“With Mr Schroeder,” I replied. “Natalie, I have a one o’clock in Pitt Street.”
“How did it go?” she pressed, following me into my office.
“It went well. Kent Street is a no. York Street is a possibility.”
She was confused. “A possibility? You said it went well.”
“I took him to see the Mortimer property on the wharf.”
She froze. “You what?”
I picked up the next job file and met her gaze. “I took him to the King Street Wharf property.”
I could see her mind turning and her blood pressure rising. It appeared she’d lost the ability to speak for a moment. “Wh-why would you do that?”
“You said you wanted him as a client. That was the only instruction you gave me before I had fifteen minutes to run halfway across the city to meet him.” That probably wasn’t fair, but it wasn’t a lie. “So we talked about his business and what he wanted and, as is my job to do so, I assessed his needs to our most suited property listings.”
“It’s not even a done deal, Michael,” she cried. “What if—”
“I will make it a done deal. I will see it through.” I held up the file like some kind of stupid shield as I walked around my desk toward where she stood in the middle of my office. “I have a client to meet. Natalie, we can talk about this later.” I spotted Carolyne hovering outside the door, and she was quick to walk with me as I paced back to the elevators. “Pull everything you have on the King Street Wharf property and draft up a lease proposal for a Mr Bryson Schroeder.”
She nodded, and as I stepped into the elevator, I added, “And please order me a sandwich or a salad or even a tub of yoghurt for when I get back.”
She smiled and nodded as the doors closed. I checked my watch. I now had eleven minutes to get to Pitt Street.
I walked out of my apartment complex at 7:31pm to find a very sleek black Porsche 911 waiting. I paused, because it had never occurred to me to ask Bryce what kind of car he had, when the driver leaned over and opened the passenger door.
Of course he drove a Porsche.
I slid into the seat and noticed his charcoal pants and perfectly fitted white shirt. He grinned at me. “You’re one minute late.”
“If you’d arrived two minutes ago, you’d have seen me get home.”
“You’re just finishing?”
“I literally walked in, washed my face, brushed my teeth, put on deodorant, and walked back out. Lucky you requested me not to change my clothes because I didn’t have time.”
“I really do like that suit on you. But if you want to stay in . . .”
“No, what I want is a mountain of food.”
He grinned. “That’s what I like to hear.”
“Nice car, by the way.”
“Thanks. I’ve been waiting for this model for a while.” He slipped it into gear and the engine purred as he pulled out onto the road. “I wanted electric, so I had to wait.”
“Electric?”
He drove through the city streets like a pro. “I try to make greener choices when I can. I’m a bit of an environmentalist, if you can believe that.”
I smiled at him as he drove. “I can believe that.”
He afforded me a quick glance before he concentrated on the road. “It’s not easy. Especially with the travelling I’ve done over the last two years. But I do try. It’s part of my mission statement for my business to leave as small a carbon footprint as I can. It’s more expensive, of course, but it’s the right thing to do.”
I really liked that about him. It spoke of principles, and with most guys like him I knew —rich, affluent, worldly—everything was usually disposable. No matter what it was, just throw it away and get a new one when you were sick of looking at it.
I liked that he was different.
It was then I noticed we were heading out of the city. “So where are we going?”
“Ah,” he said with a grin. “I had myself a situation trying to think of where to take you.”
“A situation?”
He chuckled. “Yep. I could have booked us in at Aria’s or Bentley’s. Just make a phone call, drop my name . . . you know.” He shrugged. Jesus. Those were just two of the most expensive fine-dining restaurants in the city. “But I wanted somewhere a little more me.”
“And that was your situation?”
“Well, yeah.” He shifted in his seat. “Did I take you somewhere fancy to impress you? Or did I take you somewhere that showed you who I was?”
Oh.
A thrill raced through me. He wanted to impress me. He wanted me to know who he was. My hands were suddenly clammy and I found it hard to speak. “You taking me somewhere to show me the real you is the best way to impress me.”
He took his eyes off the traffic so he could grin at me. He seemed relieved, as though it was a possibility that he was as nervous as me.
In no time at all, we were in Newtown, and he pulled into a parking spot. “Well, this is it.”
I looked out my window. There were a few restaurants and cafés and I was interested to see which one he chose. Only he didn’t walk into any of them. He headed for a dark alley, and I started to worry . . . until he laughed and took my hand. “You’ll love it, I promise.”
To be honest, I didn’t care anymore because . . . he was holding my hand.
He led me to a gate in a brick wall, opened it like he owned it. The gate opened to a set of stairs that went down below street level to another wooden door. He pressed a button, flashed me a bright smile, and when the door opened, it revealed a restaurant.
It was dark and neon-lit, with red lanterns hanging from the low ceiling. Obscure Asian murals graced the walls. It reminded me of an underground war-time resistance bar, only set in the 22nd century. Old but futuristic. Somehow. I wasn’t sure how else to describe it. There were people at tables, eating and talking, laughing. Some kind of jazz played in the background.
We were shown to a private booth—had he requested that?—and it was then I noticed that Bryce was speaking to the waiter . . . in Japanese?
Because, of course, he spoke Japanese.
We were seated and he smiled across from me. “What do you think?”
“It’s amazing. It has a Blade Runner feel.”
He grinned at that. “Great analogy. The food here is the best I’ve had anywhere. It’s like a Japanese burger joint. Which sounds weird.”
“But there’s a reason why you chose this over a place like Aria’s or Bentley’s.”
“Exactly.”
“And you speak Japanese?”
“A little. Enough to get by.” His lips twisted in a cute pout. “And Malay, and a little Chinese, and Korean but probably only enough to say ‘hello’ and ‘where are the bathrooms?’.”
I chuckled. “Well, that’s a lot more than me.” I studied him for a second. “You miss Singapore?”
He gave a nod. “I do. It’s an amazing city. I made some friends there, and the food is out of this world.”
“And the coffee . . .” I added with a grin.
He laughed. “Oh yes. Kopi is an entire experience.”