Our talk last night helped me see her problem clearer. She's repeatedly mentioned the noise level to the point that I asked Harold to give me figures for redesigning the space with the printers in a separate area. But giving her a laptop is a cheaper, immediate solution.
“I’m not taking it.” She places the bag on the floor between us.
I sit on the edge of my desk, preparing myself for an argument. "Quanesha, I'm a solutions-oriented man, and my business center is noisy."
“It’s not your problem. It’s mine.”
I wrap my hands around her waist and bring her closer. I kiss her lips. “Baby, you flew across the country to regroup and reclaim your dream.”
“Why are you doing this, Carson?”
God, her eyes.
"I think you've paid your dues, and if writing this script will help you do it, I'm here to help."
"You can't do stuff like this." She leans back, and I hold her tighter.
“It’s my money.” I smack a kiss on her lips, and she pretends to wipe it off.
A selfish part of me hopes she'll see New York as an option. She's complained about her job and the lack of family in Los Angeles. I figure if she stays, this doesn't have to be a holiday fling. But it's not safe to tell Quanie or Rachelle. For now, I'll help her see this goal to the end and what happens, happens.
“How about this? Use it here.”
“Here?”
“Yes. You can set up at the conference table. There’s a coffee bar and the couch if you need a change of scenery.” I drag her along to see my stocked refrigerator. “There are snacks, and I can have anything delivered from the restaurants downstairs.”
Quanesha walks to the window overlooking Times Square. “Won’t I be in the way?”
“No.”
“Would you tell me if I were?”
“Probably not.”
She chuckles. "It's a generous offer, but…"
I walk over and grip her shoulders, massaging the knots I feel beneath my thumbs. “Think of it as an act of productivity.”
She purrs, rolling her head. "That feels amazing. I think you're a productive lie. But I appreciate the offer."
“You are a tough crowd.”
“Nah, I have a good bullshit meter.”
I laugh. “How about we add a little wager? You know a dare like the one you had with Daiya.”
She slowly turns in my arms. “I’m listening.”
“Do you write scripts in chapters?”
“No, scenes.”
“For every scene, I’ll give you a treat.”
“No, Carson. No more expensive gifts.”
“I said nothing about a gift. I said a treat.”
"Like what?" Her neck rocks back, and I'm staring at feisty Quanie.
“It’s for me to know and you to write and find out.”
“Can I get a hint?”
“No, but I like it when you beg.”
“I haven’t begged a day in my life.” She crosses her arms over her chest, and I sweep in and nibble on her pouty lip.
“Actually, I had your ass begging last night.”
She gasps. “Oh, you’ll pay for that.”
"I hope so." We laugh, and I extend a gentlemanly hand. "Do we have a deal?"
“I’ll shake but promise I won’t keep you from your work.”
"You won't, and there's a bonus of having a beautiful office mate."
“And you’re sure I won’t disturb you? That I won’t be in the way?”
"Positive. I insist." We shake hands, and my mind is thinking of all the treats I'll give her. I kiss her lips to seal the deal. "What do you need to set up?"
There's a hesitant look in her eyes as if asking again whether I'm sure.
“I’m sure. Where do you want to start? The table or the couch?”
“The table.”
Merrilyn cautioned me against buying such an expensive gift. The price tag afforded me the opportunity to sit back and watch Quanesha work. She’s huffed and puffed for the past hour, and now she’s staring out at the city.
“What do you see?”
She jumps and smiles over at me. “People moving with such purpose.”
I walk over to the window. I rarely watch people. It's the lights and the billboards that fascinate me. "I used to sit in that seat for hours, and my father would sit over there." I point at my desk and sit beside her. "How's it going?"
She shrugs. “Slow.”
“Throw in the unexpected.”
“What?”
"Throw in a curveball. It's an old brainstorming tactic. When you keep spinning your wheels and creating different versions of the same idea, throw in something random."
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. A crazy ex. A three-legged dog. A billionaire New Yorker.”
“A billionaire?” Her eyes are enormous.
“Does it bother you?”
“No, should it?” She asks.
I shrug. Entering this situation with Quanesha feels fresh because she’s not meeting me with all my previous baggage. I’m sure we’ll have to address it one day. However, meeting her on my own terms is refreshing.
“I think I might use that idea tomorrow,” she says, moving on in a manner she does so well.
“So, you’re coming back?”
“Yes, if you don’t mind.”
“Not at all. Anything else I can do?”
“Feed me.”
I extend a handout to Quanesha and pull her up. “What shall it be? The city is yours.”
“Surprise me.” She wiggles her eyebrows.
I walk to my desk and call Deacon to the front.
“Do I need to change?”
“No, we’re about to explore the city.”
“At night?”
"Oh yeah. I was born and raised here. You'll never get a tour like this."
“I’m down.”
We stop by her suite for her winter coat, and I grab mine from the coat closet.
“Are you ready to see Christmas in New York City?”
“Yes!”
Quanesha spends most of the ride with her face smashed to the window. Traffic ambles because of the snow, but it’s perfect to see the lights and decorations. There’s no place in the world like New York City.
I take her to Greenwich Village, Soho, Little Italy, Chinatown, Wallstreet, the World Trade Center. At each stop, I find food because it's part of experiencing this city. Lights, people, food. Hot dogs, tacos, grilled cheese, ice cream, wraps, shakes, cookies, fries. We have it all.
This isn't a stuck-up socialite afraid of getting grease on her hands. We laugh and talk until hours later, the tour dwindles down.
“I swear, I can’t eat another bite.” Quanesha falls back in her seat. “Whoever thought to wrap fried chicken in a waffle cone is a genius.”
I laugh. "Thank you for letting me give you this tour. I've lived here my entire life, and sometimes I forget how amazing the city looks, especially this time of year."
“You’re welcome. But I swear I won’t be able to wear any of my clothes.”