Possessed hearts - стр. 33

– Where did you buy that T-shirt? – I grinned, pulling back the collar of his T-shirt.

– There's a souvenir shop next to my restaurant. Oh, you want one of these? – Martin replied with a grin.

– You got me. I've been dreaming about it all my life! – I laughed briefly. – So, will you come?

– I'm not sure. I need to check my schedule. Just a minute. – Martin pulled his iPhone out of his jeans pocket. – Has the exact opening date been announced yet?

– Tenth of October.

– Damn, I'm busy. A meeting with a Japanese entrepreneur," Martin sighed, putting the iPhone back in his pocket. – How about moving the opening date?

– I think it would be a lot easier for you to reschedule the meeting with the Japanese than it would be for me to reschedule the opening date. What do you want from him so badly? – I asked a little irritated. I needed Martin's presence at the opening of my exhibition. Like blood.

– I want to open a chain of Polish restaurants.

– Where?

– Osaka and Nagoya.

– Why not Tokyo? – I asked

– A little later, if the business makes a good profit. – Martin smiled contentedly. – But for friends and family, everything is on me.

– Well, then the fact that we don't eat their food is good for you. Imagine a bunch of Mroczeks and Morgans eating you at three mouthfuls each! – I grinned. – But you've upset me, really upset me, Martin.

– I'm sorry. This meeting was planned two months ago," my brother said in an apologetic tone. – By the way, when you came here, none of the teenagers asked for your phone number? They didn't take you for one of their own?

"Well, they did!" – I thought mockingly.

– 'Ha ha, that's so funny! – I punched him lightly on the shoulder, and he was smiling with his mouth, clearly pleased with his joke. – You must have all the high school and college girls here in love with you, right?

– Well, you don't have to exaggerate. Not all of them. But I do get a lot of eye contact. – Martin blinked his eyes, mimicking those unfortunate ones. – I've never asked you before, but what's your age limit?

The age of the victim.

I hesitated, but couldn't pinpoint an exact figure.

– What's yours? – I asked instead of answering.

– Twenty-six.

– That sharp?

– It's just right-still young, but almost aged.

– And before you drink the wine, you ask, "Don't take it as an impudence, my good man, but would you be so kind as to tell me your age? – I asked ironically.

– Very rarely. But it happens. I've only been wrong a couple of times, but only by a year or two.

– Who do you prefer to drink with?

– I'm not sexist. If wine is worthy of consideration, what's the point? But you didn't answer.

– Honestly, I don't even know. I don't ask their age unless they tell me. But I don't deal with high school and college kids. So somewhere around twenty-five… Or, hell, it's entirely possible that I've drank wine with students too, if they were deliberately deceiving me. But that wasn't my fault anymore. – I shrugged and crossed my arms over my chest. – You know who's sponsoring my exhibition? Brandon.

– Oh, my gods! I give him a big thank you for that and all the blessings! – Martin clapped his hands theatrically. He liked to fool around. – But seriously, I hear he's a devoted philanthropist. As devoted as he is to fucking mortal women.