The Hot Gamer (A Romance Love Story) (Hargrave Brothers - Book #3)

by Alexa Davis

  "This is insane," I said shaking my head. "Fine, I'll find a dress and go to one of your fancy spas so I can look like a girl."

  "That's the spirit, Liv!" Carl said as he slugged my shoulder.

  "Ouch, that hurt!" I said as I rubbed my shoulder and pouted. "You really shouldn't be hitting a girl, you know."

  "Toughen up, buttercup," Carl grinned as I groaned at his terrible rhyme. “Besides, this fits in nicely with all of the reporting you've been doing for the features section and might get you entry into some of the future events, you know? Consider it a good reporting tool."

  I simply nodded in response. I didn't want to go to the event, but Carl was right: I needed to make a little more effort to fit in around here if I was going to have access to the people who would make it easier to report the news in Washington. I sighed as I picked up my phone and texted Bix a simple message. "Go shopping w/me?"

  Her response was immediate and to the point, "Thursday afternoon, 1pm. Come to the house."

  I quickly replied, "K. Be there," and then let it go.

  #

  Carl had just scooted back around the dividing wall to his own desk when Frank came barreling through the newsroom with a stack of papers in his hand. He was yelling, "Olivia, Olivia! Get your things together and get over to the GRIPTech offices."

  I shot Carl a look and then said, "What's up, Frank?" I asked as I began shoving a notebook and a couple of pens into my bag. I carried more office supplies than I'd ever use in my lifetime, but there was something about adding more that made me feel fully prepared.

  "I need to do an interview with the CEO over at GRIPTech," he said as he looked at the papers in his hand. "Stuff's coming over the wire that he bribed the senators who were shot on Sunday and there's speculation that he might be responsible for the shootings."

  "Linc Redding?" Carl and I said in unison.

  "You think he had people shot?" Carl asked.

  "No, not me," Frank sighed. "Other sources are naming him as someone of interest and he called the office saying he'd do an interview, but only if you wrote it."

  "Who, me?" I said in a shocked voice. "Wait, that arrogant jerk called and asked specifically for me?"

  "Yes, Olivia, tbu if you keep asking me questions, I'm going to assign the story to a reporter who can handle it," Frank warned. "Get your things together and get your tail over to the GRIPTech building, ASAP!"

  "Yes, sir," I said giving him a mock salute. I looked at Carl and shrugged. If Linc Redding wanted me to interview him, I would interview him all right. I just hoped he was prepared for a real interview and not some fluff piece that stroked his ego and talked about all the wonderful things he owned. I rolled my eyes just thinking about how he would probably show me around his offices.

  "Nice flowers, who sent them?" Frank asked.

  "No idea," I shrugged. "Some anonymous admirer."

  "They ask you out?"

  "No, it was done to torture me. And I'm annoyed beyond words."

  "If it's someone asking you on a date, you should go," he said. "You spend too much time working, it's not healthy."

  "You're the one who sends me on insane interviews!" I protested.

  "Right, get moving, kid," he grinned as he swatted my head with the papers. He turned and said, "Jackson, you got my poll numbers for the presidential primaries?"

  "Coming right up, boss," Carl said as he hit print and waited for the sheets to emerge.

  "I'm off, you guys," I said as I grabbed my bag and headed for the coatroom. "If I'm not back in two hours, it means there's something seriously wrong."

  "And, we should call the cops?" Carl grinned.

  "I wouldn't go that far, Jackson," I said over my shoulder. "But look into it!"

  I grabbed my coat, bundled up and headed out the door. I hailed a cab and told the driver take me over to the GRIPTech offices. On the ride over, I began jotting down questions to ask Linc. The first one was, "Why did you send me those tickets?" I scratched it out and wrote, "How are you connected to the senators who were shot at the Capitol on Sunday?" I followed it up with, "Why are you so incredibly unpleasant?" I'd see how he answered that question and then let the rest follow from there.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Linc

  Brant was already pacing in front of my desk when I arrived at the office. "We need to neutralize Russo's speeches, Linc," he said as he cast an eye toward the television screen on the wall and watched to see what was coming up next. "He's going to bury us if he gets the upper hand."

  "What's his game, Brant?" I asked as I sat down and began sorting through the papers on my desk. "What is he up to?"

  "I'm not sure, and that makes me extremely nervous," he replied as he continued pacing. "Hey, it's back on."

  "Welcome back to Washington This Morning, I'm your host, James McDonald, and I'm here with President of the AWN, Davis Russo to talk about why gun legislation is an unwise idea in the current climate. Mr. Russo, you have spoken out about gun control legislation for your entire tenure, but after the shooting this weekend do you still stand by this position? There are reports that the gunman used a gun that was stolen from a family member and was illegally transported from Virginia to the D.C. area. Aren't there laws that could help us contain this kind of illegal possession and make it more difficult for those who are mentally ill to get a hold of weapons and do this kind of damage?"

  "I'm glad you asked that question, James," Russo said. He was wearing a dark blue suit with a light blue dress shirt and a blue tie; he looked every part the conservative businessman. He turned and looked into the camera as he spoke. "Folks, we've suffered a terrible tragedy this weekend. Brave men and women who serve the citizens of their states were gunned down by a man who had a bone to pick and rather than engaging in productive debate, he chose to utilize a stolen weapon to shoot and kill people who were simply trying to do their jobs. Fortunately, quick acting law enforcement officials were able to contain the perpetrator and eliminate the threat. This is the benefit of having well-armed police force – and precisely why we need guns in this country.

  “What I ask you is whether we want to be shaping laws based on the illogical act of one man or whether we want to think about the benefit and well-being of all responsible gun owners in this country. The Second Amendment protects our right to own a weapon, and if we allow legislation such as HR 8212 to dictate the way in which owners are required to secure their weapons through smart technology, then we have lost the fight for freedom. It's a terrible, terrible tragedy to lose our respected representatives, but we cannot let fear push us to make irresponsible financial decisions that will affect millions of weapons owners."

  "Mr. Russo, the CEO of GRIPTech, has said that the cost of converting weapons to smart technology will be off-set by a tax credit to make weapons safer. How do you respond to that, sir?"

  "James, Mr. Redding has said that his smart technology will be affordable for individuals in every tax bracket, but what he has failed to note is that the tax credit is limited to five-hundred dollars per owner. It may cover one weapon, but many gun owners have more than one weapon, and to convert them all puts the price of following the law out of reach for too many Americans. It doesn't make sense," Russo said as he shook his head sadly. “And, you know as well as I do that it’s bordering on unconstitutional as it essentially eliminates the number of guns people can own.”

  Watching Russo talk, I was reminded that he had all the qualities of the best snake oil salesman. He was slick and persuasive and he did bait and switch better than anyone I'd ever met. He just seemed incapable of telling the truth.

  "How do we counter this, Linc?" Brant said as he stopped in front of my desk and looked down at me. "How do we dissect this mess without giving him room to twist everything so that it benefits him?"

  "I'm working on it," I muttered as I tried to play out all of the possibilities in my head. If we attacked Russo, we'd make it looked like we were attacking gun owners at large. If we let him say
whatever he wanted, we'd look like we'd been cowed and had something to hide. If we tried to take the high road, we'd be accused of looking down our noses at the working class. We couldn't win. Russo was holding the conversation hostage, and without a way to fight back, we were also being held hostage.

  "What if we pin the shootings on him?" Brant asked. "I mean, he's spewing a Wild West message that his followers are obviously taking literally. What if we ride out and head him off at the pass by pointing out the fact that he's encouraging people to shoot those that they disagree with?"

  "It won't work," I told him, shaking my head. "He'll turn it around and say that we're angry because my parents were shot by a crazed man with a gun and that people like me are the last ones to be deciding gun legislation. He'll paint me as an unbalanced, emotionally overwrought son who misses his parents."

  "Well, don't you?" he asked.

  "Yeah, of course, but I'm not my trauma and you know that," I said. "We need to strike back in a way that shows what we're most interested in is keeping people safe from the violence that can be prevented. We can't get mired in the argument about who gets to have guns or who gets to decide who gets to have them. We've got to find a way to rise above it all. Turn it into capitalism at its best, my friend!"

  "You're a piece of work, you know?" Brant laughed as he threw up his arms in momentary defeat.

  "Hey! I know what we can do!" I picked up the phone and quickly dialed the Sentinel's number. Brant flashed me a confused look as I spoke into the phone, "Hey Frank, this is Lincoln Redding. What would you say if I said I want to give your newspaper an exclusive interview about the shooting on the Hill this weekend? I'll answer all questions related to the shooting and I'll let the reporter ask questions about my parents. There's one catch, though – I want Olivia Moore to do the interview. If she can't, then I won't do it. Great. Send her over; I'll be here waiting."

  "You're a genius," Brant said as I hung up. "How the hell did you come up with that?"

  "I figured that if we got ahead of the discussion and talked about what's at stake, we'd be able to beat Russo at his own game," I smiled. "Plus, I like Moore. She's a diligent reporter."

  "Uh huh," Brant nodded. "Sure. She's a hottie, isn't she?"

  "Go to hell," I laughed. "She's smart and stubborn, and she'll do a good job of following up and putting Russo on trial so that we don't have to."

  "So, you're going to use her to get what you want?" he asked. "I'd be careful with that, Redding. Hell hath no fury, and all that jazz."

  "Whatever, she's smart and she knows how to write," I said waving him off. "Go figure out how to rework the contracts so that we don't lose our shirts if the vote goes south and then tell me how you managed it."

  "Gotcha, boss," Brant said as he saluted and then left the room.

  I called the front desk and told them to have coffee brought up, and then remembered her complicated order the first time we'd met. I called the desk back and told them to make sure the tray had a pot of decaf and a pitcher of skim milk in addition to everything else. The way this interview would go might be a roll of the dice, but at least getting her coffee right wasn't going to be.

  #

  Olivia was ushered into my office just a few minutes after Brant had exited. Her fiery red hair was pulled back in a low ponytail at the nape of her neck and her bright green eyes fixed on me before she looked around and took in the room. She let out a low wolf-whistle as she scanned my office and then said with a playful grin, "This is some room, Redding."

  "Thank you, I think." I wasn’t sure she had intended it as a compliment. I walked around from behind my desk and shook her hand. "I didn't do the decorating. I just bankrolled it."

  "Oh, of course, you hire the minions to do your bidding," she said in a brittle tone. She walked over to the wall of windows running along the outer edge of the office and looked out. "You've got quite the view of Washington here, don't you? I knew you were a big-wig, but I don't think I had a clear understanding of just how big."

  "I'm not that big," I shrugged, feeling defensive. She was criticizing my wealth, and it made me profoundly uncomfortable. "It's just an office."

  "Right," she nodded. "Only, I spend my days in a cubicle the size of your coffee table, so to me it's a big deal. Plus, look at this furniture! It's amazing! Danish?"

  "No idea," I muttered as I moved toward the seating area on the far end of the room, opposite from where my desk was. I'd set the area up as an alternative to a formal conference table and found that it offered a more productive workspace than the typical business meeting space. My employees liked it, too, but as I looked at it through Olivia's eyes, it felt large and pretentious. The chairs were soft, but sturdy half circles that allowed those sitting in them to either lean back or sit up to take notes. Each chair had its own desk area that could be moved around to accommodate the individual, and all of the furniture could be moved around to accommodate any number of people. Today I'd set it up so that Olivia and I would be facing each other over a small oval coffee table that held refreshments. It was intimate, maybe too intimate. Sitting this close to her made me feel vaguely uncomfortable, like she was judging me even further.

  "I appreciate you coming here to talk with me," I said gesturing to the chair she was to occupy. "Coffee or tea?"

  "Coffee, please," she said as she sat down and began pulling out her notebook and recorder. "I'm going to take notes, but I'm also going to record this. Is that okay with you?"

  "That's fine," I said as I poured her a cup of coffee and then asked, "Cream or sugar?"

  "Just cream, please," she said as she flipped open her notebook and made a note on the top of the page. As she sat bent over her notebook, I stared at her, trying hard not to sneak a glimpse of what lay just below the scoop neck of her t-shirt. In jeans and a t-shirt, she was quite lovely; I could feel the blood beginning to flow away from my brain as I imagined brushing the stray pieces of hair away from her full lips before...

  "You really are a pig, aren't you?" she said with obvious disgust. "Perhaps I should have worn a full burqa so that you wouldn't be tempted."

  "Look, I'm sorry!" I shot back. "I didn't do it on purpose, it was just-"

  "Yeah, right." She shook her head. "Look, I have to do this interview or I'll get fired from my job, so let's just agree that we don't particularly like each other and get on with it. Oh, and you can quit looking down my shirt while we talk, okay?"

  "You are literally the most unpleasant woman I've ever met in my entire life," I said as I held out a cup of coffee. "This is yours."

  "I'm unpleasant?" she scoffed as she took the cup, sipped it, and then added more cream. At that moment, I wasn't sure if I wanted to strangle her or kiss her. "You are the rich bully who pretty much does what he wants when he wants and assumes that everyone will bow down before him, praising his name and being awed by his presence."

  "Where in the hell did you come up with that nonsense?" I was outraged by her assumption, so I aimed low, "You think I'm some kind of self-centered billionaire leading a cult of sycophants, don't you?"

  "Well, if the shoe fits..." she trailed off with a knowing look.

  "Lady, you are beyond obnoxious," I spat. "I'm no such thing, and to have someone like you – a rude pushy woman who doesn't look where she's going and has no sense of decorum-“

  "Oh, oh, oh!" she shouted. "I'm rude and pushy? You're the one who shoved me out of the way at the coffee shop and you're the one who was too absorbed in his phone or whatever you were doing to pay attention to the space you were taking up on the sidewalk! I'm not the problem, Mr. Redding: you are!"

  I opened my mouth to fill her in on how I perceived her behavior, when Brant stuck his head in and asked, "Everything okay in here? The reception desk called and said they can hear you all the way up front."

  "We're fine," I growled. "Ms. Moore was just expressing her opinion about a few things."

  "Okay, well, then," Brant said as he ducked back out of the room. I turned
and looked at Olivia who was now sitting across from me with a smug grin on her face as she sipped her coffee.

  "Temper, temper, Mr. Redding," she said. I saw red, but I knew I had to stay calm if we were going to progress beyond the name-calling.

  "Let's call a truce and do the interview, then after that, if you are still so inclined, you can recommence with the name calling," I said gruffly.

  "Very well," she nodded. "Are you ready?"

  "Oh, sure," I said as I sat down across from her and poured myself a cup of coffee. "Ready when you are; fire away."

  "No pun intended, right?" she said dryly as she looked down at her notes.

  "That's a common expression and you know it," I muttered as I tried to keep my eyes from drifting below her chin. It was difficult when she was sitting so close, looking at me with her cat-like eyes and leaning back in her chair so that I had a full view of her curvy figure. I swallowed hard and looked away.

  "How did you get into guns? I mean, why start working with them in the first place?" she asked. I was surprised by the question because I figured that someone had told her about my history. No one, not even Brant, had ever asked me why I'd chosen to work with guns. They all knew.

  "I've always been fascinated by guns," I said. There was no way I was going to spill my guts to her, but if she was going to ask direct questions, then I'd figure out a way to answer them in kind. I needed help getting HR 8212 passed and if this rude little reporter could help me, then I'd answer all of her questions. "I've loved them, but I've also noticed just how much damage they can do when they find their way into the hands of people who aren't responsible, so I thought I'd try to find a way to stop the madness, as it were."

  "So, you’re an altruist."

  "I just don’t want people getting hurt," I replied. "I’ve seen a lot of bad things happen at the hands of those who shouldn’t own guns, and I thought that time would change things. Make the world safer. Unfortunately, that's not been the case, and as I've watched men like Davis Russo gain more power, I've started worrying that we're on the road to becoming unsafe as we simultaneously fight to protect our Second Amendment rights. In response to calls for safer gun technology, my team and I have engineered a smart grip using technology that we already have and I'm trying to get Congress to pass a bill that would make smart grip technology mandatory in all fifty states. Even retroactively."