be contradicting opinions with some very powerful dissenters.”
“Such as…?”
She pressed the mute button on her blue-tooth. “I’ll have your largest shot in the dark, black, no room for cream.” She threw a ten-dollar bill on the tray of a pink-haired pixie who pranced past her with the fleet-footed, light-heartedness of the young and irresponsible.
“Keep the change.”
Figuring that the kid stared at her with such wide-eyes because she needed time to process all those words that were not in text speak, Aerin waved her off while addressing Mr. Masashi.
“Such as JD Power and Associates, Fortune 500, The Wall Street Journal, Forbes, Fortune, Wired, Fast Company, my fucking Cayman Islands and Swiss bank accounts… need I go on?”
Jesus, it looked like Stevie Nicks took a gypsy shit in here. Fringed shawls acted as café tablecloths weighted by various themed decks of tarot cards. Candles burned everywhere infusing the air with a confusion of scents that, despite their overabundance, were pleasant. It was hard to find a surface not littered by crystals, herbs, pottery, handmade jewelry, knick-knacks and books.
To say the place kinda shimmered would be like saying Larry Page was kinda rich.
Mr. Masashi wasn’t through acting like a little bitch. “All I’m saying is that it’s troubling to spend this kind of capital—”
“What I find troubling,” Aerin bit out an interruption. “Is that you flew all the way to New York to balk at terms you’ve already agreed to. If you have a problem with the deal, get the fuck out of my building, and I’ll call the next person clamoring for this opportunity in your market.”
“L-let’s not be hasty.” The very real worry in Masashi’s voice did enough to lower her blood pressure.
“Let’s be plenty hasty. Sign the papers or don’t, but either way, stop wasting my valuable time.” She hung up in time to bury her face in the elbow of her fawn jacket and let the sneeze wrack her bones.
“Sinclaire?” The pink-punk hadn’t unglued her silver-buckled combat boots from the floor.
Aerin shook her head. “Sorry, you’re mistaking me for someone else.” Turning, she took a seat closest to the window.
“Another one?” The barista’s bouncy voice matched the tits that her pleather bustier mashed up to her chin. “Are they like, cloning you, or what?”
Apparently, they were cloning morons.
“What nonsense are you talking?”
Fake lashes blinked a few times brushing the glass of her cat-eyes spectacles. “Sorry but… you’re definitely not Moira, or Tierra.”
“We’ve never met. I’m not a local, kid.”
On such an alternative canvass, the girl’s smile held a tinge of youthful innocence that didn’t seem to match. “I can tell. You’d have to go to New York or L.A. to get a coat like that.”
Aerin scoffed. “Honey, you have to go to Paris or Milan to get a coat like this.”
“No doubt. I’m Sunny. Are you here to meet your—”
Aerin’s phone pealed loud enough to echo. It was Dev, the douche weed.
“You have an ETA on that coffee, Tacklebox, or do I have to make it myself?” Aerin quipped.
To her surprise, Sunny tossed her pink dreadlocks and grinned. “Tacklebox, because of all this.” She motioned to her umpteen face piercings. “That’s funny. I like you.”
“Great, I can die happy.”
Sunny laughed. “Shot in the dark, coming right up.”
“Good, and don’t spit in it. I’ll be able to tell.”
They were both smirking when Sunny sauntered off. Aerin liked her too. She reminded her of New York.
“What?” she barked into her phone.
“We Asians are not used to that kind of lack of respect or decorum in our business dealings.” Dev also dispensed with niceties.
“Did he sign?” Aerin ignored the reproach in his voice.
The silence told her that the papers were signed.
Goddamn but she was sick of the fragile male ego. “I give respect when it’s earned, and when it is given in return. That dildo hasn’t shown me one ounce of respect since we started this deal and you don’t hear me crying about it, do you?”
Dev paused. “Are you sick?”
“Are you kidding?” Aerin rubbed her aching, stuffy head with one hand to try to alleviate the pressure building behind her eyes. Her hands were freezing, but her forehead felt as hot as the bottom of a badly vented laptop.
“It’s only that, I’ve known you for five years and you’ve never once been sick.”
“There’s a first time for everything, I guess.”
“And, you’re bitchier than usual.”
Aerin sighed. He wasn’t wrong. “I’m only human,” she murmured, gearing up for an apology. She sucked at those, but she cared enough to try.
“You sure about that?”