“Seriously?” she splutters, eyes blazing with frustration. “You– I can’t even– Fine!” She makes a big show of turning away and talking to her nurse friend. I proceed to place an order for a dozen coffees – two for my assistant Henry and me, one for my driver, and the rest for the construction crew.
I shouldn’t mess with her. It’s childish of me. I also shouldn’t keep coming back here when I could send one of my project managers to deal with it instead. I have way too much on my plate already. I could tell myself that I’m doing it to help my best friend, Nico, whose restaurant will be opening here soon, but that would be a lie. It’s mostly because of her that I keep coming back.
I can’t explain why, though. It’s not like I have time to date, and if I did, I wouldn’t seek out the bossy, snarky, self-appointed Mayor of 47th Street – no matter how lush her body is, no matter how pink and plump her lips are. I’d choose someone quiet and restful, like my ex-girlfriend Sloane, who was so undemanding that I was frequently in danger of falling asleep in her presence. Well, she was restful until I broke up with her last week. Now she’s calling and texting me a dozen times a day.
Since I don’t want to date Mayor McBossy, the only justification I have is that she keeps me on my toes. I’m at the helm of an enormous enterprise, and all day long, I deal with yes-men and yes-women who would tap dance on broken glass to make me happy. It’s surprisingly energizing to come up against a woman who challenges every move I make.
But I’ve had my fun for the morning. Now I have to deal with my entire day’s schedule being thrown into chaos by the arrival of my sister and niece. I adore them more than a positive quarterly earnings report, but the timing isn’t great. I’m organizing our biggest project ever, and if I want to convince our board of directors that we’re ready to go public, it has to go off without a hitch. I barely have time to pee, much less for a family visit.
I tip the barista generously as she hands me a cardboard tray of coffee. “Put everyone else’s orders on my card,” I remind her.
Then I glance impatiently down the street. My driver, who had to circle the block because there was nowhere to park, should be back by now. My assistant Henry is trying to reach him by phone.
Winona glares at me as I stride past her, and turns her back to me. As she does, something falls out of her purse, and I bend over to snatch it up, carefully keeping the coffee trays from tipping. It’s a plastic bookmark with little hand-drawn flowers on it.
I hold it up and make a show of studying it very carefully. At the top, it says “Requirements for dating me”. Underneath it is a little list. “Considerate. Loves dogs. Walks old ladies across the street. Loves me no matter what I look like.”
“Hey! Give me that!” Winona shrieks.
Walks old ladies across the street? Jesus, who has the time? “Whoever fits that list sounds like a hell of a guy. When you find him, never let him go.” I flash her a smirk and hand it back to her. Yep, I can be a real asshole sometimes. Mostly just when I’m awake and breathing, though.
I walk over to the construction foreman and hand him the tray of coffee, grabbing three cups for the driver, Henry and me.
“I’m afraid I have a bit of bad news,” Henry says in his clipped British accent, as I hold out his cup.
I promptly withdraw the coffee cup. “You know the day I’m having! You do not get to say ‘bad news’,” I inform him with a threatening glower.
He tries to reach for the coffee, and I hold it up over his head. Dick move, I know. I’m 6’3”, he’s 5’5”. I’ve never claimed to be a nice guy. Ridiculously successful, yes. Love my family, yes. Nice…I’m afraid not. I mean, two out of three isn’t bad, right?
Harry rolls his eyes at me. Hardly a dignified look for a sixty-five-year-old man, but I’ve earned it. “The driver just called me. He got rear-ended. He’s fine, but he’s had to pull over to wait for the cops.”
“Son of a bitch.” I toss the driver’s coffee cup into the open dumpster at the edge of the construction site.
My sister Alice and my niece Tamara will be arriving at LaGuardia in forty-five minutes. I have a personal rule; when they come to town, no matter what’s going on with work, I pick them up myself. It helps soothe a little bit of my guilt over my crazy work schedule.
“Oh, wait. Good news!” Henry says. He points down the block. A cab is headed straight towards us.
I lower my arm and give him the coffee, which he takes with an expression of mild reproach. If I’d tried that with Sexy Red, I have a feeling she’d have smacked the coffee out of my hand. Probably in a crotchward direction.
I really shouldn’t be thinking about her and my crotch at the same time. It does strange things to my powers of concentration.
As if she’s not messing with my head enough already. I actually had a dream about her the other night. She was standing next to my four poster bed, slowly peeling off…her rainbow unicorn pajamas.
I woke up hard as a rock.
I don’t know what it is about her. I’m surrounded by gorgeous women. Models, designers, photographers, socialites…all jostling and competing for me like I’m a prize bass to mount on their mantelpiece. Somehow, though, she’s the one who’s snagged my attention like a fish-hook.
She’s a disturbance in the force, a sunbeam on a chilly day. She’s impossible to ignore, with the way she walks down the street saying hi to strangers, always smiling at everyone in a way that makes it clear she’s not a native. I don’t even have to hear her Southern accent to know that. And yet I don’t think she’ll ever change. I’m good at reading people, and that cheery demeanor isn’t a front. A waste of energy? Yes. But not a front. It’s stamped on her DNA. I’d bet good money that ten years from now, twenty years from now, the feisty redhead will still be sharing the warmth of her smile with everyone who crosses her path.
I quickly drain the rest of my coffee, toss the cup into a garbage can, and pull out my wallet. As Henry and I jog over to the front of Winona’s building, I grab some cash and wave it at the doorman who’s standing under the awning.
“Can you hail me that cab?” I say to him, pointing.
As if on cue, Winona shrieks in fury from half a block away. “That's my cab!”
Of course it is.
“Don't you dare take my cab!”
I can't decide if I should groan or smirk. Instead, I pull out more cash and shove it into the doorman’s hand.
“Keep a hundred for yourself, give her the rest.”
“Yes, sir! Thank you, sir.” There’s five hundred dollars in there – that should soften the sting.
She barrels towards us, but Henry’s already holding the cab door open for me. I slide in, and Henry plops down next to me. She skids to a stop in the street right next to us. “Hey! You!” Her screech could shatter glass, and her eyes are blazing orbs of fury.
“Sorry, I'm late to pick up my sister,” I call out, and I reach past Henry to slam the door in her face.
“You could have shut that door,” I inform him.
“Yes, sir.” He smiles politely. “I’m sure I could have, but you seemed to have it well in hand.”