I'll make a mental note to call him by it at least once a day now. I can be a decent human.
Despite what my mother thinks.
If I had stayed a day longer, she would have had me married off within the week. It's apparently unfathomable that I wouldn't want to settle down when I'm earning more than I've ever made in my life, and am at the top of my game.
I listen to the steady sound of her nails tapping on the screen of that tablet in her hands as I drift off, expecting to only float on the surface of sleep and rest my eyes.
Before I know it, though, I'm out cold.
"Mr. Kobayashi, we're here." Soft hands grip my shoulders and shake me gently, rousing me from a sleep deeper than I intended to go. "Maybe I should start putting sleep on your schedule, so you'll get more of it."
"I get enough," I grumble, stepping out of the car with a wince as the sun hits me square in the face.
Wait.
That's not right. The meditation studio faces west. The sun shouldn't be on this side of the building yet.
"Where are we?"
"Grass-Fed," Denali says simply, as if that explains everything. "Come on; we're going to put some food in you."
"Excuse me?" I don't remember putting a reservation for a little corner cafe in my schedule this week at all. I check my phone, but right there on the screen is the notification for the lunch break, just titledFucking Eat Something—how crass. "I didn't authorize this."
"I did," she says happily, her pasted-on smile too bright. "You don't have a gap in your schedule for food, so I made one. You can't run this hectic kind of work life and not eat. You'll run yourself into an early grave?—"
"I'll thank you to not worry about my food intake," I say rather rudely, scowling down at her with all the intimidation I can muster. "I'm aware of my limits. You're not responsible for knowing those."
She taps her little tablet and scowls right back at me. "Says in here I'm responsible for making sure your daily schedule covers everything you need. Last time I checked, humans need food to survive." She leans down like she's not already shorter than me by a whole head, and tips her head over to look up at me like a specimen in a petri dish. "Youarehuman, aren't you?"
"We're only on day one, and you're already too comfortable in your position," I tell her, not bothering to argue with her any longer. Iamhungry, and wearealready here. It's not like we can make it to the meditation studio in time to attend the class I usually do, so I might as well make the most of this situation. "Since we're here, and you've ruined the chance for me to partake in my meditation period, I suppose just this one time, I'll indulge your mistake."
The little eatery is busy, for a weekday, though I have no idea whatbusylooks like to them. Still, there are quite a few people milling about, tables everywhere dotted with customers in the middle of a meal or just chatting with one another. Several tables along the back house people who shovel food into their mouths while they type away endlessly on computers or tablets, working in their spare time while they meet their basic needs.
It's lively. Cramped. But Denali sails in like she owns the place, waving and calling out to the girl behind the counter with a smile on her face.
It's the first time all day I think I've seen a genuine smile on those lips.
Makes her look a little prettier, when she smiles with her eyes.
I shake that thought and follow behind her, clearly meant to stick close in a place like this. When we reach the counter, she urges me out of the way as several people slide in front of us and begin ordering rapid-fire style. Clearly, they know what they want.
"Their menu is on the wall," she says, her hand gesturing to a blackboard where the words are hand-written with prices to the right. "If you have any questions, you can ask me. I come here a lot—when I'm making good money."
I wonder if that's a slight on her proposed salary. "Do you often make not enough money to afford a little restaurant like this?"
Her shrug is dismissive, but I don't like it. "Lots of jobs pay just enough to survive. Even more don't pay enough to do that. But sometimes, I have good jobs that mean I can afford to eat out once or twice a week."
I can't remember the last time I ate at home, or cooked myself food. "Once or twice? That's it?"
Her brows raise as she regards me. I can sense the ire, the contempt in that cool glare. "We can'tallbe rich superstars, Mr. Kobayashi. Most of us have to bust our asses to meet the basic needs for survival. At one time, I worked three jobs so I could afford to buy a car that ran when mine broke down."
Is this how everyone in this country lives? "Where I'm from, when the jobs don't pay enough to live, the government steps in and helps."
Her laughter is harsh, barking, and cynical. "Oh, lord, that would be nice, wouldn't it? Our government is content to line its own pockets and let their people starve." She wipes a tear from the corner of her eye and sucks in a deep breath, chuckling at my expense. "Well, shit, let's order something, I guess."
I make a mental note to find out if the salary they're paying her is enough to live on, and then turn my attention to the menu.
There's so much it's dizzying. The place clearly specializes in salads and wraps, though there's a lot of vegan, vegetarian, and keto options on the board to choose from. I wonder briefly if she's one of those special diet people, and then shake my head. She doesn't strike me as the type of person to buy into fad diets.But what do I know about what people look like and don't look like?
