Run: 2026-02-16-01KHM5M8E6BWVTS8R7NBWXB44R

Run Details

Model:: DeepSeek V3.1
Test:: Write N of X
Scenario:: 50 sentence summary
Duration:: 11.4s
Cost:: $0.002360
Provider:: Fireworks

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 is a man out of place, drumming his fingers against a bar in sharp contrast to the lazy island music. A salty breeze ruffles his styled hair, carrying scents of sunscreen and grilled seafood. This setting, Sunset Cove, is a stark contrast to his usual Wall Street environment. His shoulders feel the unfamiliar weight of forced relaxation instead of million-dollar deals. He checks his watch, noting the time difference from his late meetings in New York. He orders another neat scotch, receiving a melodic laugh from the bartender in response. She notes his apparent rough day at the beach with amusement. Jack declares that no work could possibly be done in such a place. The bartender explains that the lack of work is the entire point of the locale. He insists that some people have empires to build and must be productive. She counters by saying some people are perfectly happy building simple sandcastles instead. Leaning in, she whispers that sandcastles are more fun to knock down anyway. A reluctant smile is drawn from Jack, who then notices her name tag. He asks if her name is Sandy, confirming it while introducing himself as Jack Harper.

Sandy notes his formal suit makes him stand out in the tropical paradise. Jack explains his presence is for a corporate retreat, questioning his CEO's choice of location. She correctly guesses he is a "concrete jungle" type of person, all business and no relaxation. Jack declares that time is money and the island is a productivity black hole. Sandy challenges his perspective, suggesting he is looking at the wrong numbers to measure value. She gestures to the stunning sunset, asking how much that view would cost in his city. Jack concedes her point is a valid one. Sandy then jokingly asks if his grand plan is to destroy their town for a mega-resort. She playfully calls him a monster, adding she had mistaken him for just another handsome face. Jack latches onto her comment about him being handsome. Sandy dismisses it, saying they get all types of tourists at the bar.

Jack asks her what specific type of person she thinks he is. Sandy studies him and states he is the type who needs to loosen his tie and remember how to breathe. She reaches out and brushes his collar, noting he still has New York clinging to him. Their eyes lock, creating a charged moment between them. For an instant, the entire bar seems to fade into white noise around them. A crash from the other end of the bar suddenly shatters their intense moment. Sandy immediately returns to her professional duties, stating that duty calls her away. Jack tries to get her to wait, not wanting their conversation to end. As she leaves, Sandy tells him to try not to work too hard and to perhaps enjoy himself. He watches her walk away, drawn to her confidence and the way she interacts with patrons. Jack is left wondering what exactly just transpired between them. He sees his own reflection, noting his loosened tie and tousled hair, and hardly recognizes himself.

His phone buzzes with a message from his colleague Marcus, demanding an update and reminding him of the real reason he is there. This message shatters the moment and brings reality crashing back. Jack downs his scotch and stands up, straightening his appearance. He tells himself to focus and remember he is not there to flirt with bartenders. As he leaves, he cannot help but glance back at Sandy, who is laughing in the fading sunlight. He realizes that this situation could become a significant problem for him. Outside, the ocean breeze hits him as he steps onto the beach. He pauses, his shoes sinking into the sand, at a literal and metaphorical crossroads. One path leads back to the resort, his laptop, and his familiar world of business. The other path leads down the wild, inviting beach where people are enjoying the evening. His phone buzzes again with another message from Marcus. He looks back at the bar and sees Sandy’s profile through the window. Jack tells himself to get it together and keep his eyes on the prize. With a final glance at the sunset, he turns left and heads back toward the resort. Even as he walks away, he can still hear Sandy's laugh and feel the ghost of her touch. Sunset Cove had offered him far more than he had originally bargained for.

Evaluation details

Result

Evaluator

Details

Meta Data

92.2194%

Matches sentence count

n/a

neededClean	false
sentences	53