Page 22 of Tap My TOKTIK

HARLAN

“Harlan!” Birdie bursts into the room we’re busy assessing with our contractor. “Why aren’t you answering your fucking phone, asshole? Paige had to tell me where to find you.” The construction workers just glare at her foul-mouthed entrance. It’s not like her to show up like this, but she’s been having some serious issues with boundaries since her damn TokTik — is that what it’s called? — went viral.

“I’m busy working. That’s why. So unless you just found out you’re dying then this isn’t the time. Even then it can wait until I’m done. We’ve gone over what constitutes an emergency,” I growl at her, ushering her back out of the room and into the half-built hallway. She smacks my hand off her shoulder, shoves her phone in my face and accidentally hits me square on the nose.

“Ow, fuck. Jesus, Birdie. My nose.”

“Is that her? Is that the book babe? She followed me after she saw your video.” My sister is talking too fast, making me wonder if she took her ADHD medication this morning. “You slept with Cecilia Lloyd? Do you know who she is? Fuck my life, Harlan, she is so famous. Her books are the fucking best! Is this her?” She’s moving the phone too much for me to even focus on the screen, never mind see what she is showing me. “You screwed my fucking unicorn author. Like, I would sell my shop for signed copy of her books.” She stops talking and her eyes go wide. “Oh, my GOD!” she gasps. “Harlan, her last book is about YOU!”

Once Birdie stops moving the phone, and allows me to focus, I realize it is her. Now that I have grabbed the phone, it is definitely her. Birdie’s animated jumping around and million mile a minute talking is muted out by my own thoughts as I look at the picture staring back at me from her phone. That’s her, Olivia, but it’s not her — it’s not her name, and her eyes, they’re not shining the same way they did with me. This isn’t her. My sister looks like she just won the scratch card lottery, she’s jumping up and down.

“She saw your video, Harlan. She can find you.” She could always find me, it was me who couldn’t find her. If she wanted to she could’ve found me. “You have got to send her a message.”

“No, Birdie, I’m not sending her a message. Like you said, she’s famous and I’m probably just a one night stand she’s already forgotten.”

“No! You need to read the book. Oh, my God, it all makes sense! You are him, that book was about you, it’s brilliant. And a bit funny now that I know.” I shake my head and leave my sister bubbling with delight as I walk away and get back to work. The woman who has literally been in my dreams is out of my league. She isn’t even real, Olivia doesn’t exist. She’s Cecilia Lloyd. That name doesn’t even suit her. Famous people don’t date regular men like me. We are those quick pauses between their real lives and what they wish they could have — fantasies. New York society has unspoken rules about these things, and I’m just not rich or famous enough to be in those circles. Which, until now, didn’t bother me at all. I hate pretenses and facades and would much rather be myself than someone else.

“Bye, Birdie,” I call over my shoulder. I can’t be distracted by this right now. I have more on my plate than I can handle already. Work comes first.

“Read the book, Harlan!” she yells at me and skips off like a child. I’m not sure if I’m intrigued or offended that Olivia wrote a book about me. By the end of the day, I know I’m angry — surely she has to ask my permission to do that?

I know my sister won’t have kept this to herself, and I’m dreading going back to the office. Paige is going to be lapping this up. She’s probably read the book too. To protect myself from her merciless teasing, I decide to go straight to the hotel site. Something about that building talks to my soul, and just going there, even in the chaos of the interior demolition, makes me feel at peace. A peace I won’t get to enjoy if Paige comes with. This is going to be my master piece, it will literally put me on the map. My phone is vibrating in my pocket, but I ignore the pull to look at it. Instead, I wander around inside the dusty, wild site. I don’t see the mess and scaffolds. I see the finished project. Light and airy with high ceilings, luxury with historic charm. I can see the future as I walk around, an ability that makes me the best at my job. I see it as it will be, not as it is now. Making mental notes about things that aren’t progressing as they should, I walk around, but I’m still distracted. Birdie has messed with my head. Olivia, that’s who I’m thinking about. I’m reliving that night at the Langham in vivid multicolor memories. That coincidental meeting, the way she was so unapologetically herself. Her laughter, her moans, the way her wild red hair fell in her face — every part of her is burned into my brain. She’s not the woman in that picture Birdie showed me, with the straight face, neat hair and perfect pose. That picture is fake. At least I saw the real her. She most likely walks around being the picture version of herself more often than not.

As I step back outside, Paige pulls up and parks next to my car.

“You could’ve called and let me know you were coming straight here.” She sounds bitchier than normal. I was expecting mockery and teasing. “We have a schedule, Harlan, you’re making things harder than they already are. I’m about three seconds from quitting today.” She can’t quit, I’ll die.

“Sorry, I needed a minute to clear my head.” I apologize, not because I’m wrong but because she isn’t usually like this and it scares me.

“Well, I hope it’s clear. We have a permit issue so work has to stop here from tomorrow. I’ve tried everything and every contact I know. Sorry.” She’s upset, we can’t afford delays on a build this expensive, and when we’ve borrowed other people’s money to complete it.

“I’ll make a few calls.” I know she’s doing her best. There’s one building inspector who doesn’t like my ‘no bribery’ policy and takes deep joy in finding imaginary violations to shut me down. He’s a class A asshole, but I still won’t pay him a bribe to do his job. My sites are all run to code, and I know it’s bullshit. “That guy is starting to get on my last fucking nerve.”

“That’s not hard, you only have one,” Paige retorts, trying to lift the mood. “We’ll sort it out, there are other projects we need to focus on too.” She’s not wrong. Now though, my mind isn’t in the game, I need to fix that. It’s Friday afternoon, and I’m done with this shit for the day.

“See you at the office?” she asks.

“I’m going by the Langham to chat to our favorite tenant and have a beer, it’s been a week from hell,” I say. This makes her smile, of all things, and she quirks a brow. “Sure you’re not going to see if a certain author has checked in? Maybe you can inspire another bestseller.” Paige finds her joke way funnier than I do.

“My fucking sister,” I mutter with a vehement shake of my head.

“Actually, I gave her the book to read, she just called and told me that’s your Olivia. Then the penny dropped for both of us. For the record, there were things I didn’t need to know about my boss’ meat sword. It might be awkward between us for a while.” She starts to giggle uncontrollably and I can feel my good mood dissipating really fast.

“Bye, Paige, see you tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow’s Saturday, Harlan.”

“I know, but we have work to do. You can read a book on Sunday.” I slam my car door closed and drive out faster than I should, just so she knows I’m not amused. Sometimes the personal-professional lines are blurred. This is my business and she’s my employee, this sort of thing has to stop. She might be Birdies’ friend, but I’m her boss. On my way to the hotel I call and book a room, again, so I can park. This time I doubt I’ll be spending the night, but I want to ask Asher about Olivia. He spoke to her as if they were old friends, maybe he has some answers for me.

The valet takes my keys and I run my hands through my hair in an attempt to look better than I know I do. The chances of her being here are small, but I still scan the entire lobby for her fiery hair and pretty face. When I’m sure she’s not there I get my key from reception, and give them my credit card. Very expensive parking ticket is what it is.

The bar is quiet, it’s still early, and the after work crowd won’t be in for a while. Asher is stacking glasses and cleaning up his section of the bar. When he sees me taking a seat in the mirrors, he turns around and says, “I’ve behaved, Mr Waters. I promise if there’s a complaint it’s not me this time.” He has behaved, but I’m not here as his landlord today.

“I know. I came to ask you about something else,” I say. “Red wine, not shitty. You might as well bring me a bottle.” He goes to the other side of the bar where the vintage wines are kept and returns with a bottle of boutique Merlot.

“This good?” he asks before he opens it, showing me the label. I nod. “How can I help you then, Mr Waters, if I’m not in trouble?”

“The redhead from last time, Olivia.” He fills my glass and leans on the counter to listen to me. “She stays here often?”