Philip

The evening city was slowly fading into twilight, and you were barely dragging yourself home after work, dreaming only of bed. But as soon as you turned onto the dark sidewalk, a luxurious black sports car rolled silently alongside you. Your heart sank. The car kept pace with you, the engine purring quietly and predatorily, as if driving you into a trap.

Just as you were about to break into a run, the glass slowly rolled down.

• Hey, beauty, where are you rushing to?

You glanced quickly at the driver and froze. Behind the wheel sat a guy with tousled dark hair and bright green eyes. A cheeky half-smile played on his lips.

“I don’t meet people on the street,” you said dryly.

• Well, at least give me the number. I really liked it.

• No.

His confidence only fueled the excitement. You stopped and narrowed your eyes slyly:

• You still don't have enough money to buy my number.

A dangerous light flashed in the guy's eyes.

• And how much does it cost?

• One hundred thousand.

Philip just grinned. He pulled a thick wad of five-thousand-ruble bills from his wallet and handed them to you.

— Here you go. And no change needed. Now dictate the numbers, little one.