The playboy couldn't take his ten o'clock break at the coffee shop, so he goes in for a quick lunch. "How did they get both the files on my work computer and the backups on my home laptop." he wonders. "How did they reroute our internet landing page?". Every time he'd entered google.com, he'd been redirected to the russian blog. Yahoo and Bing worked fine. He gets two of their sandwiches and one of their moccachilatte, the one that has the white chocolate chips in it. "Who cares, it's all done now." Without a working backup, they'd decided to pay up. He'd sent all his bitcoins and his partner had transfered him his share of the money. He picks up his order and almost walks into the nerd.

"Wow!"

She starts apologizing immediately. He cuts her off.

"Please don't. I'm in no mood."

She stops mid-sentence like he's turned her off. She seems tired. Her eyes are creased. Like she hasn't slept all night. The playboy doesn't notice that.

Instead, he walks to a free table and puts his tray down. The nerd follows him hesitantly.

"Listen," he tells her, "Something really bad happened at work. I really don't want to chat. In particular with someone that fucking walked out on me in a date." He had raised his voice for the last bit.

She looked down in confusion. "I'm so sorry!" she says, while he twitches at her. "You fell asleep. I didn't know what to do."

"I fell asleep! Now that's the worst joke I've heard this week. Now if you will, I've had problems at work and I'm not in the mood."

"What is it? Can I help?"

"It's fucking blackmail, that's what it is! And no, you cannot help. I already solved the problem. Now, you, your table, me, my table. And farewell."

I don't have time to waste with a frigid bitch, he mutters, loud enough for her to hear. Her shoulders jerk up and down as she walks away. She gathers her stuff and goes towards the toilets, actively ignored by the playboy. He's too busy ruminating his situation. He doesn't notice that she never comes out of it.