Jack brought the Manhattan to his lips. The fragrance, brown orange liquid burnt the back of his throat, as usual. Tapping the filter of his cigarette on the bar top, he tried to recall how many cups of coffee he consumed today due to that deadline at the firm. He couldn't decide whether alcohol or coffee can make his cigarette taste better or more tolerable. 

Flicking a pinch of ash into the dirty ashtray from the bar, called Vault, Jack looked at the cloud of smoke he just released slowly floating up the air above. 

"Have you ever think of how bad cigarettes are to your health?" a high pitched, condescending voice rang next to Jack's left ear. 

Shit. He almost forget he's got a date tonight. A girl from the investment bank he happened to meet outside again, after cancelling his account. They said to never mix business with pleasure, but Jack's business with her (bank) was done, so morally, he won. In addition, he wouldn't mind bending the boundaries once a while, for a girl as ravishing as Amanda. 

"Sometimes, but I don't think I'm at that age to quit yet." he smiled, turned his head to the side. 

Perhaps the most beautiful thing about Amanda was also the worst. Her eyes  were these piercing, electrifying blue orbs that suggestive of an adventure at the least, but the stare it shot out was rigid and somehow, signalled chronic exhaustion. Jack wasn't sure if her eyes just reflected how he felt all day up to this point or not, but he wasn't going to waste an opportunity right under his nose. 

"Well, I'm not very fond of making out with an ashtray though." she shrugged her shoulders. Blue orbs connecting with Jack's dull, grey ones, rather demanding. 

The corners of Jack's mouth pulled up to another smile. He imagined fisting his hand into her soft brown locks that touch the middle of her back.

"You are very pretty, Amanda." he put off the cigarette that was just a few puffs in. 

Pretty girls have the power to command, Jack always knew it. If he were to compare the companion with her to the high of nicotine, that would have been the bigotry of human kind. Because, in all frankness, if Jack hadn't puffed a few smoke already, Amanda existence may not be taken into his consideration at all. 

Amanda brought her whisky on the rock up to her red lips. This was when Jack's speculation became reality. Her cheek muscles contracted as she tried to hide a frown after the big sip, no, the giant chug of the cold liquid. If it was some cheap whisky, Jack would've been compromised with the thought of her chugging it to avoid tasting the bad flavors. 

But this was a Laphroaig, a single malt, a delicacy of a drink. It meant to be savoured, slowly. Nobody with respect would CHUG single malt scotch. Unless, under certain circumstances such as, he'd have about 5 minutes to live, then Jack will chug it. 

On the other side of the bar counter, he saw Harry, the bar head, put on an annoyed face at Amanda. Well, that was too much for him too. Jack felt a bit torn between paying for her then escape for an early sleep and releasing his annoyance with some mildly hate sex tonight. Both ways sounded troublesome and immoral.

His eyes strained to Amanda's shiny red lips, then her backless dress that felt rather uncomfortable. He doubted his agreeable face had a play in her behaviours for the night.  From the work with him, Amanda must've known partially of Jack's money situations. Which, explained her expensive drink choice that ultimately backfired and revealed her underlying intentions.

"You're not so bad tonight, Jack."

He knew about his attractiveness. All men does. In fact, all human does. You know when you're pretty, you just, fucking, know. Some women LOVE to try and pretend they didn't know about how hot/sexy they can be. And men like Jack, with an ultimate purpose, he played along most of the time. All's well. End's well.

Jack began to ask Amanda about her job at the bank. Her red lips moving repeatedly, sending him into a trance of thinking about what better can she do with those plump, luscious lips other than talking her heart out. People are vulnerable under the influence of alcohol, and life is generally cruel. 

What he was doing wasn't notable like the work of a therapist, never. It was more like a trade, similar to what he was doing at the stock market a few years in his career of investment consulting. But the commodity here was pleasure. 

Given that assumption, Jack never felt it was unethical to role playing a  great listener and entertainer for a girl, in trade of some luck for the night. Trading of sex has been the one of the oldest, most common trading acts in the history of mankind. He felt the condemn of prostitute, escorts and other sex workers very condescending, given how the whole scenery of hook-up culture of the modern world wasn't much different from it. Just consent without monetary benefits. 

After 3 rounds, they left the bar at almost 12 am. The street outside the bar wasn't empty as it was a Friday night. This should be the time to start the party even. 

Amanda electrifying blue eyes bored into Jack's. 

"You are very different from other men, Jack." her cheek flushed at the influence of the alcohol and perhaps the chilly wind blew them just now. 

Jack almost broke into a laughter. He managed to reduced it to a sly smirk. 

"Really?" all he did was listen to her talking endlessly about things he couldn't care more of at all. 

This was where most women mistake passion for ignorance. Amanda didn't ask Jack a question about himself the entire night. He didn't believe he could hypnotize people, but his ability to probe an answer out of people can. That wasn't to sound cocky, Amanda was a big talker as well and everything fit together perfectly. 

Her beautiful brain took control in pushing her imagination of Jack into this man, much different from other she'd met. Women can do a lot with this imagination, but sometimes it wasted in overthinking the most simple thing: Jack was only looking to bed her tonight.  

He began to calculate the number of sexual fantasies he can cross off the list he made up while listening to Amanda tonight.

.

.

The first thing Jack saw waking up in the morning was Amanda's face. Definitely the one thing he wanted to avoid the most. He felt Zeus was throwing a curve ball at him by giving him a morning person to hook up with. And his stomach clenched at the amount of small talks needed to get him out of this sticky situation. Jack wasn't good with the walk of shame in the other party's watch. But he was sure no one can ever truly be comfortable about that act of pathetic escape.

The master plan was to wake up before her, obviously. But last night Amanda talked too much, even during their intercourse, she still managed to murmur something trivial about herself. The tiresome process sent Jack into a slump with her voice lingering around, like he was trapped in a prison where sound was the medium of torture.

He couldn't recalled if he had told her about the one night deal before they get to it last night. He would slap himself personally if he have to do it in daylight. A cringey feeling slowly rose from the back of his neck, for this awkwardness may take more than one coffee to subside if he fail. 

"Morning, pretty girl." 

Jack decided to wing it and see what he can come up with. A distant name calling to signal he didn't (want to) remember her name should be a good start. He hoped Amanda would be taken aback by the realization that he had been in this situation countless times before. 

"Hi, wanna grab breakfast together?" 

He wished he was dead waking up. Where did her sharp imagination last night went? Did Jack somehow managed to fucked it out of her brain by accident? 

"Erm, about that.. I have a meeting I need to attend this morning actually." reaching to his phone on the nigh stand, he avoided looking at her face. 

"But it's Saturday!" Amanda replied doubtfully. He regretted saying the word 'actually', it was a dead giveaway for this lie.

Women never do well with rejection. And Jack has zero tolerance to endure a fit of somebody he didn't even know that well. He wanted to end calm and amicably, not on fire. 

"Yeah, it was about the-" flicking through his junk mails, Jack was trying to find a good enough reason to get up and leave before it all turn down south. "-house." as the word 'house' flashed through his vision. 

"What house?" 

He turned up to look at her piercing blue eyes. Maybe the worst thing about her piercing blue eyes was it intense stare wasn't as intimidating. 

"Housing problem. We have a tenant meeting today. Everybody works on the weekday, so Saturday is the best option we had." He blurted the words as he stood up from the bed and tried not to get his clothes to hurriedly. 

Just by the time Jack walked out of his door with a half-ass, unbelievable promise to call Amanda later, he noticed a person one level down from him. 

A woman in a white jacket and black hair. His brain immediately clicked in joy as he almost marathon-ed down the stairs to her. 

"Emily! Here you are, we are going to be late for the meeting, the landlord just texted me." 

He reached out to grabbed what seemed like the smallest, most delicate wrist he'd ever touched in his entire existence, and pulled her downstairs with him. A few strands of her black, straight hair brushed the top of his hand like feathers. 

Somehow, he felt this was going to be a memorial encounter.