you get started. I’m sending him an introductory text as we speak.”
“Chris!”
“Trust me, mon ami , you’re going to thank me for this later,” Christophe promises, “Check your phone, I just sent you a picture.”
Victor’s phone buzzes a moment later, and he opens the picture message only to be faced with one of the loveliest men he’s ever laid eyes on. He takes in the candid photo of Yuuri laughing, with his glowing skin and his brown eyes, and he knocks back the rest of his scotch in one burning gulp. He feels an overwhelming urge to call his personal shopper.
What size does Yuuri wear?
“Give him my number,” Victor says, once he pulls himself together and puts his phone back up to his ear, “Make this happen Chris, I’m already deciding which labels I’m going to buy him.”
“Now there’s the Victor Nikiforov I remember,” Christophe replies, laughing, “Have no fear, my friend. I’m going to take care of everything.”
And that’s how Victor finds himself in his best casual daytime suit, waiting anxiously at a table for two in a michelin star bistro. His first gift is tucked safely away in his briefcase, and waiter has sparkling water waiting for them on the table.
Victor only waits a few minutes before the maître d' is leading Yuuri to the table. He stands, taking in his date’s slim figure and well formed thighs. His silk shirt is...unfortunate in quality, but it does nothing to deter the beauty of his features. Yuuri looks slightly nervous as Victor greets him with a kiss on both cheeks.
Victor decides then and there that he’s going to make it his business to ensure Yuuri never feels nervous in his presence again.
“You must be Yuuri,” he says, “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”