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The Crown Prince of France - Chapter 40
🕑 Added 2025-02-23 20:10:01 +0000 UTCChapter 40: Hunger Marketing and Low Margins
The long-legged girl waited for Joseph's carriage to disappear into the distance before slipping into the alley leading to the back door of the Paris Angel Company. After ensuring there was no one around, she crouched by the keyhole and peered inside. There, an elderly doorman sat in the entryway, listlessly staring at the main door.
After observing the structure of the house, she bit her red lips lightly, moved to the side of the entryway window, and pulled a thin wire from her hair bun. She inserted the wire through the gap in the window and fiddled with it briefly, unlocking the latch with a faint click.
She pushed the window open slightly, her movements careful and deliberate, and leapt inside with feline grace. Remarkably, the doorman, sitting less than three meters away, remained oblivious.
The girl tossed a pebble at the back door, producing a faint "click." The doorman frowned and stood up to investigate.
Seizing the opportunity, she dashed forward, propping her right hand against the back of his chair to vault over it like an agile cat, disappearing down the hallway in an instant.
The doorman felt a faint breeze and turned his head, but all he saw was the empty entryway.
Passing through a storeroom, the long-legged girl effortlessly avoided a few shop attendants and made her way into the sales area on the first floor of the Paris Angel store.
The store was bustling with customers, though not overcrowded thanks to the staff controlling the flow of people inside.
She glanced at the crowd pressed together like sardines outside the glass walls and allowed herself a victorious smile before turning her attention to the store that had long piqued her curiosity.
Near the main entrance hung two life-sized oil paintings of beautiful women. The women in the paintings were almost identical, except that the one on the left had dull, blemished skin with a few pimples on her forehead, accompanied by the words "Before Use." The woman on the right, however, had smooth, fair skin that made her appear radiant, with the caption "After Use."
The long-legged girl strolled leisurely forward, discovering that the store had no counters. Instead, there were over a dozen waist-high glass pedestals arranged in staggered rows.
On the glass pedestals were various exquisitely packaged cosmetics, with small wooden plaques displaying their names and prices. Under the crystal chandelier's light, the products sparkled enticingly.
Soft piano music played in the background, adding a dreamy and sophisticated atmosphere to the store.
Even without making a purchase, simply wandering through this place felt like a luxurious experience.
“Face masks?” She stopped in front of some cloth-like items. “What’s this?”
A tall, handsome attendant immediately approached and bowed politely. “Miss, these face masks are our store's latest skincare innovation. They can effectively…”
As the attendant’s magnetic voice filled the air, her gaze wandered to his strong, upright neck, and her cheeks grew warm.
Before long, her small shopping bag was brimming with items: Angel Water, face masks, hand creams, and more.
The store's unusual policy intrigued her—customers picked their products first and paid at the end. Looking at her full bag, she sighed inwardly. She had only planned to buy a bottle of Angel Water, but the allure of the products had been too much to resist.
A wealthy woman walked past her, carrying three bags stuffed with cosmetics, muttering, “To think you can buy all this without any markup! My God!”
The long-legged girl felt relieved. See? No one could resist these damned wonderful products!
She lingered in the store for nearly an hour before heading to pay, feeling content. The handsome attendant then informed her that she could apply for a VIP card to enjoy services like free delivery and personalized greeting cards. Silver and gold cards even offered discounts of 5% and 10%, respectively.
Cautiously, she asked, “What kind of people can get a gold card?”
“Oh, no, madam,” the attendant replied with a smile, “anyone can apply. You just need to prepay 1,000 livres. The amount is still yours and will be deducted directly for future purchases.”
The long-legged girl was taken aback by the 1,000-livre requirement and asked, “What about the silver card?”
“Prepay 500 livres, my esteemed lady.”
When the girl finally squeezed out of the crowd and turned back to look at the Paris Angel sign, she stomped her foot angrily. Curse it! She couldn’t resist in the end!
That VIP card had cost her 200 livres, which meant no opera or new shoes for the next two months.
She muttered bitterly, “I should have accepted Monsieur Weston’s payment last time…”
She stopped mid-sentence, her expression turning serious as she gazed at her reflection in the glass. “Sorel! What are you thinking? You’re not doing this for money. It’s for freedom and justice! Don’t let money devour your ideals!”
…
The next day, the general manager and store manager of Paris Angel Company arrived at Versailles early in the morning to report the previous day's sales figures to Joseph in his reception room.
The bespectacled old man, formerly the manager of Paris’s largest jewelry store, had been lured away with a generous salary. Holding a ledger, he recited clearly:
“Sales of Angel Water, hand creams, and other products totaled 2,206 bottles. We sold 2,110 face masks.
“Seventy-one regular VIP cards, thirty-five silver cards, and forty gold cards were issued.”
He paused, closed the ledger, and continued, “The total revenue is 126,562 livres.”
Joseph, though mentally prepared, was still shocked by the figure. This wasn’t just a store—it was daylight robbery! He blurted, “126,000? Are you sure?”
“Yes, 126,000…” The bespectacled old man glanced nervously at the man beside him.
The middle-aged man with a flat nose and a slight limp quickly lowered his head and said solemnly, “Your Highness, this was my mistake. I underestimated demand and failed to stock enough. By 5:30 yesterday afternoon, the store had sold out, which may have slightly reduced the income…”
Joseph cleared his throat, inwardly praising the man. No wonder Eymond spoke so highly of the former Plymouth Shipyard general manager—he always felt he hadn’t earned enough for his employer.
He nodded and said, “Mr. Brent, this is actually a good thing. Hunger marketing can increase customer enthusiasm. In the future, stock to 95% of projected sales.”
Hunger marketing? Although Brent didn’t understand the term, he immediately nodded and jotted down the Crown Prince’s request.
Joseph knew that achieving a 126,000-livre day was unlikely to happen again. Much of the income came from VIP prepayments, which customers would use for future purchases.
Additionally, after this wave of consumer spending, it would take time for customers to finish the products they had bought.
Still, achieving daily sales of seven to eight thousand livres wouldn’t be difficult. More importantly, the Paris Angel brand had made its mark.
This needed to be leveraged!
He thought for a moment and instructed Brent, “Contact the best workshops in Paris to custom-make a batch of jewelry, hats, and shoes. Use the finest materials, the best craftsmanship, and the most fashionable designs, regardless of cost.
“Also, make sure to sign contracts with these workshops stipulating that they cannot produce identical designs for anyone else without the company’s permission.”
“Yes, Your Highness,” Brent nodded, jotting it down. Then he cautiously asked, “May I ask what your plan is?”
“Mark these products with the Paris Angel logo and sell them exclusively in the store. Set the prices at three to five times the cost. As for subsidiary products, focus on low margins and high sales volume.”
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