"...Selling information like this, how much do you really expect to make?"
Megan wasn't one to mince words.
A few minutes earlier, when she had opened the bar door and seen Mai Mingle, her first words of greeting had been—"You again!"
The bar wasn't open yet. She was in the middle of cleaning, preparing for the evening.
The bar was dim and quiet. The air, as if it had been tormented and trampled by countless people, carried a wrinkled exhaustion. It hardly seemed like the same place Mai Mingle had visited yesterday.
Mai Mingle had thought her proposal would startle Megan into immediately posting the news. She was startled, alright—but instead of her phone, she reached for a mop.
