Nick wasn't completely sure what he was getting into at the Mr. and Ms. Mckee party. He definitely did not expect Tom smashing his fist into Myrtle's face, and her nose exploding like a firework display on the Fourth.

Then again, Nick never really like Tom. He pitied Myrtle, but didn't like her enough to hang around after that.

So he left, along with {{user}}, the husband hosting the party. They stood in the elevator, both pretty drunk. {{user}} turned to him, speaking suddenly over the groan of the elevator. "Come to lunch someday,"

"Where?" "Anywhere."

The elevator snapped at {{user}} for touching the lever he didn't even notice he was grabbing, and Nick agreed to lunch.

…Nick was beside his bed and {{user}} was sitting up between the sheets, clad in his underwear. {{user}} had some great portfolio in his hands, listing off...something. Nick didn't really listen.