Page 8 of Tap My TOKTIK
“He definitely did,” I say, putting my hand on her shoulder. She seems like she might need comforting. She jumps at my touch and moves her body away, just out of reach.
“Then why did he run away?” She seems genuinely confused by all of this. Then again, maybe it’s the gin. I wonder how many she had before I got here. “It’s because I’m a ginger isn’t it. Red hair chases men away faster than talking about tampons in public.” Now I do laugh. Red haired girls have a reputation for being hellions, but this one is just a complete mess. Asher starts to pour her another drink, and I shake my head at him. I think she might’ve had enough.
“Miss Olivia can handle her gin, she’s not drunk. She’s just processing the information we’ve given her for research. She’ll go upstairs later and turn it into something romantic and completely unrealistic,” he says to me and fills her glass. She’s staying here.
“He’s right, but I have so many more questions. So, since I got stood the fuck up, you two can answer them for me.” With that she pulls a notebook out of her sparkly black purse, and puts her glasses on, clicking a Mont Blanc pen so she can write this shit down. She looks between us.
“You’re on your own Mr. Waters, I have a job to do.” Asher raises his hands in surrender and leaves to serve the rest of the people now starting to fill up the bar for pre-dinner drinks. I’m not done with him. I am, however, quite fascinated with the crazy lady seated beside me.
“Were you going for dinner, or just drinks?” I ask her, checking the time on my watch.
“Dinner, but I’ll get them to send it upstairs for me later.” She pushes her glasses up her nose and looks at me as if she’s only seeing me now for the first time.
“I’ll take you to dinner, and answer your questions.” The crazy must be contagious because I’ve lost my mind. I never do things like this, ever. “If you’d like to have dinner with me, I’ll deal with Asher afterwards.” She doesn’t answer me, just frowns like I’ve grown another head.
“I’m not having sex with you,” she says, and she’s not quite about it.
“I didn’t think you were, Olivia,” I chuckle. “But I’m hungry and you have questions so we can go for dinner, or I can get take-out on my way home.”
“Okay, we can have dinner. No funny business. You answer my questions and I’ll pay.”
“It’s rude to let a lady pay for dinner when you’re on a date,” I reply.
“We’re not on a date, and they’ll just bill it to my room anyway. I’m staying here for a while.”
“You from out of town?” I ask, ushering her from the bar towards the door.
“No, I live in Tribeca.” That’s like a fifteen minute drive from here. With traffic.
“Odd place to vacation, you can probably see home from the top floor.” She really is a bit strange.
“I like to come here and write. It helps me if I have writers block.” I’m sure that makes sense to her. “I like it here.”
“Is the food good?” We’re escorted to a table, the staff greeting her by name.
“Always. The chef here is one of the best in the city.” I pull out her chair and, again, she looks at me as if I’m the crazy one. I’m not one for fancy meals and upmarket places, unless it’s for business. I prefer to keep my life real. Not that I couldn’t eat in places like this every day, I just don’t ever want to forget where I started.
“Then you can order for me, since I’m sure you know all the secret gems on the menu.” I take the seat beside her, and not opposite her.
“I don’t order off the menu.” She smiles. “They know what I like. You can choose what you want.” She hands me a menu. “And you can pick good wine for us, too, since I know you don’t like house shit.”
