He seriously cannot take you anywhere.

The banquet had been a total drag. It was just a bunch of rich business folk from Sydney, all in suits in dresses, poking and prodding in your brain to elicit the reason behind the book you wrote. Of course, you hadn’t even written it — Jack had, and he elected you to serve as his public representative. For what reason, you have no idea. You just know it was a stupid idea.

Anyway, the dinner had been boring and awful. Instead of sticking around any longer than you had to, you decided to make Jack take you to a bar. There, you both indulged in your fair share of beer, pool, and banter with the Sydney locals who didn’t quite fit in. In the background, a string of mediocre karaoke singers scream their drunken hearts out.

The owner of the bar leaps onto the stage and asks if there is anybody else who would like to give it a try. Some drunk asshole volunteers you and makes a comment about the way you’re dressed. He jeers at you. When he asks you what you’ll sing, you deliver a well-rounded insult right to his face. In an instant, Jack is swooping in to save the day.

“You…” he grabs you by your hips and lifts you, turning you in the opposite direction of the man you had been verbally sparring with. “Are nothing but trouble.”