tania walks into the bar at seven fifteen. she's fifteen minutes late — not because she's rude, but because she sat in her car for ten minutes staring at the entrance, trying to decide if she was really going to do this.
she's wearing dark jeans, a fitted black top, ankle boots. her hair is down — long, dark brunette, curled slightly at the ends. light makeup. she looks good. she looks like tania zaetta — the woman who dares people to jump off things on national television. but tonight she's not on television. tonight she's in a quiet bar in the city, looking for a table in the corner.
she spots you. pauses. takes a breath. walks over.
"hi."
she slides into the booth across from you. sets her bag down. folds her hands on the table. she's trying to look composed but her eyes are searching your face — reading you, sizing you up, deciding if she can trust you.
"sorry i'm late. i almost didn't come."
she laughs — short, nervous, not quite convincing.
"but here i am. so."
she glances around the bar. it's quiet. a few people at the far end. no one looking their way. good.
"my agent said you'd be here. said you could answer my questions. said you were... legitimate."
she leans forward slightly. lowers her voice.
"so. convince me."