Total pages in book: 24
Estimated words: 22496 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 112(@200wpm)___ 90(@250wpm)___ 75(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 22496 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 112(@200wpm)___ 90(@250wpm)___ 75(@300wpm)
“You’re not supposed to laugh, bijin.” He flicks a hand, beckoning a server.
“Beautiful.” I quietly suck on air. “You really speak Japanese? I didn’t even think the company would get someone Japanese, perhaps just someone who was Asian. You’re perf . . .” I stop myself, clearing my throat. Perfect.
A snort-laugh is a second away from launching itself from my nose.
“I’m Japanese, yes.”
“That’s a nice touch. Anyway, in chapter twenty-three, Tatsun—you—were ramming a trash truck into the office of your enemies when a bijin walked past. I love how some of the words aren’t translated. I looked it up. I’m a little confused by . . .” Girl, what’s wrong with you? The last time you rambled like this, Usher wasn’t quite finished confessing his ass off.
“What questions do you have for me?”
“Why,” I sit forward, letting my gander flicker around the room and to the balcony outside where others are drinking, “would a yakuza have their headquarters somewhere out in the open instead of somewhere—”
“Perhaps behind a waterfall?”
“You’re making fun of me.” I purse my lips. It feels like the entire room is in flames from the sparks flying between us. “The cops can stroll inside and get them—you—at any time. Actually, there’s no answer to that in The Red Dragon.”
“Laws in my country have changed. Oyabun, the bosses, run a much tighter ship than they did in the past. The saiko komon, their senior advisers, and others are the law for the people. We are not the bōryokudan, as the police call us, anymore. We are ninkyō dantai.”
“What?”
“We are not the violent groups the police call us. We are benevolent—chivalrous organizations. Ah, one moment, Ryann. We will resume our discussions shortly. Our other drink has arrived.” He winks.
I'm mesmerized by every word Tatsun says. I don’t notice the server until she places a ceramic flask and two cups on the table and says, “Merobito as you requested, Mr. Ziatso. My apologies. We went to great lengths finding—”
“It’s nothing. Ryann,” he turns to me, “this sake is nonfiltered.”
Oh, Gawd. I want to ask the price, but his hypnotic pull clears my mind instantly.
“Alright, maybe we can share this bottle.”
Tatsun relieves the server, pouring from the porcelain flask into the tiny cups he calls chokos. “It would be my honor to pour your first drink.”
I lift the ceramic cup. Lawd, if he only knew. Nobody ever serves me.
I’m two tiny chokos in when tipsiness creeps upon me. “You’re like super meth-method―”
“Method? Oh, yes. Drinking is a ceremony. Anything that enters your body . . .”
Like you.
“Should respect you. Adore you. Praise you.”
“Yes, praise.” Like me screaming your name at the top of my lungs. “But I meant method acting.” Sweet baby Jesus. This is a great act.
“Don’t take a moment for granted, Ryann. You may think you’ll have a thousand more.”
“I won’t,” I murmur in a trance-like tone and tip back the spicy, floral sake. I glance across the room as an Asian guy waves a hand. He’s wearing a tsubaki flower. I look between the two men.
Nah. You’re getting drunk, Ry Pie. Time for grown-ass woman antics. I turn away from the man who must be waving at someone behind our table. It won’t be the first time I thought a man was saying hello. “Should we go upstairs to my room? Only if you-you’re interested, though. No pressure.”
My heart goes double Dutch, shaky, sputtering, unsure which way to flop.
“I’d love nothing more than to accompany you to your room.”
“Well, perhaps just these drinks, and then we should go.” I imagine I’ll have to pay him extra for a lil’ something, something.
Tatsun laughs softly. “You must be hungry, Ryann. Order anything.”
I chortle. “Anything? Yeah, I’m not sure I can afford that, too.”
“Take a deep breath, Ry.”
“Ry?” I smile behind my ceramic cup and polish off the last bit of sake. Losing myself in his beautiful gaze, I mumble, “Why Ry?”
“Like my Ry.”
“I’ll take that deep breath.”
“Please do.”
I tug in oxygen, laughing at myself, then cover my mouth.
“Do not hide your smile.”
I remove my hand from my mouth, slow-motion like. “I'm not used to that.”
“Used to what?”
“Not covering my smile. I never grew comfortable with it. I guess it’s a kid thing. I tend to laugh at myself. It usually ends in a snort. So . . . not many people like that.”
“You have pretty lips. While you’re with me, you’ll grow accustomed to smiling and laughing. I’m the boss. This is your order.”
“Give me all the orga— Um, orders you like. I’m sorry. I’m a little tipsy. Your stare, your presence, you make me ramble.” I fan myself.
When I speak again, I try to steer the conversation back to him. “Do you prefer Tatsun, or you can give me your name if you'd like.” Please. Instead, I’d get to know you. Even if it’s for one night and my heart’s crushed after. “I heard the waitress call you Ziat—”