“I won’t do it again,” Price says, fishing his keys out of his pocket. “Swear to god. And I’ll make a donation to—I dunno—something for disabled kids. As an apology. And buy you dessert after lunch.” “Jesus, Price,” Eli says. “You weren’t going to include dessert with lunch before? You have a 1.5 million-dollar annual salary. What kind of cheap date bullshit is that?”
