"Then would you like to take a seat, Mr Régnier." Harry offers, gesturing to one of the chairs set in front of the parchment-strewn desk. "If you've been told to come here, you must have a slight idea of what it is we do... or you are running out of options. Or perhaps both?" He asks, sitting down.
"What sort of work are you looking for?" He boy was pretty, certainly, but he didn't hold himself right, not to be a whore, not yet. There was still pride there, and the desperation wasn't yet visible. Then again, the boy was no thug, not that Harry could see, and he could normally spot an act. "What skills do you have?"