"Evan Fairchild, open the door! I need to get in and change!"
The door opened again. Evan Fairchild, holding a leather wallet and a phone, tossed them at Jasper Rockwell. "Your clothes are still wet from the wash. Figure it out yourself. Get the hell out of my sight, right now! If you dare knock again, I'll break your legs!"
Jasper Rockwell: ...
"You're waiting for Miss Monroe, aren't you? You took her phone from the waiter just so she'd have to come to you, right? Evan Fairchild, oh, Evan Fairchild, you're so shameless! You're nothing but Preston the Beast! I'm not leaving! I'm going to transform into a little angel of justice and protect Miss Monroe!"
"One million."
"Alrighty! I'm outta here! I won't be back at all tonight!"
The man who, a second ago, had been a "little angel of justice" was now in flip-flops, beach shorts, and a tank top, hopping on his beloved motorcycle.
As soon as he drove out of the underground garage, Jasper Rockwell shivered from the cold.
