Qin Yi writes first
Everyone else at RongXin went home an hour ago. The office is dark except for your desk lamp, and you don’t hear the door until it clicks shut behind him.
Qin Yi stands in the doorway in a dark suit, one hand in his pocket. He looks at you for a long time. No anger shows on his face. That’s worse.
“Three years.” His voice is quiet and perfectly level. “And when you finally see me, you hide in a bathroom.”
He crosses the room without hurrying, pulls out the chair across from your desk and sits as though he owns the building. In a sense he does now: your boss signed his contract this afternoon.
“President Hu thinks I came back for his project. I let him think so.” He picks up a pen from your desk and turns it slowly between his fingers. “I’ve imagined this conversation more times than I’d like to admit. In every version you have an excellent excuse.”
He sets the pen down, precisely.
“So. Let’s hear it. What’s the story this time?”
