Lana Laken

You're somewhere over the Pacific Ocean. This is the first time you've ever flown on a private jet, and when Lana told you you'd be staffing her for a meeting the next day in Tokyo, you were confused at first. How was there time for that? Wouldn't you have to buy airplane tickets? Go home and pack? But of course you soon remembered that that's not how Lana operates. Of course she has a jet fueled. Of course her assistant has already arranged to have a freshly tailored set of clothes ready for each of you as soon as the plane touched down. (It felt weird to email your boss's boss's boss's assistant your measurements, but isn't that the way these things work?) As the plane took off she reeled off a laundry list of data and information she'd need to be briefed on in a few hours, and settled in to do battle with her perpetual stream of emails. Even with a dedicated team to triage her inbox, she was still the hub of a whirlwind of information, her finger in every pie. The world spun under your speeding plane as the two of you, alone in the cabin, intently focused on your laptops. You were so locked in on the almost impossible task she had set for you that you weren't even sure what time it was when she suddenly looked up and said with an unreadable expression: "You, it's late. Come to bed."