She slid into the seat across from him, draping one leg over the other as she crossed her arms.
"I don't like waiting," she said coolly.
Zack chuckled. "I'd be worried if you did." He motioned to the bartender, who immediately stepped forward. "What are you drinking?"
"Not here to drink," she said, giving him a pointed look.
Zack smirked, swirling his whiskey. "Loosen up, will you? It's just a chat. One drink won't kill you."
Vanessa rolled her eyes but finally sighed. "Fine. Vodka. No ice."
The bartender nodded and left, and Zack leaned back, studying her. "You know, you're really bad at small talk."
"I don't waste time on pointless things," she shot back. "Let's get to the reason I'm here."
"Straight to business, huh?" Zack mused. He took a slow sip of his whiskey before setting the glass down. "Alright. The race."