The Middleman | ongoing

37 | all i need is lemming suicide

37 | all i need is lemming suicide

Song: Mr. President by Pia Mia

Depicted Above: Graham Rogers as Harold Pasey

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The thing about business was every night you had to press a reset button.

The button guaranteed that whatever the tragedies of yesterday were, they wouldn't become your shortcomings of today. What's in the past is in the past, and the future was what truly mattered.

Yes, professionals studied the past to make good in the long run, but that was about it.

Projected growth, sales, net profit, customer base... that was key.

So yesterday night when I took a seat at my table in the gala, after witnessing Pasey and Hunters do some real serious business negotiations in the bathroom, I hit that reset button.

I would hold onto the evidence stored in my phone, but I would not let it shake me.

I was rock solid, and I was a big girl. I could handle it. By myself.

With a fresh outlook for the day, I had joined Quinn early in the morning to stroll through the convention booths. While Pasey and Hunters haunted my memories, I pushed them to the back of my mind. I could deal with it later.

Right now, I had a job to do. With Quinn.

"You could've told me that this part of the convention was actually kind of fun, y'know," I scold Quinn as we walk side by side through the pathway of the technology sector of the convention. We were slowly making our way through the maze of various stands and booths, exiting the busy convention at full capacity.

Quinn's mouth tugs into an amused smirk, willing me to finish my thought.

"Like you didn't even mention they'd be having free food samples everywhere! Blasphemy, Quinn, blasphemy." I shake my head in disapproval. "I wouldn't have pigged out so much on room service had I known. I had to pass up customized 3D printed pasta, Quinn!" I scoff.

He holds his hands up, surrendering. "In my defense, last year's culinary stalls were kind of lame. I had no idea they were gonna step up their game that much. And you weren't complaining about that room service so..." Quinn quirks one eyebrow.

"All that food, and I can't eat it... That makes me so sad," I pout, still reminiscing over the rows and rows of culinary masterpieces I could only feast on with my eyes and imagination. It's really not as big of a deal as I'm making it out to be, and Quinn and I both know that.

Quinn chuckles, shaking his head. He then checks his Rolex.

"Are we going to the hotel ballroom yet?" I ask. According to the rough itinerary he had given me for this trip, there was socializing and networking time allotted all the way into the late evening. Since the morning portion of the day was dedicated to the stall convention, where businesses, big and small, promoted their products and services and built customer rapport, the socializing time was incorporated into the schedule for professionals to wind down from the exhaustive start to the day while still being productive.

Business may slow down, but it never came to a full stop.

The grind never ends.

Especially not at S&A's Big Little Business Expo.

Everyone out here was making power plays, which meant Quinn and I also had our day planned to the details.

Today was the day we would finally be speaking with Pasey.