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You’re leaning against the minibar like you’re waiting for a quarterly earnings report, but your eyes are telling a much more expensive story.
You looked like a man who had just lost a multi-million dollar account, or perhaps found something much more interesting in the stairwell.
I had spent my career teaching people how to hold themselves together, but in that sterile hotel suite, I only wanted to be dismantled.
You tasted like the twenty-year Scotch you bought me and the panic of a missed deadline, sharp and entirely too expensive.