"Sorry," Adam said, though he didn't sound it. He took continuous sips of his whiskey, leaning on the counter with his elbows splayed to the sides. "It's been a day." He shook his head, shutting his eyes as if doing so would block out the whole world. It worked for, perhaps, five seconds. Then everything crashed down on him once again, and he was left irritated, annoyed, and all together peeved.
"The girl I told you about sent me this," Adam said, pulling a much abused note out of his pocket. He placed it on the counter and slid it toward Jack, not entirely sure why he was telling someone he barely knew about this but knowing he had to tell someone. The whole situation was driving him mad, and he needed someone to work it out with. His assistant was out of the question; Sheryl would see everything through rose-colored glasses. Telling his family was equally preposterous. His mother would start planning a wedding, and his sisters would come to Seattle and beat him. "And her roommate pulled glass out of my foot. I feel like I fell into the Twilight Zone Sunday night and haven't escaped."
His hand curled into a tight fist around the note, as if he wasn't willing to share it after all, and he dragged the crumpled paper into the sanctuary of his arms. "How's your day been?" He sipped at his whiskey again, reaching the bottom, and holding his glass to the bartender for more. The bartender took it and reached for the note. Adam grabbed his wrist tightly and shoved the hand aside for the bartender's trouble. He smoothed the paper on the counter, folded it in half twice, and tucked it into his pocket.