Rules of Engagement

by Lily White

  With our advanced web tracking software, we are able to verify and track ISP addresses, including those that are floating or bounced in an effort to disguise a person’s identity. This advanced recognition software guarantees the success of the game, as well as the safety of the participants.

  My mind wandered as Donovan went over the other features of the software, including the parameters and other features that meant nothing to me. Impatiently, I waited for him to get to the point, to show an example of one of these games so that I could determine whether he had any connection to a particular game I was stuck playing.

  “Tell me, Donovan,” one of the men who’d met us at the elevator said, his voice booming through the once silent room. “Are you guaranteeing that this software will make it impossible for hackers and government officials to access our servers to obtain information regarding the people playing these games, or the audience members watching?”

  Donovan typed out a response while my heart beat erratically at the mention of an audience to these games. It was exactly the same, a puzzle piece that when assembled was an arrow pointing directly in Donovan’s direction.

  My eyes narrowed on the man in question, my mind reeling as I thought about the messages my stalker had sent me, the coincidental comments made by Donovan the morning after a man was standing in my bedroom watching me sleep.

  As if intuiting the thoughts in my head, Donovan cast a quick glance in my direction, his eyes challenging me to say or do anything with the suspicion planted in my head. The corners of his lips twitched, the hint of humor lost as soon as he returned his attention to the men seated around the table.

  The tablet in my hand beeped with whatever selling point Donovan was now making to his clients, but I couldn’t peel my eyes from the man who held every person in this room in his skilled grasp. Standing at the head of the table in front of a screen displaying examples of the games that could be played, Donovan conducted his presentation in absolute silence, but still I could hear him screaming in my head.

  Not screaming, really. More like whispering. Whispering like a stalker would do if he had you cornered, knowing everything about you while you knew nothing about him.

  Feeling my face flush at the realization that something was occurring beyond my understanding, I fought against the conflicting feelings inside me. It was the first moment I truly questioned my sanity, the first moment that my heart joined in on the stupid mistakes of my head. Biting the inside of my lip, I closed my eyes briefly to realize that my first response after my surprise and a flash of contemptuous anger, was longing. I liked that Donovan was my potential stalker. I wanted him to be the man standing over my bed at night.

  I wanted him to be the man who would eventually crawl beneath my sheets, warming my body, making me crave his presence in the shadows of my room.

  Fighting not to cry out with rage, I opened my eyes again, my gaze pinning Donovan in place, my heart beating so rapidly that I was dizzy from the rush of blood.

  Silently, I told myself I was an idiot. I called myself every name in the book at how stupid I’d been to feel even remotely attracted to a man who had built a maze and was laughing to watch me run through it. Had he accepted me into the game because I applied to be his administrative assistant, or had he hired me because I applied to be in the game?

  Was I just another test subject, one that would pop up on the screen behind Donovan as his presentation to his clients progressed?

  He didn’t look at me again as the presentation continued. Stepping aside, he concluded the spoken part of the meeting. A video came to life on the screen, several examples of previous games being displayed for the clients to soak in. On the surface, I didn’t think any the ideas for the games were bad, but my fear that the Dark Realities site would pop up had me clenching and relaxing my hands, had me grinding my teeth so hard that my jaw ached.

  The twenty minutes of video that played felt like an entire lifetime, but eventually it concluded and Dark Realities was never mentioned. That only left more questions in my head.

  Was Dark Realities one of Donovan’s test games?

  Or had I instantly jumped to conclusions and spent the last half hour both wanting and hating a man that was nothing more than my boss?

  The emotions were too confusing, the situation surreal.

  My attention was caught by the beep of my tablet, my eyes lowering to read a message that was meant for only me.

  Are you feeling okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost…or a hundred.

  Shaking myself of the walls that fear and anger had built around me since learning about the subject of Donovan’s presentation, I attempted to step back into the moment. Lifting my gaze, I found Donovan watching me, his brows crooked in concern. He appeared genuinely confused and I suddenly wondered if I hadn’t been jumping to conclusions about him.

  I’m fine. Just paying close attention to your presentation.

  His gaze narrowed, skepticism written within the lines of his expression. Judging by your reaction, we’ll be walking out of here without a signed contract. The presentation can’t be that bad.

  I laughed, a short burst of sound that was more of a relief than I wanted to admit. He had no clue why all the color had drained from my face. He had no reason to know that his reality games closely mimicked a current issue in my life.

  It bothered me immensely that disappointment flooded me with that realization.

  The presentation was wonderful. I answered, forcing a small smile on my lips while he watched me for another few seconds before returning his attention back to the investors.

  “Donovan,” a dark haired man said as he stood from the table and held out a hand in greeting. “I’m not sure you know exactly who I am, but I wanted to introduce myself before we begin negotiations. You’ve met my partners already, Edward Kincaid and Timothy Clark, but my name is Cooley Cassock and I’m the Senior Partner here at Cassock, Kincaid and Clark.”

  Donovan shook the man’s hand, his eyes locking to the man’s face as I stepped closer to the table to get a better look at the Senior Partner who’d chosen to hide among the other nameless investors instead of introduce himself as Donovan and I arrived.

  Remaining silent, Donovan simply watched the man, a question lingering in his gaze that I thought was most likely the same as mine.

  His face lit by the scant sunlight that streamed in through the windows, Mr. Cassock had black hair and a thick mustache. Dressed in a designer suit that screamed money as well as power, he was a well built man that had enjoyed a few too many meals. His jowls shook as he talked, and there was a dusting of silver in his dark hair. However, for being an older man, he was still handsome.

  Donovan released Mr. Cassock’s hand, his attention directed at the senior partner as Mr. Cassock continued whatever speech it was he intended to make.

  “Several weeks ago, you delivered a sample of the gaming software for this idea of yours and we’ve had our technical department testing the capability of the games as well having our legal department researching the state and federal regulations that would apply to a venture such as this. It’s fortunate that the legal department has given us the go ahead as to our legal liability for the games, however our technical department is concerned that the coding is in a language difficult to understand. I don’t know all the ins and outs of what they were telling me as I’m not a computer genius, but I’d like some explanation as to how my technical department will be able to maintain the games if they’re unable to make changes and correct errors without the assistance of your company. Do you know who wrote the technical language?”

  Donovan grinned, an expression I now knew meant that the glimmer behind his eyes was some nefarious secret he would reveal in time. With me, those secrets were so numerous that I’d learned very little of what he thought of me, but it seemed he’d reveal this new thought immediately for his client. His thumbs flew over the surface of his screen, the message delivered cutting in its censure.

 
If your technical department isn’t able to understand the language and coding used, than I have to wonder why you implied they were experts. They’ve had four weeks to test the initial gaming software, and this is the feedback they give you?

  My eyes widened at first, but then closed. Donovan didn’t care who he was speaking to or what that person meant to his life and business. If there was an insult to be made, he would make it. I expected to see Mr. Cassock’s pale skin turn a deep red when I opened my eyes again, expected to find anger behind his gaze and his mouth pulled into a thin, razor edged line, but instead he smiled and nodded, his shoulders shaking with soft laughter in response to Donovan’s response.

  “I’ll be sure to let them know how you feel about them. But what about my other concerns?”

  Donovan typed his response quickly, his gaze lifting as soon as the tablets around the table beeped.

  I wrote the language and it should be understandable to any true technical expert you have. By utilizing a language unknown to most developers, you maintain both security and propriety of the software, giving you a few years at least before a competitor develops something similar. The gaming software and the tracking software work in tandem to deliver a realistic, safe and entertaining arena for both participants and audience members, and prevent hacking into the system. The language will need to be updated every so often to continue preventing targeted viruses or breaches, and that is the only use you’ll have for my company once the software is purchased by your firm. It will require updates to be constructed every three to four months in order to ensure security. However, the same can be said for all internet based entities as well as computer software in people’s various devices.

  Mr. Cassock glanced down at his partners, the three men smiling to hear that the software acquisition and maintenance wouldn’t require constant oversight by Donovan. Laughing to myself, I understood their desire not to be watched over by such a enigmatic man, but unfortunately, I would remain under his oversight – and scrutiny.

  “I tell you what, Donovan, I need to speak with my team regarding the software and what we’re willing to offer now that its been completed, but I can promise you good things. If you don’t mind, please step out of the conference room. My assistant will escort you and your assistant to a waiting area you can utilize for anything you need while we have our discussion.”

  With that, Donovan and I were shuffled out of the conference room and met at the door by a tall brunette who appeared to brighten at the chance to talk to Donovan. Much to her dismay, he didn’t respond to any of her polite comments, nor did he smile at her attempts to flirt. She led us into a medium sized room that contained a desk, some chairs and some couches, exiting with the reminder that we could contact her for anything we may require. I tended to believe that offer was directed more at Donovan than at me, but I couldn’t hold her attraction to my boss against her. Despite knowing better, I still felt warm every time I looked at him, even if I knew he was formulating some new observation about me that he would smile to deliver over his trusty tablet.

  Once the door was closed, I took a seat on a couch by the far wall, fully expecting Donovan to sit in the seat behind the desk or on another couch nearby. But, instead, Donovan took the seat directly beside me, his thigh touching mine as he directed his focus on his tablet, his thumbs typing out a message intended only for me.

  Will you go out with me tonight to celebrate the new contract?

  My breath caught when I read the message, my heart beating harder as my brain attempted to understand why Donovan would want to spend his evening with me instead of his partner, Jackson. It annoyed me to no end that part of the flutter in my heart was as a result of the crush I was developing on a man whose mission it was in life to drive me up a wall and back down again.

  “Just the two of us?” I asked out loud, my head turning so I could attempt to read his expression. There was no arched brow, no smirk and no smile. Donovan was serious in his question and sat in expectation of my answer.

  Feeling like I was being tested – only because that’s all Donovan ever did – I waited patiently for his response.

  Yes, he signed after dropping his tablet in his lap. Jackson is out of town tonight and won’t be able to join us.

  Giving the question some thought, it was my first instinct to decline the invitation, but I thought better of it. The only thing I had to look forward to that evening was sitting behind a set of locks, arguing with a stranger online about my desire to stop playing a dangerous game. Although I wanted to run to my sanctuary and hide like I’d done since signing up with Dark Realities, my desire to get to know Donovan better was just a little stronger.

  “Okay,” I answered, suspicion edging my words. “But just for dinner, right? I have to be at work tomorrow at eight sharp and my boss loves to mess with me when I’m even a minute late. Staying up wouldn’t be a good idea.”

  His lips pulled into a grin, his eyes locking to mine before he inclined his head in agreement.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  It was official: I was the least sexiest woman on the face of the planet. Tearing through my closet, I searched in vain for an outfit that was cute, yet reasonable. I’d never been the type of girl to show off tons of skin, or wear heels that shot me so far in the sky I got dizzy from the lack of oxygen, but still, I had a pseudo-date with Donovan Stone (even if it was for work) and I wanted to look as presentable as possible.

  One half of the closet was filled with clothes suitable for work. Professional, comfortable, financially responsible, but so far from sexy that those clothes were the antithesis of sexy. They belonged in a closet where sexy went to die. The other half of the closet was filled with my home clothes, comfortable, ratty, worn in and also the polar opposite of sexy.

  Blowing out a breath, I ignored the fluttering of my hair around my face. Donovan had said that wherever he decided to go would be low key. He claimed that, although the contract with Cassock, Kincaid and Clark was a big deal, he didn’t feel a need to go big on the celebration.

  He’d promised me these things with a smirk on his face – with a twinkle behind his eye that made me doubt every word that flowed over his full, soft lips. I was still deciding whether I should call Jackson to discover whether he was really out of town as Donovan claimed. There was no reason for Donovan to lie about Jackson’s availability, and yet, there was every reason to lie about it.

  Since leaving the client’s office building that day, the question of whether Donovan knew about Dark Realities danced in my head. I couldn’t ignore the coincidence that Donovan would develop a game that closely resembled the one I was currently stuck playing. But he’d been quite convincing in his ignorance, in the questioning arch of his brow, in the lines of his face that spoke of concern for my mental health when I went sheet white during his presentation.

  I wasn’t sure how I would discover the truth of his involvement, but I knew I couldn’t let the matter go until I knew for sure if Donovan was my so-called stalker.

  Unfortunately, that was also a matter for another time. The most important issue for me at the moment was deciding what to wear out with a man I didn’t want to admit drew me to him like a damn moon circling a planet’s orbit. It wasn’t simply looks with him – although, in truth, that’s mainly what I had to base my opinion on. It was something else as well, the glimmer of humor always lighting his face, the cutting remarks that he delivered with a smirk so sexy I wanted to slap it away and then kiss the pain from his lips.

  I’d never met anybody like him before and I found myself gravitating closer just because I wanted to discover all there was to know about Donovan Stone.

  Grudgingly, I decided to go with a blue flowing skirt that fell to my knees and a plain white top that buttoned at the collar. It wasn’t exactly fit for a night out, but when faced with absolutely zero other choices, I decided it would have to do. If Donovan took issue with it, I was sure he’d make his remarks, but I highly doubted being out with his modestly d
ressed assistant would ruin his credibility among the wealthy and powerful. If anything, he could lie and tell them I was there to record whatever random thoughts and ideas he had for the next project that would earn him millions.

  Because that’s what Donovan just walked away with when we left Cassock, Kincaid and Clark: Millions. As in multiple millions. As in more money than I would ever see in my lifetime – even if I lived to be a thousand years old. He treated it like a few pennies being dropped in a bucket, and it was that lackadaisical attitude that drew me to him more. How could anyone not jump up and down to learn their company made fifty million in one job? Fifty Million. For what Donovan told me was one year of work.

  Sighing at the thought, I grabbed the outfit from the hangers and was on my way to the bathroom to get a shower and get dressed when my doorbell chimed from the adjacent room. Suspicion stopped me in place, my head slowly turning toward the direction of the living room. I hadn’t invited anybody over and Donovan wasn’t due to send his driver to fetch me for another two hours. Thoughts spun in my head mixing in with fear and trepidation. I hadn’t bothered to check my email after arriving home, only because I didn’t need the weight of my continued stalker overshadowing my evening with Donovan. Had I not responded to some command? Had I failed to read a message in time that spurred the stranger to my door?

  Stalkers didn’t ring doorbells, but yet, I didn’t put it past him. He’d already been in my home. He’d already invaded my sanctuary and left his mark on my sense of safety.

  Dropping the clothes on my bed, I inched across the floor, slowly approaching my front door. From my vantage point, I could see that all the locks were in place, including the chain that ran at the top. Still, I couldn’t help wondering if the person on the other side of the door had some magical way of forcing the locks open, of breaking the chain so that he could barge in and finally make good on his threats to own me.