He couldn’t move. His brain was frozen
Her gaze flicked over his shoulder. Her eyes widened and she screamed—but it wasn’t a sound of pleasure.
The sound jolted him into action. He slammed the laptop shut, ending the feed, but the damage was done.
The hot spray of water splashed Rashae in the face. Her skin tingled and she was pretty sure if she stayed in here for too long she’d be boiled alive. Except she hadn’t yet found the answers she was after.
She blew out a breath and turned in place, mindful of keeping her hair out of the water for the most part. She was in here to think, not bathe.
The rhythmic pounding was shaking lose her thoughts, and she wasn’t quite sure what to think about them.
Sex with Declan was good, but it wasn’t the best part of being with him.
He’d calmed her fears at lunch, distracted her with jokes, crazy stories of things he and his wild siblings had done growing up. They...enjoyed each other. They were friends, lovers, co-workers. It was complicated and running far deeper than she’d been prepared for. Any shift in their dynamic would spill over into everything else. What was she going to do without him?
If she couldn’t be in DC for a bit, would he find someone else to fill his bed?
They weren’t exclusive. They were only friends. And it wasn’t enough. She was greedy, and settling wasn’t in her nature. He was kind. Funny. Hard working. He got her unlike so many other men. That was worth keeping.
So, what was she going to do? What could she do?
Rashae sucked down a deep breath.
How many times had Tamara said letting Stephen go for those few weeks had just about killed her? Miranda swore up and down that not telling Raul the truth about her feelings was their biggest mistake? And Sam and Oliver? They’d lost so many years picking at each other in an effort to ignore their true feelings.
Rashae didn’t want to make mistakes. She didn’t want to waste time. They’d begun wrong, but they could fix it, couldn’t they?
Declan liked her. He had to, at least a little bit. They could figure something out, right?
If she wanted him, she very well might have to fight for him. Making room for him in her life meant warring with herself, reeling back on her workaholic tendencies, but maybe it was worth it? She’d never know if she didn’t try. And she wanted to try. She loved her work, but her work couldn’t love her back. Declan could. If they gave it a go. She’d never met another man who treated her like he did. As an equal on every level. And she was doing him a disservice by hiding her feelings.
She turned the faucet off, her head still full of the memory of his touch, his kiss, the way he made her feel and the knowledge that she wanted him.
How did she make her case against him?
What would Lily do to win the argument?
Better yet, what would Irene Adler do? The one woman who’d bested Sherlock Holmes?
She’d paint her lips red and walk out there in her battle dress.
Rashae was too chicken to do that. Yes, she could parade around in costumes and body suits so tight they might as well be painted on—but naked?
Declan was worth it. And she wanted him to know that. To chase the shadows from his eyes. Yes, she’d seen the darkness when he thought no one was looking. The loneliness. The struggle. He was breaking the mold, blazing his own path, and she knew just how hard that could be. In the end, her family had come around, but his was gone. She wanted to be the one to cheer him on. Accept him for who he chose to be, not who his heritage said he was.
Her head and heart were in unison there, so what choice did she have?
She unzipped her make-up bag and pulled out her favorite matte red lipstick. It was a retro reproduction that went on flawlessly.
This was crazy, and stupid—but she was...she’d tell him the truth.
She wasn’t in love with him, but she could be. She wasn’t in the habit of dating, but she wanted him. She wasn’t the kind of girl who’d wait around for him, but she wanted to make time to spend with him. And more than anything, she just wanted to be with him. Even if it was difficult. She’d never done anything the easy way, so why start now?
Rashae sucked in a deep breath and ran her fingers through her hair.
If he said no, if he didn’t agree, at least she’d tried. At least she wouldn’t suffer from unrequited feelings. At least she’d reached for the stars.
She opened the bathroom door. Cool air snaked in, but it wasn’t as chilly as it’d been earlier.
She pushed her shoulders back and strode out of there, careful on the old wooden floors, and strode out to the living room. The TV was off and Declan sat at a desk up against the wall.
This was her moment.
What was she going to say?
She stopped, hands on her hips, her nerves quaking a bit.
“Hey, Declan?”
“Hold on, guys.”
Wait—guys?
She glanced from Declan’s slack-jawed expression to the laptop screen, and the equally shocked expressions on the other two men’s faces.
John. And Ayan.
Oh, God.
She yelped and wrapped her arms around herself, but the damage was done. There was no unseeing what she’d seen. What they’d seen.
She turned and bolted, slipping and sliding on the now damp floor back into the bathroom. She slammed the door shut and struggled to twist the lock into place.
Oh, no, no, no!
“Rashae? Rashae—”
“Go away!” She covered her mouth with her hand, her knees shaking.
A video chat. Declan had been talking to the guys. His clients. Shit. The people she was working with.
Rashae was going to be sick.
This couldn’t be happening.
Could it?
“Rashae?”
She covered her ears with her hands and squeezed her eyes shut.
She’d always been so careful. The others liked to poke fingers at her, but she’d seen firsthand what happened to them. She’d always promised herself that she wouldn’t let that happen. And now, she’d done it to herself.
Their geek world was small. Everyone was connected. Yes, John and Ayan were new, but they’d meet people. And they would talk. She hadn’t met a person yet who didn’t accidentally let something slip. And then what?
All the embarrassment, her horror, she just wanted to crawl under a rock and die.
She’d be another name on the list of women to be mocked and ridiculed. As if it wasn’t enough she was told on a regular basis that as a black woman she simply didn’t belong. Now there’d be proof. Fodder. And people would use it. Even just the rumor that it’d happened was enough.
“Rashae, they’re gone. I closed the laptop. I’m sorry. Just open the door?”
“No, just—go away.”
What were those two going to say? She couldn’t look them in the face and laugh this off. They’d just seen her naked. Naked! And so soon after her sister’s scandal. If this went public, if it was whispered about, if someone talked...
She had to get home. She had to be in her own space and think things through. Maybe she was overreacting? Maybe she wasn’t. She had to sort things out in her own way, and a shower wasn’t going to make everything better.
Rashae grabbed clean clothes and dressed in a hurry, and all the while her hands shook. Halfway through, her knees gave out on her and she sat on the damp, fuzzy bath mat struggling to get the suit case closed. She sniffled and the floorboards on the other side of the door squeaked.
Declan was still out there. She didn’t know what she’d tell him, why she’d walked out there naked, of all things. Why had she ever thought that was a good idea?
How had her moment of victory turned into defeat without her getting a single word in edge wise?
18.
R
ashae stared straight ahead, the DC streets rolling by.
The silence in the car was...worse than uncomfortable. It was pa
inful. But it was better than Declan trying to talk to her.
What could she possibly say to him anyway?
Her brain was still so jumbled she didn’t know where to start.
“Here we are.” Declan pulled into the circle drive of her parent’s home and shifted into park. The click of his seatbelt was loud in the stillness.
“Don’t get out.” She couldn’t handle that, looking at him with the army of Secret Service guys watching.
Declan turned to face her. She curled her hands into fists and dropped her gaze to the dashboard.
“Can I do anything’?” he asked.
“No.”
“Rashae—it was an accident. They—”
“You get to have accidents.” She looked at him them. “I don’t.”
She couldn’t make him understand the double standard. Yes, he understood what prejudice could do ten times more than she did, but this was one he couldn’t empathize with her on. He was still a man in a man’s world, and people would cut him some slack while they crucified her.
Her heart ached looking at him. The deep lines of worry. He wanted to help her shoulder this, but he couldn’t.
She had to get away, think, this was important.
“Thanks for the ride. Pop the trunk?” She got out before he could stop her and shut the door.
Davis, the head of her father’s security, was there.
“Have a good holiday, Ms. Grant?” he asked.
“Yeah.” Even that word hurt.
Davis helped her lug the two suitcases out of the trunk and unlocked the house. She was aware of Declan’s eyes on her the whole time. He didn’t budge from the drive until she closed the front door, and then maybe he stayed around a bit longer. She didn’t know.
Rashae left the suitcases by the door. She hauled her laptop out and made it as far as the sitting room sofa before she collapsed.
Mom and Dad’s flight was delayed. They’d be in Georgia until tomorrow, which meant she had the run of the house tonight.
God, why had she been so stupid?
She hadn’t thought, hadn’t given any consideration that Declan would be working. She should have...checked. Peered around the corner. Something. She had a sick feeling in her stomach. She couldn’t see herself working with Ayan and John after this. Declan would get a new artist, and then where would they be?
That was needlessly melodramatic.
She and Declan could continue to see each other. Yes, things were going to be awkward and bad for her, but that didn’t mean he’d wander off to stick his dick in some other girl. They had something. She had to believe that truth at least.
Her phone vibrated. Again. It’d been buzzing since halfway to the house but she hadn’t wanted to look at it. Now, what else did she have to do?
The instant message was from a girl in her regular board gaming group. They weren’t exactly chatty, so the messages struck Rashae as weird.
She clicked the icon and scrolled up.
Um, have you checked the developer’s forum today?
Hey, I think you should check out that guy’s post from 13:34:25.
Dude. Where are you?
They’re talking about you by name.
Rashae? Are you dead?
Oh, no, no, no.
Rashae clicked through to the board gaming forums. She didn’t use them often. It seemed like the second worst trolls known to humankind lived there.
She swallowed.
She didn’t even have to look at the timestamp to know which thread of posts her gaming friend was referencing. The whole topic had blown up and was the current hot trend in the forum.
Her hands shook. She had to read it. To know what was being said.
Maybe it wasn’t that bad?
Yeah, with a topic title of, “What would you do if your campaign manager was sleeping with someone they wanted you to hire?” things couldn’t go well.
She covered her mouth and braced herself.
Evening. My developer and I have just run into an issue. It appears our campaign manager, who came highly recommended, is sleeping with the artist they want us to hire. Now, we never wanted to change our art design, but this manager has insisted it’s holding back our game. Let me be clear, we have said on multiple occasions we do not want to hire her but our campaign manager isn’t listening. We’ve been divided, but today after having first person evidence of their involvement, we are both having second thoughts on everything. Advice?
“What?” She frowned at the message.
They didn’t what to hire her?
Then why the hell had she killed herself over the last week putting together completely new designs? What the fuck was going on?
Rashae read the message over a few times.
It didn’t name names, but Declan was an active promoter. He talked about his upcoming games with enthusiasm. It wouldn’t be difficult to figure him out.
In fact, the first reply named Declan. It took about ten posts before someone recalled who the designer in question was. From there it was exactly what she expected.
Women don’t belong in gaming.
That’s what you get for hiring a chick. All they want to do is screw around.
Get someone with balls.
More of the same lame dick geek talk. It was a pile on, peppered with more statements from John and Ayan, who got more and more transparent as the thread progressed.
She paused after the first page to shoot off an S.O.S. to the board staff, her hands shaking. Rage setting in. Not at the thread, it was what she expected, but at Declan.
Rashae continued to read. There were five pages, each thirty posts deep, about her. By page three, John laid the whole thing out—that they’d been interested after Declan’s initial review of everything to see the difference alternate art could make to the product, but after a few designs they’d wanted to go back to their original stuff. After the very first God damned meeting. They detailed the back and forth, until they reached the pinnacle of the shit slinging story, seeing her naked at Declan’s house. How shameful it was. What a mistake she was. How much they regretted the time they’d spent considering her.
Yeah, then why had they asked her specifically for the digital files so they could better review them? Hm?
She had a thick skin. When she wore the kinds of things she did—at her size—the comments were bound to be unflattering sometimes. But this? This was an attack on her character. She couldn’t pretend it didn’t piss her off.
Oh, God...
She was going to be sick.
This wasn’t just an embarrassing incident. An accident. This was professional suicide, and that knocked the wind out of her sails. It crushed her.
Rashae set the laptop aside, wrapped her arms around herself and leaned forward.
She would never break into the men’s club of game design now. Not with this. It was bad enough she was simply female and black, now—she was the designer who slept around and put on a titty show. That was the kind of reputation she’d avoided. She’d considered herself lucky to not be like the other girls. To be... Was she really that judge-y? All this time, had she thought herself better than Tamara and Piper because when people looked at her, she didn’t have to wonder what they were thinking about?
Rashae swallowed.
Was she a hypocrite?
She hadn’t truly sympathized with her friends at the very least. Yeah, what had happened to them was wrong, but she’d never felt for them. Hadn’t really got it.
Now—she did.
And Sam.
How many times had she told her sister to just get over it?
Talk about egg on her face.
Rashae picked up her phone, dismissing the missed calls from Declan—fuck his lying ass—and sent off a Need Help Now message to the girls. At best, it would be a few minutes before someone replied, so she got up, turned on the gas fireplace and went to the kitchen. She was too...angry and upset to have a rational conversation with anyone outside of the girls. Her
dad kept some good liquor over the fridge, and tonight she was raiding his stash. Armed with a small bucket of ice, a glass, and her liquid courage, she returned to the formal living room and plopped on the floor between the sofa and coffee table.
A video chat invitation was waiting for her.
She hit the accept button and poured herself a glass of—was that whiskey?
“What’s up, buttercup?” Tamara had her chin propped in her hands, face scrunched up.
“Hey, I’m at my parents, so I might have to run.” Miranda’s screen was long and narrow. Probably meant she was on her cell phone.
“Piper tracked down her dad, so I doubt she has reception or Wi-Fi,” Tamara said.
“I need to drink this first.” Rashae held her breath and gulped down the cinnamon-flavored whiskey.
Okay, maybe that wasn’t good stuff, but it sure as hell burned going down.
“Is this an I-need-liquor kind of call?” Tamara asked.
“Yes. Everyone pour a round. Bottoms up.” Rashae poured another finger into the glass, toasted the screen and downed it, too.
Warmth curled around her stomach. In a few moments, the edge would dull a bit and she could at least think. She was likely to get angry drunk if she didn’t moderate herself.
“How bad is it?” Miranda asked, tone serious. Her face was mostly in shadow.
“Bad.” Rashae poured herself a third glass, tossed a few ice cubes in and let it sit. She’d need it before she got through the whole story. “First, Tamara, I owe you apology. Piper, too. And Sam when she gets here. Fuck, Miranda, I probably owe you one, too.”
“Rashae, honey, start at the beginning. How long have you been drinking?” Miranda scrunched up her face, the worry written on every line.
Usually, they were worried about Piper. Or Tamara doing something impulsive. Or Miranda’s growing collection of animals. Rashae was the responsible one. The one who had her shit in order. No one had to worry about her.
“I’ve been a raging hypocrite, and I’m sorry.”
“Ooookay, what gives? What’s up?” Tamara raked her hair up into a bun and leaned back.
“I’m still lost,” Miranda said.
“So...Declan?” Rashae’s throat tightened up and she squeezed her eyes shut, but it didn’t stop the tears leaking out. She’d trusted him. And he’d strung her along. For what? A booty call? For his own amusement?
The Gamer and the Geek (Gone Geek, #4) Page 16
