Run: 2026-02-16-01KHK9DY3SXZK0W7T3XMN9KA7Z

Run Details

Model:: GPT-5.1
Test:: Write N of X
Scenario:: 50 sentence summary
Duration:: 33.0s
Cost:: $0.020746
Provider:: OpenAI

Model input

User/Human

Summarize the following text into exactly 50 sentences, only return the summary itself:

Jack Harper's fingers drummed against the polished bar top, the rhythm a stark contrast to the lazy steel drum music floating through the air. The salty breeze ruffled his meticulously styled hair, carrying the scent of coconut sunscreen and grilled seafood. Sunset Cove was a far cry from Wall Street, and his body knew it. His shoulders, usually tight with the weight of million-dollar deals, didn't know what to do with this forced relaxation.

He glanced at his watch. 6:30 PM. In New York, he'd be heading into a late meeting, not... whatever this was.

"Another scotch. Neat."

A melodic laugh floated over the bar noise. "Rough day at the beach?"

Jack's head snapped up, his gaze colliding with a pair of eyes that put the tropical waters to shame. The bartender's lips curved in amusement, a stark contrast to the judgmental stares he was accustomed to in New York.

"I don't see how anyone gets any work done around here."

"That's the point." She slid the scotch towards him, her movements fluid and unhurried. "We don't."

Jack's fingers closed around the glass, but he didn't lift it. "Some of us have empires to build."

"And some of us are happy with sandcastles." She leaned forward, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. The scent of vanilla and sea salt enveloped him. "They're more fun to knock down anyway."

A reluctant smile tugged at Jack's lips. His gaze dropped to her name tag. "Sandy, right?"

"Good eye, Mr..."

"Harper. Jack Harper."

"Well, Mr. Harper, what brings a suit like you to our little slice of paradise? You stick out like a penguin at a flamingo party."

Jack loosened his tie, suddenly aware of how out of place he must look. "Business. Though I'm starting to question my CEO's choice of location for our corporate retreat."

Sandy grabbed a pineapple from a nearby fruit bowl, spinning it in her hands like a basketball. "Let me guess. You're more of a concrete jungle type? All go, no slow?"

"The numbers don't lie. Time is money, and this place..." He waved his hand at the laid-back patrons, the swaying palm trees, the endless stretch of golden sand visible through the open-air bar. A pair of surfers trudged past, boards under their arms, laughing about something he couldn't hear. "It's a productivity black hole."

Sandy's eyebrow arched, a challenge sparking in her eyes. "Maybe you're looking at the wrong numbers."

"Excuse me?"

She set the pineapple down and gestured towards the horizon. The setting sun painted the sky in brilliant oranges and pinks, its light dancing off the waves. "How much would you pay for that view in New York?"

Jack's gaze followed her hand, lingering on the breathtaking canvas nature had laid out. *Damn*. "Point taken."

"So, Jack Harper, master of the universe, what's your grand plan for Sunset Cove domination? Going to turn our little tiki bars into high-rises?"

He chuckled, surprised by how easily she drew him in. There was something about her – a spark, a quick wit that both challenged and intrigued him. "Would you believe me if I said I was here to destroy your quaint little town and build a mega-resort?"

Sandy's eyes widened in mock horror. She pressed a hand to her chest, her expression comically aghast. "You monster. And here I thought you were just another handsome face in an overpriced suit."

"Handsome, huh?"

"Don't let it go to your head. We get all types here." She grabbed a cocktail shaker, her hands moving with practiced ease as she mixed a drink for another customer. "Last week we had a guy who thought he was a mermaid. Now *that* was a look."

Jack leaned in, mirroring her earlier movement. The bar's bamboo edge dug into his stomach, but he barely noticed. "And what type am I?"

Sandy paused, studying him with an intensity that made his pulse quicken. "The kind that needs to loosen his tie and remember how to breathe." She reached out, her fingers brushing his collar. Jack froze, caught off guard by the casual intimacy. "You've got a bit of New York still clinging to you. Might want to dust that off if you plan on surviving here."

Their eyes locked, a challenge sparked between them. Jack felt a flutter in his chest that had nothing to do with the scotch. For a moment, the bar faded away. The music, the laughter, the crash of waves on the shore – it all became white noise.

A loud crash from the other end of the bar shattered the moment. Sandy straightened, professional mask sliding back into place. "Duty calls. Looks like someone's had a few too many Mai Tais."

"Wait-" Jack started, not ready for the conversation to end.

Sandy glanced back, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Try not to work too hard, Mr. Harper. You might accidentally enjoy yourself."

She sauntered away, navigating the crowded bar with ease. Jack watched her go, drawn to the confidence in her stride, the way other patrons lit up as she passed.

*What the hell just happened?*

He turned back to the bar, catching his reflection in the mirrored backsplash. His tie hung loose, his usually perfectly coiffed hair tousled by the sea breeze. He hardly recognized himself.

His phone buzzed, shattering the moment. A message from Marcus flashed on the screen: "Update on the Sinclair account? Don't forget why you're there, Harper."

Reality came crashing back. Jack downed the rest of his scotch, the expensive liquor wasted on his suddenly dry throat. He stood, straightening his tie and smoothing back his hair.

*Focus, Harper. You're not here to flirt with bartenders.*

But as he walked out, the warm wood of the deck creaking under his polished shoes, he couldn't help glancing back. Sandy stood behind the bar, laughing at something a customer said. The fading sunlight caught her hair, turning it to spun gold.

*This could be a problem.*

The ocean breeze hit him as he stepped onto the beach, carrying away the last notes of the bar's music. Jack paused, his shoes sinking slightly into the sand. To his left, the neatly manicured path led back to the resort – back to his laptop, his reports, his familiar world of numbers and deals.

To his right, the beach stretched out, wild and inviting. A few people lingered, silhouetted against the darkening sky. A couple walked hand in hand at the water's edge. A child's delighted shriek carried on the wind as they chased the retreating waves.

Jack's phone buzzed again. Another message from Marcus.

He looked back at the Tiki Hut. Through the windows, he could just make out Sandy's profile as she mixed another drink.

*Get it together, Harper. Eyes on the prize.*

With a final glance at the sunset, Jack turned left, his shoes leaving perfectly formed imprints in the sand as he headed back to his room. But even as he walked away, he could still hear Sandy's laugh, could still feel the ghost of her fingers against his collar.

Sunset Cove, it seemed, had more to offer than he'd bargained for.

Model response

Jack Harper sits at a beach bar in Sunset Cove, restless despite the laid‑back atmosphere.  
The steel drum music and ocean breeze contrast sharply with his usual Wall Street environment.  
His body is unused to relaxation, and his shoulders still carry phantom tension from high‑stakes deals.  
At 6:30 PM he notes that in New York he would normally be in a meeting.  
Instead, he orders another scotch, neat, trying to anchor himself in a familiar habit.  
The bartender, a woman with striking eyes, teases him about having a rough day at the beach.  
Jack is startled by her easy humor, so different from the judgment he feels in New York.  
He complains that no one could possibly get work done in this place.  
She replies that not working is the entire point of Sunset Cove.  
Jack insists that some people, like him, have empires to build.  
The bartender counters that some people are perfectly content with sandcastles.  
She leans in with a conspiratorial whisper, enveloping him in the scent of vanilla and sea salt.  
She jokes that sandcastles are more fun to knock down anyway.  
Jack, despite himself, starts to smile at her playful attitude.  
He checks her name tag and confirms that her name is Sandy.  
She asks for his name, and he introduces himself as Jack Harper.  
Sandy remarks that a man in a suit like him sticks out in their relaxed town.  
Jack admits he is there for business, at a corporate retreat chosen by his CEO.  
He quietly questions whether this tropical location makes sense for serious work.  
Sandy toys with a pineapple as she guesses he is an all‑go, no‑slow city type.  
Jack claims that numbers prove time is money and that the place is a productivity black hole.  
He gestures toward the carefree patrons, palm trees, and surfers to make his point.  
Sandy challenges him by suggesting he is looking at the wrong numbers.  
She points to the spectacular sunset and asks how much he would pay for that view in New York.  
Jack is forced to concede that she has a point when he sees the beautiful sky and waves.  
Sandy jokingly asks if his grand plan is to replace their tiki bars with high‑rises.  
Jack, half‑teasing, says he might be there to destroy the town and build a mega‑resort.  
She feigns horror, calling him a monster while slyly noting he is also handsome.  
He latches onto the compliment, but she warns him not to let it go to his head.  
Sandy mentions their bar attracts all kinds, including a recent man who believed he was a mermaid.  
Curious, Jack leans closer and asks what type she thinks he is.  
Sandy studies him and says he is the type who needs to loosen his tie and remember to breathe.  
She briefly touches his collar, and the casual intimacy startles him.  
She jokes that he still has New York clinging to him and should shake it off to survive there.  
Their eye contact crackles with mutual challenge and unexpected attraction.  
For a moment, the noise of the bar and the ocean fades into the background for Jack.  
A crash at the other end of the bar breaks the spell and pulls Sandy away.  
She goes to deal with a customer who has had too many Mai Tais.  
Before leaving, she tells Jack not to work too hard or he might accidentally enjoy himself.  
Jack watches her move confidently through the bar, noting how everyone brightens around her.  
He is disoriented by how much she has already affected him.  
Seeing his reflection, he notices his loosened tie and wind‑tousled hair and barely recognizes himself.  
A text from his colleague Marcus reminds him of the Sinclair account and his business mission.  
Reality and professional obligation slam back into focus for Jack.  
He drains his scotch, retightens his tie, and tries to reassemble his corporate persona.  
Leaving the bar, he still cannot resist glancing back at Sandy laughing in the golden light.  
Outside, he stands between a manicured path back to the resort and a tempting, open beach.  
Another message from Marcus pressures him to remember why he is there.  
Jack ultimately turns toward the resort and his work, though Sandy lingers in his thoughts.  
As he walks away, he senses that Sunset Cove and its captivating bartender may complicate his plans.

Evaluation details

Result

Evaluator

Details

Meta Data

100.0000%

Matches sentence count

n/a

neededClean	false
sentences	50