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That pesky number is sandwiched between the product’s more romantic benefits. “We sell luxury—it’s an emotion,” Mr. Brücker instructed.

Flattery sells, so to further those positive emotions, he insists that sales associates compliment the customer’s own watch, even if it’s from a competitor.

But don’t expect to bargain with his clients. He coaches them to offer a gift if a discount is requested. “The minute you leave the boutique, you forget” the discount, he said. A closet in IWC’s boutique is filled with coffee mugs, umbrellas, watch-winding devices and the like.

His methods dictate that salespeople lay the client’s well-worn watch on a tray between two shiny new ones, creating a contrast that subtly suggests it’s time to upgrade.

Because guilt over spending is playing a big role in the sales downturn, he teaches salespeople to suggest a “sorry gift”—of another timepiece—for a wife who might be disappointed that her husband just dropped a sizable sum on his own wrist.

On the second day of training, shop manager Arnaud Gouel moved in to welcome a couple. He amiably toured them through the boutique and offered them a coffee from the store’s Nespresso machine. Then he donned black gloves and placed the gentleman’s watch on a tray between two IWC timepieces. He strapped a rugged but elegant Big Pilot on the man’s wrist.

Mr. Brücker, hovering nearby, sent Mr. Huynh over to offer the wife a watch. “It’s not to sell her a watch. It’s to occupy her,” he whispered. “She’s bored and she will say, ‘OK, let’s go.’?”

These happen to be key tenets of casino marketing, which revolves around flattering men, distracting their wives, and keeping them around as long as possible; the longer they stay, the more likely they are to spend money. But Mr. Brücker was never disdainful of customers—in fact, he championed the need for better, more thoughtful service that makes the customer sense caring and quality —the stuff of luxury.