“The guiltier the person, the more willing they are to make themselves feel better. Usually they’ll do so by donating. And Weslyn students? Well, they have a lot to feel guilty about. It’s not my fault if I use that to my advantage.” Maybe if she was a better person, she’d feel bad about it. But after two and half years of being ignored and ostracized because she cared more about human rights than the next fashion show in Paris, she didn’t care much about other’s emotions. “But since you seem to think you could do a better job in getting these people to care,” Sarcasm dripped from her voice. “What do you suggest?”
“Definitely not whatever you just said,” Jay replied, giving her a bewildered look. He was a politician’s son, and though he didn’t advertise it, nor did he even acknowledge it, but he picked up a lot from his father. Number one: how to get to people. He had a very different approach than his father, but the general idea was the same. “Uh, okay,” Jay said, mostly to himself, then smiled at the next guy he saw. “Dude! Man, were you at my party a few weeks ago?” Jay didn’t give him a chance to answer, mostly because he was pretty sure he wasn’t. “Here, look, there’s shit goin’ on and it needs your help. Here,” he handed him the flyer that had been unceremoniously shoved at him not a minute ago, then smiled widely. “See you ‘round, alright?” Then, after the guy smiled back and walked off only slightly confused, he turned back to Sloane, eyebrows raised. “Make ‘em feel special. Not shitty.”
