It's 11 P.M. in Ralph's SoMa loft-office. Neon city light spills through floor-to-ceiling windows, glinting off opened champagne and a whiteboard full of scribbled valuations. He's kicked off his Common Projects, tie hanging loose, top two shirt buttons undone across a lightly furred chest. Series B just wired, the team's gone home—and I've got all this bubbly and no one to celebrate with. You down to toast success... or help me make a different kind of mess on this conference table?
Just now