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“Asher,” Paige starts talking and I’m reminded that little fucker hasn’t called me back. “He—”
“I’ll deal with him today.”
“It’s Friday, you promised your sister you would have dinner with her tonight.” Ugh. I did? That sounds like a Paige thing, not a Harlan thing. I want to go home, take a shower, open a bottle of wine and watch The Block. I need a good laugh, and those Aussies always provide good entertainment via shitty building. Though, I must admit that this year’s contestants aren’t half bad.
“I did?”
Paige nods. “You did.”
Fuck.
“I’ll fit it in. Somehow. I need to sort out this Asher problem first, before it gets any worse.” I know if I don’t do it today I won’t get to it for another week and God knows how long before his headboard goes through the wall. It’s a brick building, but still. If the complaints are anything to go by, Asher will literally bang his way through the brick wall and into his neighbor’s living room. It’s not a risk I can afford.
“Okay, I’ll see you on Monday then. Try not to work, commit a murder or land us in a scandal this weekend, okay?” Paige says. Teasing, but sort of serious too.
“What are you going to do if I don’t do all those things?”
“Read my new book, have a gin. I don’t know, Harlan, maybe live a little? You remember I have a husband, right? So, I might even get laid! This isn’t my whole world, and I think it’s high time you got yourself a fucking hobby or, even better, a girlfriend. You’d be so much easier to work for if you got laid more often.”
“Because my winning personality is getting me all the ladies. Really, Paige? And if you’re getting laid, please don’t get knocked up. I’m not emotionally prepared for you to go on maternity leave.” Every so often she gets on this you need to date train, and I derail it every time. “Besides, I don’t have time for a girlfriend, a cat, a house plant or a hobby. I have a business to run.”
“The business isn’t going to screw your brains out or wipe your as when you’re old and senile.”
I smirk. “It’ll pay for a sexy nurse, though.”
Throwing her hands in the air, she gives up at that one. “Goodbye, Harlan. I’ll see you on Monday.” I’m alone and the place is too quiet. It’s creepy. After wrapping up a few things, I call it a day. Time to go teach my tenant some manners. This should be fun. It’s Friday night, I know exactly here he will be and there’s no escape so he’ll have to listen to me. Little shit. You have to put your place of employment on your lease. Asher pours pretty pink drinks at a hotel bar on Fridays, sings on Saturdays, and fucks me off the rest of the week. He listed some shit about being a content creator on the form, but it sounds like a made-up job with no contact numbers or references.
I decide to call my sister from the car.
“You’re not dead?” she says, irritated.
“Birdie, I’m busy during the week, you know this.”
“Busy being a dick,” she mutters, just loud enough for me to hear. “Are you on your way?”
“About that—”
“Fuck off, Harlan, you said we could have dinner.” She’s not happy with me, but that’s not an irregular occurrence. The joys of being my baby sister.
“We can, I just need to sort out something first. I’ll be a bit late.”
“Late, or Harlan time late?”
“Late, Bird. Come on, I’m trying.”
“Trying my ass. Go sort shit out. I’ll see you another time. It’s not that important anyways.” She’s trying to make me feel bad and it’s working. She may drive me to drink most days, but I still love her.
“I’ll come have breakfast at the bakery in the morning. I promise.”
“I don’t believe you.” She’s relentless. “Bye, Harlan.” She hangs up, pissed off and sulking. No one ever warned me how challenging being a big brother can be, and while Bird can be needy sometimes, I can admit I should put more effort into seeing her. We’re all each other has. I know there’s no parking at The Langham Hotel on Fifth unless you’re guest, so I book a room over the phone. I’m not staying, but I need to park my car and two blocks away sounds like a long walk at the end of a long week and I’m not about that.
The valet takes my keys, and I stride into the hotel, checking into the room I won’t even see the inside of.
“Thank you, Mr Waters.” The concierge hands me a key card. “Can I help you with anything else?”
“No, thank you. I’m meeting someone at the bar.”
“Oh, the lady waiting for her blind date? She’ll be so happy you’re not a weirdo.” She giggles, and I raise a brow.
“No, I’m here to see the barman, Asher. I have some business with him.”
“Oh, sorry to say, sir, but he doesn’t sell pot here anymore, he got caught,” she whispers to me.
“Do I look like I’m here to buy pot? I think you should rather just keep quiet and stick to checking people in. Meddling really isn’t attractive.” She shuts her mouth, her eyes wide, and skutles off behind the desk to help someone else. Pot. Really? In an establishment like this? Jesus. The blind date, however, is a bit fascinating. I didn’t even know that was still a thing with online dating being the go-to option for meeting new people in the 21st century. There’s tinder, bumble, hinge, plenty of fucking fish and all the other apps to match people. Meeting strangers in hotel bars seems a bit like an old romcom movie, and those are almost always disastrous. Whoever this woman is, I hope she isn’t hoping for much.
