CASSIAN
I turned. My full attention snapped onto them, and both men froze as if they'd walked into a predator's cage.
"Where did they go?" I asked.
The first coworker looked like he was having a minor medical event. He stuttered out the name of the bar, and I was already walking before he could finish the sentence.
And now, back in the present, a senior staff member was currently mid-anecdote, trying to impress me with a story about a deal he'd closed three years ago.
It was long-winded and transparently self-congratulatory. I checked the time. Five more minutes had already passed. I wasn't listening. I was thinking about the car. About Noah waiting in the car.
"—and that's when I told him, I said, the numbers don't lie—"
I stood up mid-sentence. The man stopped abruptly, his mouth still open.
"Apologies," I said, putting on my practiced "regret" face. It was believable. "Early morning tomorrow."
"Of course, sir!"
"Completely understand!"
