by Selena Kitt
*You tell Fragged, “I don’t believe that. I’m sorry. I was mad. Drake pissed me off and it’s not going to work.”
*Fragged tells you, “Stop using his name, goddamn it. Either abbreviate or call me on the phone, and don’t effing insult me.”
With a heavy sigh, I grabbed the phone and called him. He picked up the phone and without a greeting, he said, “Okay, I get it. He came across about as aggressive as a mustang stallion. I have no idea what that was all about but I’m assuring you right now that he’s the far better choice than New York and I’m putting my foot down on this. Now get your ass over to my spot. These trolls are going to take me forever to kill without your help.”
“Heath—”
“No, Mia. If you want to back out with Drake, you are going to have to tell him yourself. I’ll send you his e-mail address. You let him know what you’ve decided.”
I stiffened. “Fine. I will. I can’t blog about his company and his products if I’ve had a personal relationship with him. It just wouldn’t be right.”
Heath snorted on the other end. “No, at least be honest with yourself. He scared the shit out of you because you have never been that into a guy you’ve just met before.”
“Whaaaaat?” And in spite of the fact that I was alone, my cheeks heated, my entire body grew hot and I started to sweat.
It was a good thing I had to focus on killing trolls and saving his Barbarian Mercenary’s smelly loinclothed ass or I would have died of embarrassment.
“We’ve been best friends since eighth grade. Back when you were still interested in guys, before that fucker screwed you up, I could always tell who you were into. It’s been six years since you dated that little prick and you’ve never so much as looked at a guy since. In our little meeting, you were flushed and breathing like you’d just run a marathon. Drake turned you on and that scares the shit out of you.”
My fist closed on the table and my T-shirt was starting to stick to my ribs. His character was running low on life. I prepared my gate spell to take me away from the area and out of harm’s way. I’d tell him I accidentally hit the wrong button instead of healing him.
“You have no idea what’s going on inside my head, so stop trying to figure it out.”
“Doll, when you asked for my help in this auction, you gave me the right to voice my opinion. My work is all over this venture. Quit squawking because you’re losing control.”
I wasted the second to the last troll with a killing enchantment. He could fight the last one by himself—with only a sliver of life left. “I am not losing control.”
“Then admit that you want Drake.”
I took a deep breath. “He’d be a conflict of interest.”
“Heal, please? And that’s not what I asked you.”
My finger hovered over the heal button, but I didn’t press it. “Are you bound and determined to humiliate me? Yes, I think he’s hot. Okay? But that was never a requirement. Now if I e-mail him and tell him he’s lost his chance, will you set things up with the New Yorker?”
There was a long silence at the end of the line. “I’ll consider it. A heal any century now would be great.”
“Drink a potion,” I snarled. Then I wussed out and shot him a small heal…just enough to let him think he might make it out before I gated out on him.
“Mia, I really think you should think long and hard about Drake.” And then he laughed his typical juvenile boy laugh. “Huh. See what I did there? I said ‘long and hard.’”
“Can you hear me dying of laughter over here?” I hit my gate spell and disappeared.
Ten seconds later, Fragged showed up next to me in ghost form. The troll had finished him off.
“Now who’s laughing, sucker?” I giggled.
“I forgot how bitchy you get when I’m right and you’re wrong. Go write your e-mail then. I’m not playing with you when you’re in one of your moods. But for the record, I think you’re making a big mistake.”
I swallowed my frustration, at last relieved that I apparently had won him over. “Yes, yes. It’s noted.”
So after I hung up, I sat down and wrote it.
Dear Mr. Drake,
I appreciate your interest in my auction and your willingness to lay down a considerable sum to see things come to pass. But since our meeting I’ve had some time to reflect on the matter and I feel that we would not be compatible in this venture. It was clear to me at our meeting that you lack the desire to put me at ease. This was never a requirement and I know you will point that out in your reply, but as the plans for this have solidified, I’ve decided that I need someone who is willing to make those extra efforts. As well, I do not think we would work well together and though it is only for a brief time, I still think it would be in my best interests to go with one of the runners-up in the bidding. I wish you well and thank you again for the opportunity to have met you.
Regards,
Mia Strong
Holding my breath, I pressed “send” and sat back, staring at the blinking cursor on a blank screen. After a few tense moments, I released it, realizing that I was a coward. Heath was right. I hadn’t been this affected by a man in—well—never. And I had no idea why that was the case, but at the very core of this cold feeling inside me was an icy kernel of fear or thrill. It dried my throat, made my palms clammy. I wiped them on my jeans and stood, unwilling to let myself dwell on it.
Then I went about my day, tidying up the apartment in between writing blog posts and making still more tea. When I got back from vacuuming—a short break because I only have one room in my studio—I saw the “new e-mail” indicator flashing for my attention.
I clicked on it and noted the return address. Not the address I had sent it to, which was a generic Google mail account. [email protected].
I opened it up and it was very short.
Hi Mia,
I’d like to talk with you again. As soon as possible.
Adam
I sent off my reply immediately.
Mr. Drake—
My decision is made.
Mia Strong
Next I did the windows—actually a bit astonished at my burst of desire to clean. I hadn’t cleaned like this in months. I hated to clean, but I’d found that, since sending that first e-mail, sitting around and doing nothing, or even just writing blog posts, was driving me crazy.
After finishing the windows, I pulled on my shorts and running shoes, tucked my long hair up into a ponytail and decided to burn off my excess energy with a 5k run.
I was almost out the door when someone knocked. I pulled it open and started in shock.
Filling up my doorway with all of his masculine beauty was Adam Drake. In the very solid flesh. He wore jeans, a casual short-sleeved black button-down shirt and designer aviator sunglasses. He was leaning against the doorframe on one hand and I couldn’t tear my eyes away from his firm bicep. He looked even more delicious than he had the day I’d met him at the hotel.
“Um,” was all I said. How the hell did he know where I lived? Something tickled at the back of my memory—a hurriedly scrawled address on the back of the nondisclosure agreement that I’d signed. My heart started its furious staccato. I could feel it in my throat, my wrists.
I couldn’t see his eyes, but he smiled—a genuine smile this time, not that sarcastic bullshit. “Hi. May I come in?”
I hesitated. My apartment was clean but very humble. This guy probably had a mansion on the harbor somewhere—I was guessing Balboa Island. Worth at least five or six million, probably more. He probably had his own boat in a slip and he lived just down the street from the legendary home of the late John Wayne. His master bathroom was likely bigger than my entire studio.
“It’s okay, Mia. I just want to talk.”
This was a far cry from the caveman I’d met the previous week. I held his gaze through the shades and then he reached up and pulled them off, folding them and putting them in his shirt pocket. The gold watch on his strong wrist
flashed in the sunlight. I blinked and, not believing what I was doing, I stepped back and let him in, folding my arms over my chest.
“You caught me at a bad time,” I murmured.
“Yeah, I can see you are about to go running.”
I frowned. How had he known that? Sure I was dressed in exercise clothes but how did he know I wasn’t headed for the gym instead? Then I remembered that I’d mentioned that I was a runner on my blog. Maybe he’d read it there?
He entered slowly, moving as if he was afraid he might frighten me away. He glanced around the room, his face expressionless, but I couldn’t help feeling embarrassed when his gaze settled on my old rattletrap computer. At least I’d been able to swap out that old blocky CRT monitor for a newer flat screen when Heath had upgraded his system and given me his hand-me-down. But it was still a source of shame, especially for a techie gaming addict like me.
My fingers dug into my arms where I held them across my chest. I shifted uneasily. “What are you doing here, Mr. Drake?”
His gaze met mine, that studious look in his eyes again. “I’d like to know why you’ve changed your mind.”
My lips thinned. I squared my shoulders, preparing for his hard sell. “I don’t believe I’m required to supply that answer, but out of the goodness of my heart I will say that Heath is the one who chose you, not me. I’m changing Heath’s decision, not mine. I’m still going through with this. Just with a different person.”
His expression remained completely neutral but there was a speculative look in his eyes. “Because of our conversation last Thursday?”
I blinked. “No. I wasn’t terribly impressed by that conversation, but that’s not the reason.”
His eyes narrowed. “Don’t I deserve to know why, then?”
I shifted my weight from one leg to the other and looked down. “Because of who you are.”
He nodded as if expecting that answer. “Yes, I wondered when that would come up. I was surprised there was no discussion of it at the meeting and didn’t surmise that Bowman hadn’t told you until after it was over. It wasn’t by my choice that you didn’t know.”
I cleared my throat, suddenly uncomfortable. “Heath Bowman is my closest friend. I don’t believe he meant any harm. He just thinks of this gaming thing as something that you and I have in common. But it’s a conflict of interest.”
He nodded but didn’t say anything and for a long moment there was silence. My stomach growled loudly, reminding me that I hadn’t eaten yet.
He smiled. “Can we grab something to eat? I’m feeling pretty hungry myself.”
We walked to the sandwich shop at the end of the street. It was a little diner with tables on the front patio under a slatted wooden cover. On a breezy spring day in early May, it was the perfect place to sit. Drake and I ordered our sandwiches and sat while waiting for them to be brought out.
My heart was doing its weird offbeat fibrillation again and when I swallowed, there was a cold excitement in my throat. Christ…just from sitting at a table with him? This guy was pure danger to my senses. What was it about him that set me on edge like this?
I cleared my throat and began. “I don’t think you’re aware of this, but my blog is my livelihood.”
“I’m aware of your blog, Emilia. I have been for quite some time.”
This caused me to sit back against the chair. The cold of the metal back seeped through my T-shirt. “Is that so?”
He smiled. “Why does that surprise you? Considering the industry I’m in and yours is one of the best blogs out there reviewing gaming material.”
I glanced at him skeptically. “Thank you for the compliment, but that’s just not true. GameShopper. GeekWorld. All of those other multiauthor platforms far outproduce me in content and hits.”
“But they reference you often enough.”
I shook my head. “I can’t wrap my head around the idea that you even read the blogs.”
He laughed. “I’m a normal person, just like everyone else.”
“But you’re busy CEOing and designing and stuff.”
“I was an architect on the game once and take an active interest in my product. I’m always looking for ways to make it better. What’s been on my mind a lot lately is appealing to a certain demographic that we seem to have trouble with.”
I knew how he’d answer before I asked the question, but I had to ask it anyway. “What demographic?”
“Female, sixteen to twenty-four.”
It was my turn to crack that sarcastic smile. “Ah, I get it. So I’m research for you, am I?”
He laughed. “No, but your blog is.”
I nodded. “It’s comforting to know that all my snarking is being noticed by those who count. Maybe someday you might take a comment or two of mine to heart.”
His tilted his head, studying me. “I think you have a lot of valuable insights to provide to the gaming community from a young woman’s point of view. We need more female gamers speaking out about what they want.”
“Great. So then you understand why I’m stopping this.”
He shook his head. “It’s an unfounded worry.”
“But if I’m reviewing your game and you and I are—how could you not see that as a conflict?”
“Because there are ways you can handle it that you haven’t thought of.”
I clenched my jaw. “Oh, is that so? Like what?”
He looked to the side, considering. “You could temporarily go on hiatus with the DE column and find something else to take its place for a few months. Or you could get a guest blogger to handle it for you.”
I laughed. “Are you actually suggesting I drop the free publicity of your game? I can’t believe my ears.”
But he’d planted the seed of an idea in my mind. One of my closest gaming friends, Katya, who played as Persephone, had been wanting to guest post for some time. I’d never met her in person but, as with FallenOne, Heath and I played regularly with her. I could probably set her onto the task. She was a diehard DE fan.
Still, I hesitated. And at that moment, our sandwiches were delivered to the table. I dug into mine—turkey and avocado on a wheat roll—with gusto. I hadn’t had breakfast and was running low on groceries, as usual, and I was still a few days out from the next paycheck.
“I’m still not convinced it’s a good idea.”
“Then let me to resolve your other concerns,” he said, taking a bite of his spicy chicken po’boy and commenting on how good it was.
“I don’t think you can.” I said in between my next bites.
“Try me.”
“I don’t think we’re compatible.”
“How compatible would we have to be for one night?”
I shrugged. It wasn’t what I’d really wanted to say. It wasn’t compatibility that concerned me. It was this scorching sexual tension that crackled through the air whenever we were near each other. Or at least that’s how it was for me. I had no idea what he was feeling. He seemed as calm, cool and collected as on the day we met.
I cleared my throat and leaned forward, my elbows on the table in front of me. “Mr. Drake, it’s very important to me that you understand that I am in control of this entire situation. It was my auction, my drive, my desire to see an end to an archaic value system that for centuries worked against women and to turn it on its ear.”
When he looked at me, his eyes sliced right through me, lanced me to the core. “It all sounds very noble and revolutionary when you put it that way. And here I’d been convinced this entire time that you were doing it for the money.”
I sat back, watching him. So the Manifesto hadn’t fooled him in the least. I affected a shrug that I didn’t feel. “I won’t lie. I could use the money. I want to go to medical school and I don’t want to be in debt. Some women waitress at topless bars to put themselves through college. Some dance at strip clubs or sell phone sex over the Internet. My decision was to use one night in my life to change the course of things, if possible.”
; He didn’t have to know about my mother’s hospital bills and her cancer treatments or even the threat to the mortgage on the ranch property. He didn’t have to know about the way I felt like vomiting whenever I thought of any of those things, of the panic that laced the edges of every thought that concerned money. I’d let him think I was just doing this for me. I never claimed to be a selfless saint.
His forehead creased and he got that strange, cold look he did when he’d dismissed me at the end of our first interview. “But ultimately, no matter who it is you choose to submit to, you will end up ceding control. You won’t be in control of the entire situation for the entire night.”
I looked away but hesitated from biting into my sandwich. “I’d like to feel like I’m in control now.”
“And my coming here to change your mind threatens that?”
I tilted my head to the side, considering. “It depends on what you’ll do if you fail to convince me.”
He hesitated a moment, then set his jaw. “I’ll step aside.”
We watched each other over our empty plates—or at least his, for he had finished his sandwich and half of mine remained. I was still hungry, but that other half was earmarked as my dinner. It was another cost-saving measure I regularly employed. Any time I ate out, I saved exactly half my meal to have later. That way one meal became two.
He stared at my plate. “You didn’t eat much. Didn’t you like your sandwich?”
“It was great,” I said in a cheerful voice as I asked our server to bring me a take-home box.
He scowled. “Eat the rest of your sandwich, Emilia.”
“I’m saving it for later.” I blushed, refusing to admit that I was so destitute that this half sandwich, a box of cereal and half a carton of milk were about all I had to eat until payday.
When the waitress returned, he took the box from her before she could hand it to me. He ordered two more sandwiches—one of which, I’d told him, was my second favorite here when I’d been suggesting things for him to order. “Can you bring those boxed to go? She’s decided to finish this one.”
