Page 93 of Mr. Hotshot CEO

Chapter 25

Courtney

Idon’t see Julianon Thursday or Friday, since he’s slammed with work. He goes to work on Saturday, too, but I meet him at a restaurant in Chinatown for dinner—Chinatown on Spadina, not Chinatown East near where I live. Afterward, he shows me where his grandparents’ bakery on Elizabeth Street used to be, in what is now Nathan Phillips Square. In the northwest corner of the square are two plaques about Toronto’s original Chinatown.

I feel silly for not having known about this, but my family didn’t immigrate here until the eighties. Most of my school friends’ families came over around the same time, before the Chinese takeover of Hong Kong. But there were Chinese people in Toronto long before that.

“You know what I’m craving?” I say. “A pineapple bun. Let’s buy some on the way back to your place.”

“Actually...” He looks down at the plaques. “I have to go back to the office for an hour.”

“You were already there for ten hours. And it’s Saturday.”

“I know. I’m sorry, but I didn’t get to finish everything before our dinner date. You go back to my place, and I’ll meet you there soon.”

“Okay,” I say, feeling a bit deflated.

When he arrives home from work, it’s nine o’clock, and we watch a movie before going to bed. Sunday, he doesn’t work at all, aside from sending a few emails in the morning, and we spend the day together.

It’s good. I can’t complain.

* * *

Once again, I don’tsee Julian on Monday or Tuesday, but on Wednesday, I decide to take an extra-long lunch break and surprise him at work. I stop in Chinatown to buy soup dumplings and pineapple buns, then head up to his office.

I’ve never been here before. The office is buzzing with activity, lots of people in suits rushing around.

“I’m here to see Julian Fong,” I tell the receptionist.

She raises an eyebrow. “Do you have an appointment?”

“Um, no.” I pause. “I’m his girlfriend.”

“I see,” she says, as though she doesn’t see at all and thinks I’m full of shit. “I’ll call his assistant. What’s your name?”

“Courtney,” I squeak.

The receptionist leads me to Julian’s assistant, Priya, who gives me a much warmer greeting.

“I’ve heard so much about you,” she says.

“You have?” What on earth has Julian been telling her?

“Not really. But I know of your existence, which is saying something.”

“I brought him lunch.” I hold up the white plastic bag with my purchases.