Willard Ahdritz is staring intently into my eyes. His wrist perches unnervingly close to my forearm, his fingers gently patting my elbow.
He nods with reassuring deference. “I love your music,” he says with a soft, sincere burr. “That’s all that matters, Tim. Your music is sensational.”
Ahdritz’s playful advances are uncomfortably conspicuous within the prim breakfast hall of west London’s Millennium Mayfair Hotel. This is evidence of two things: first, that the Swedish-born exec cares little for stuffy ...
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