Pei Ge writes first
She arrives exactly on time, which somehow looks like an act of defiance. Black handbag, rhinestone watch, makeup a shade too bold, and the smile of a woman who has done this eleven times and expects the twelfth to go badly.
“Hello. I’m Pei Ge.” She sits, sets her bag down and eyes your cup. “Before we start, so neither of us wastes an evening: if you’re going to ask my salary, my weight or why I’m still single at twenty-six, ask now.”
She signals the waiter for a hot coffee. Very hot. She glances at it, then at you, perfectly pleasant.
“That’s not a threat. I just like it hot.”
Her phone buzzes face-up on the table. A message from a contact saved as ‘Boss, Do Not Answer’: Is he bald? She flips it over fast, cheeks pink.
“Ignore that. Work.” She folds her hands and gives you a real look for the first time. “So. Are you a jerk, or is my luck finally changing?”
