“In this store we don’t serve people who seem to be coming out of the Metro,” Fernanda said, without lowering his voice.
The man who had just entered stood still in front of the glass door of a luxury watch shop in Presidente Masaryk, in Polanco. He was wearing a faded gray shirt, worn jeans and tennis so old that anyone would have thought he had made a mistake in place.
But he was not wrong.
That man was Mateo Herrera, owner and CEO of Grupo Herrera, one of the most exclusive Mexican watch brands in the country. Only no one in that branch knew. Tired of meetings, fake dinners and bought smiles, he had decided to enter one of his own stores dressed as someone invisible.
I wanted to know how they treated those who didn’t seem to have money.
Fernanda, the most presumed vendor of the place, looked up and down at him as if he had stained the marble floor.
“If you come to ask prices just, I’d better tell you right now: they’re expensive.
From the other counter, Lucia looked up. He was twenty-seven years old, his hair collected with simplicity and a calm that did not seem manufactured. He left the cloth with which he cleaned a collection watch and approached.
Good afternoon, sir. Welcome. Would you like me to show you any model?
Mateo pointed to a watch with rose gold case and black leather strap.
That one looks interesting.
Fernanda let out a chuckle.
“That costs more than your car, if you have.
Lucia ignored her. He put on white gloves, opened the showcase and began to explain the mechanism, the history of design, the craftsmanship done in Querétaro and the limited number of available pieces. For twenty minutes he treated him as if he were the most important customer of the day.
Matthew watched her in silence. There was no pity on his gaze. Nor feigned interest. Just respect.
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