Page 3 of Tap My TOKTIK

HARLAN

Be a landlordthey said, it’ll make you rich they said. They fucking lied. It’ll make you crazy, turn your hair grey and make you want to kick a punk. All of that before lunch time most days. This is about the sixth call I’ve had about the shithead who rents one of my apartments. He pays his rent like clockwork, usually a few months up front even. However, he’s a fucking monumental pain in my ass, with his parties and, this week, obscenely loud sex according to his neighbors. If it’s not that, it’s his band practice, or parking illegally in the basement. He’s a shit and needs a good smack to set him right. If he wasn’t such a good paying tenant I’d kick his ass out in a heartbeat, but in that neighborhood it’s hard to find people who actually pay. I’ve had so many cut and run in the middle of the night leaving a mess behind them. As much as he frustrates me, he pays, and on two spot inspections his place was spotlessly clean. This time though I need to have a chat with the boy because this has got to stop.

“Asher, it’s Harlan, your landlord. Please call me back.” I leave about the tenth voice message because he still hasn’t called me. He forgets I know where he lives and works. I just don’t have time to run after him today, I have other shit to do — important shit. Like impress the investors for my latest project. This walk-through is important. I need to forget my irritation with Asher, and focus.

This building has everything, and it will be phenomenal when we’re done with it — I just need them to be able to see into the future, not the rubble pile it is now. I want them to see it as I do because there is something uniquely nostalgic about this build. The history oozes from the walls and it makes you want to go back to the time when this was the place to be. Prime real estate never goes out of fashion. I have a connection to this one, and usually when that happens it turns into the best.

As I pull up outside, my assistant comes scurrying towards me. She has the presentation booklets, and the lanyards with usb drives that contain all the information the investors could possibly need. She’s always organized, that’s why I pay her so well.

“Put a smile on your grumpy ass face,” Paige whispers to me, fixing my collar and giving me the once over. “No one likes the grinch, Harlan. Try be friendly and approachable.”

“I’m neither of those things, Paige. We’re here to sell the building, not my personality.”

“Well you don’t have a personality so that’s a good thing.” I’m used to her fluent sarcasm, which is why I’m not offended. She’s one of maybe three people I don’t hate.

“Aren’t you glad we’re in the property business then, and not the personality one.” I give her a wink and put on my very best business face as the first of our investors start to arrive. Suits. My favorite kind of animals. Even the women are wearing suits. I remind myself that I can’t pull this project off alone, which is why I need them. I would love to be able to do it solo, but there’s just no fucking way on a project of this scale. This grinds on my last nerve because I don’t like to share and this, I consider, sharing.

“Be nice,” Paige says under her breath as we start the walk-about in what was once upon a time the grand foyer of the building. I give her a fake smile.

I’m not nice. Nice people never win, and I’m a winner.

Thankfully Paige is nice, and really good at people-pleasing, making her an amazing sales person. At the end of the walk-about and her presentation, there are a few questions. Mostly there are people willing to throw money at the project and a lot of it. It turned out better than our best-case scenario, so I’ll take the win. This building is the one, I just know it will change everything.

“Did you see the emails about Asher? He’s been misbehaving again,” Paige says as we drive back to our offices on Hudson Street. “It’s an issue, Harlan.”

“I’ll deal with him, don’t worry. Let the HOA know he won’t be a problem any more.”

“I don’t want to know what deal with him means, do I?” she asks.

“Nope. Probably not.”

“Your sister left three messages with me, she says you’re ignoring her texts and calls.” I roll my eyes. Whatever crisis Birdie has is probably not an actual crisis, she just wants to irritate me. “Should I tell her you’re busy? Out of town? Dead?”

“Dead works. Maybe she’ll leave me alone.” Paige doesn’t find it funny. “Just ask her what the hell she wants and fix it for her will you?”

“You do not pay me enough, Harlan,” she sighs. “I will try help your sister with whatever her troubles are today, but first we need to pass by the penthouse build, there’s some sort of plumbing situation they need you to sign off on. After that you have a lunch with the team we did the Nine on Hudson renovation with, they have some sort of proposal for you. Same owner bought another building or something, but don’t you dare say yes. We are at capacity. No more, I mean it,” Paige threatens. “This building is going to need a lot of your time and attention, and we are already spread way too thin. It’s a free lunch, nothing more.” I know she’s right, but turning away business isn’t what got me to where I am.

“I’ll listen to what they have to say and think about it. That was the weird stamp guy wasn’t it?”

“Fuck, Harlan. Really? That’s what you remember from that shits-torm?”

“Really,” I whine back at her. “He needed a temperature-controlled, humidity-free safe. It was bizarre.”

Paige gives me the side-eye. “You have issues.”

“Who doesn’t?” I shoot back at her. “That building is great and the people in it have money, so if Mr Stamps wants us, we will take that job.”

“Can I get an assistant?” she asks, full of shit.

“You are the assistant,” I point out.

“It’s getting too big Harlan, it’s too much for just you and me. We need staff.”

“That’s a terrible idea, you know I hate working with people.” The idea of staff makes me nervous. Way too much paperwork, red tape and potential for me to end up in jail for murdering an idiot. “You can find an intern or some shit. That’s cheap and I can’t get in trouble for hating them.”

“I can work with that.” She seems too happy with my suggestion. “We’re here.” This penthouse project has been a headache, and I just know something is about to set me off. I feel it in my bones as we take the construction lift to the top floor of the almost completed building. “Do not flip out, just solve the problem. Then we go to lunch,” Paige instructs. She likes doing that, telling me what to do when I’m the boss, but she’s the voice of reason, so I tend not to argue. Much. ‘d be worse off without Paige, and losing her just isn’t an option.

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