“Ah, yes, because the one thing people do after work is hover around the building hoping to hear some Yellow Sparks gossip.”
“You know, your sarcasm is not appreciated right now.”
“And yet, here it is, for free.”
Stella shook her head. “I’m getting new friends.”
Effie only laughed as they walked to the train.
Twenty-Eight
It was embarrassing how often Max found himself checking his phone throughout the day.
He had work to do—a whole company to run—yet all he could think about was if Stella had texted him back.
It wasn’t until halfway through his dinner with some of his biggest investors and top engineers that he finally got a response.
Stella
I know we’re not supposed to talk about work but it’s Sprint Week in the office so I’ll probably be MIA until Friday, sorry! I hope your work dinner goes well.
Max’s first question was what the hell was Sprint Week? Seeing as Stella’s profession wasn’t track athlete, he assumedit wasn’t running related. This was the kind of thing that would keep circling through his head until he got an answer, so he had to ask.
Max
That sounds intense. What exactly is Sprint Week?
They were on their third course at dinner before Stella responded.
Stella
Basically we all have to make 20 posts this week. Once we do all 20 we can leave, i.e. if I had finished all my posts today I’d be off for the rest of the week. But alas I am a slowpoke so I’m only one tenth of the way there.
Max had to turn his chuckle into a cough when everyone turned to him while Rashid was explaining the work he was doing with Yellow Sparks and Sparky. Rashid caught his eye, and Max waved him on to continue. From then on, Max knew it’d be safer to keep his phone and Stella at bay.
By the time the dinner had wrapped up and Max and Rashid had secured the investors’ continued support in AIX, it was almost nine.
“Shall we do celebratory drinks?” Rashid asked.
Max was exhausted and knew the responsible thing would be to take his ass to bed, but what was the harm in one beer?
“Sure, got a place in mind?”
Rashid shrugged and pointed to a dive bar across the street from the very fancy restaurant they had just left.
“That looks good enough for me.”
Thanks to it being a Monday night and still cold as hell outside, it was very easy for Max and Rashid to grab two seats at the bar.
Their bartender, a surly, heavily tatted, and bulky dude with a comb-over, took their order, handing them both bottles of beer that were sweating with condensation.
“Thanks,” Max said. The man just grunted in return before moving down the bar to the only other patron in the place.
“Wow, I really love the vibes of this place,” Rashid said, grinning.
What was scary was that Max knew Rashid wasn’t being sarcastic.
“Cheers, mate,” Rashid said, clinking his beer against Max’s before taking a sip.
