Love at the Electric

by Hughes, Jenn

  But Sam planned to stick a weathervane on top of Origin once Preston’s construction completed. His side of the Blockcoin had to be bigger.

  Sam spun back around, smacking his feet against the floor to stop. His palms slammed down on the resin-encased redwood burl top of his executive desk. “Cedric, what was that bullshit mantra Wendy said would relieve stress?”

  A beep preceded the pleasant computerized man’s voice erupting from the enormous room’s surround sound. “When searching through voice records, Sam, the words bullshit, mantra, and Wendy Ringwald are often associated with the phrase, ‘I am better than the me I was yesterday.’”

  “God . . . that’s terrible.”

  “Of course, Sam. I’ll add it to my database of stressful phrases and will avoid using it.”

  Sam rolled his eyes, making his headache even worse. “Cedric, you don’t . . . Never mind. Cedric, sleep.”

  Just as a long beep indicated the program had entered its rest mode, Sam’s office door flew open and slammed against the wall. Someone tossed a ball into the room, a metallic orb with flashing green lights. It bounced once on the gray marble floor and then rolled to within a few feet of the desk. A chirping sound filled the room, shrieking louder until it suddenly stopped. Sam shook his head.

  “Is that supposed to do something, Ravi?”

  Ravi Ganesh hopped into view, his dark brown eyes nearly indiscernible underneath the thick black hair dangling across his forehead. He lingered in the doorway, staring intently at the silent ball resting on the floor.

  “There was supposed to be smoke. Glad I tested it on you first. If I’d taken this to tonight’s meeting, I’d get laughed out of the room.” He unzipped his hoodie and strolled across the room, then picked up the ball to inspect it. “Never buy a secondhand pressure grenade off Biddable from a guy with the username John Dope.”

  “I could have told you that. What meeting do you have tonight?”

  “It’s Monday. Galaxy Trek club meetings are every other Monday night . . . which you’d know if you attended.”

  “Riiiight, and here I thought you might be attending a business meeting. You know, I could attend club meetings if I weren’t the one doing all the adult work around here.” Sam woke up his computer, ran a quick search through his emails, and then turned the screen around for Ravi to see. “And speaking of which, is there some reason I got an email telling me you refused to answer David Newton regarding an issue with his e-commerce software?”

  Ravi grimaced, then stuck the ball in the pocket of his hoodie and took a seat in one of the leather chairs in front of Sam’s desk. He stared for a moment, dark-eyed and calculating. Finally, he brought his hands together a few inches from his face in a sort of prayer pose, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath before opening them again.

  “Sam, he asked me . . . Wow, I can hardly say it.” Another deep breath. “He asked me if there was a way to disable one of the subroutines because it made their screensavers freeze.”

  “Is that it?”

  Ravi’s mouth dropped open, and he shook his head. “Is that it? I have far more important things to attend to than removing an integral piece of a breathtakingly complex puzzle because Gertrude in Accounting wants to see pics of kittens floating across her screen all day.”

  “Far more important things like, oh, I don’t know, throwing dud pressure grenades at me?”

  “Maybe . . . Yes. I also beat my high score on Planetary Drift this morning.”

  “Sounds like a productive use of company time.”

  Ravi slumped back against the chair and folded his arms across his chest. “Yep, well, I wouldn’t be wasting time if you’d let me make games instead of playing them.”

  Sam winced. Ravi had kicked off another round of arguing on the subject of a gaming division at Origin. But that morning, Sam didn’t have the energy for it. He dropped his head to his desk and banged his forehead on it several times.

  Once finished with his mini-meltdown, Sam sat up and let the uncomfortable truth of the matter sink in. Although twenty-eight, his business partner still looked like a college kid. The old, ratty MIT hoodie needed a proper washing, as did Ravi’s ripped jeans. With a half-stake in Origin effectively making him a multi-millionaire capable of buying any nightclub he could ever want, Ravi continued getting carded whenever he tried entering one. Luckily for him, no one got carded at Galaxy Trek club meetings. Half their membership would’ve vanished if they had.

  So, Ravi’s youthful appearance reminded Sam of an old, broken promise. A means to an end, he’d told the kid. Build a business off lucrative corporate software solutions, and when the money was there, they’d design games. It’d be like the old days, two guys dreaming up the impossible and making it a playable reality. That was the deal . . . and one he’d pushed off far longer than promised.

  “I haven’t forgotten the plan, Ravi. Origin gains and grows every year. It’s only a matter of time before we explore a gaming division but, like I’ve said a million times, business software and tech pays the bills.”

  “More than pays them,” Ravi said with a hint of disgust. “You’re reneging.”

  “I am not. It’s all about timing and strategy. If Preston gets a whiff we’re going into gaming again, he’ll do anything he can to ruin it for us.”

  “Paranoid much?”

  “It’s not paranoia. It’s history. Preston’s done it before, and he’ll do it again. You know the second we put a plan on paper it’ll be copyright infringement and cease and desist at every turn. He’ll have attorneys all over us.”

  One particular attorney could get all over Sam any day. Yes, please.

  Then reality came roaring back. The knot between his shoulder blades came along for the ride. “Don’t give me grief today, okay? I’ve had a shitty morning, and I’m expecting a call from Preston today but I’d rather flay myself than take it—”

  The desk phone rang. Both of them stared at it. Another ring and Sam reluctantly answered.

  “Mr. Owens, you have a call. It’s someone from Preston Lavery’s legal team,” his assistant informed him.

  A groan clawed its way from Sam’s throat. “Terrific. Absolutely terrific. Preston doesn’t even take the time to talk anymore, does he? He just sics Legal at the drop of a hat. This day keeps getting better . . . Put it through, Tyler.” Sam waited until the phone beeped. The second it did, he yelled, “What does Preston want now? He stole two of my programming prospects so, what next? My firstborn child?”

  “I didn’t know you had a baby on the way, Sam, but I’m sure Mr. Lavery is willing to negotiate if you’re open to a trade,” answered a smooth female voice on the other end of the line. “Maybe you’d be interested in the ability to turn straw into gold?”

  The initial shock of hearing that voice gave way to a feeling Sam compared to being seven years old and getting a bright red helium balloon.

  “Lillian,” he said with a big, satisfied smile. “Sorry, I should have realized when my assistant said it was someone from Preston’s legal department . . . I don’t have kids. Or babies on the way.”

  Lillian laughed. “It was a joke. You sound tense. Rough day?”

  “I’ve had better. A lot of groveling today. Some fires started and others put out. What’s up? I hope you’re not calling because you won’t be at The Electric tonight.”

  Ravi jumped up and leaned across the table. With his head hovering over Sam’s monitor and a goofy grin on his face, Ravi whispered, “Who’s Lillian? A new date?”

  Sam swatted at Ravi as Lillian answered, “I probably should cancel. I have a late meeting I know will run long, and I don’t have time to get from work to home and then to the movie.”

  Pop. Sam’s new balloon hissed and fell to the ground. The only thing he’d looked forward to since waking up that morning t
eetered on the verge of cancellation. Suddenly, Ravi stuck his face back in Sam’s.

  “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  With one hand covering the phone, Sam hissed back, “She’s canceling on me.”

  “Does she sound like she wants to cancel? Is she like, fake-sad or genuinely sad?”

  “How the hell would I know?”

  “Did she outright cancel and sound super-disappointed, or did she kinda-maybe cancel and sound a little let down?”

  “I don’t know . . . The second one.”

  “She wants you to make her an offer she can’t refuse,” Ravi whispered in a passable mafia Don imitation.

  An offer? Yeah, that might actually . . .

  Then Sam went slack-jawed. Ravi Ganesh had given him good dating advice. A man-child who once tried to flirt with a girl by saying her eyes looked like the twinkling scales of a serpent demon from Titan’s Legion. A guy whose idea of a hot date was a group quest to raid outlying clans on InnerRealm . . . But he was right.

  Deals only died when both sides gave up and neither put an offer on the table. Sam refused to give up on spending another night at The Electric with Lillian. His brain whirled like a binary rainstorm, data dripping into puddles of potential solutions. He needed one good, legitimate offer for getting a woman to go out with him—but not go out with him. Lillian worked for Khan Noonien Lavery. Not exactly trustworthy.

  Who cares about trust? Getting together is no big deal. Not corporate espionage. Not serious. Only two friends having . . .

  Sam uncovered the phone, swallowed hard, and then said in his calmest, most relaxed voice, “Let’s meet for dinner after your meeting. We can go to The Electric Diner. You can’t beat it for convenience since it’s connected to the theater. We’ll be right there when Hail starts.”

  “Dinner? With . . . you?” Lillian hesitated, the pause long enough to give Sam’s throat time to clench into a nervous fist. Finally, she mumbled, “I mean, I won’t be able to change first . . . ”

  He smiled. “Yeah, dinner with me. My treat. I know it’s nothing fancy, but the burgers and shakes are great. And you don’t need to change. I can’t imagine you look anything other than stunning right now.”

  He could imagine. Easily. And in several different ways, primarily sans clothing, which led to getting hard, which led to him considering a short reprieve from the off-season to pursue—

  Sam patted the top of his desk. Good boy.

  “Okay. Sounds . . . great. So great. Very great . . . ” He heard her sigh before she continued. “I’ll text you when I’m leaving. Shouldn’t be any later than eight o’clock. What’s your cell number?”

  “Hold on.” He lowered the handset. “Cedric, retrieve Lillian Walker’s cell phone number from the call log and send her a text with all my personal contact information.”

  “Show-off,” Ravi sniggered as he dropped back down into the chair.

  “Yes, Sam. Complete,” Cedric responded.

  “Good. Cedric, sleep,” Sam ordered. Then he held his finger to his lips, shushing Ravi before putting the phone back up to his ear and asking Lillian, “Got it yet?”

  “Wow. How did you . . . Wow. Tell me how you did that later. I have to go into another meeting, and I’m getting dirty looks for holding up the show.”

  “The show can’t start without you, Lillian. See you tonight.”

  “Uh, sure. Right. Great. Super great . . . Oh, God. I’m going now. Bye.”

  Sam heard the smile in her voice. Phase one complete. Phase two required getting through the remainder of a shitty work day, a small price to pay in order to enjoy dinner and a movie with Lillian. But then he noticed the bemused stare coming at him from across the desk.

  “Don’t,” Sam ordered, pointing his finger right at Ravi’s smug face.

  “Don’t what? Don’t mention your whole my animal magnetism is too strong for women to withstand during the holidays, so I must chain myself to my desk like a werewolf waiting to transform routine? Okay. Definitely won’t mention that.”

  “The only werewolves involved are the ones at The Electric, and there’s nothing animalistic about wanting to watch them with Lillian.”

  “Sure. Keep telling yourself that.”

  Sam rolled his eyes, then concentrated on the lopsided pen mug his mom had made in her Sassy Seniors pottery class. He would keep telling himself nothing was going on with Lillian because it was true. Totally true. He had tons of self-control. Tons of female friends-only. He could hang out with Lillian and not have a single ulterior motive . . .

  He focused back on Ravi. The kid had to be a better sounding board than nothing.

  “Ravi, hypothetically—”

  “You know I don’t deal in hypotheticals.”

  “Fine. Lillian works for Preston.”

  “Obviously. Continue.”

  “That’s it. She works for Preston. Even if it weren’t December, it can’t go anywhere for that simple fact. It’s kind of a perfect situation where no matter how much time I spend with her, it all has to stay completely platonic. So, the whole dinner-and-a-movie thing isn’t suggestive of anything more, right?”

  “In every chick-flick I’ve ever seen, and I’ve watched a lot of them . . . for research purposes . . . Anyway, dinner and a movie equal date.”

  Sam frowned and scratched his chin. Aside from the superficial, involvement in anything with one of Preston’s employees was not an option. Lavery would do anything to get dirt on Sam or information on Origin’s projects, and he wouldn’t lose a minute of meditation over using an employee to do it. So, no matter how badly Sam’s primal lizard brain wanted to find out what got cool Lillian Walker hot, his business brain dropped the gavel with a resounding no-way-in-hell.

  “No, it’s only a date if I make it a date—and I’m not. It’s no big deal. Lillian has great taste in movies, and she’s fun to hang out with. That’s it.”

  Ravi shrugged, then stood up and headed for the door. “Whatever you say. I say it’s a date. And I’m right. But whatever.”

  With that, Ravi walked out, leaving the door wide open. As usual. Alone once again, Sam leaned back in his chair and continued to rationalize his reckless choices.

  Easy enough to do. By the time his next meeting rolled around, he was utterly confident Lillian Walker might end up being his best bud. She might even want to stop by his place and play a few rounds of Firespawn with him.

  But even going so far as to consider high-fiving Lillian when he saw her didn’t get rid of a nagging suspicion—much more time spent with her and Sam would flush the whole good-guy-friend routine down the bit bucket.

  Chapter 8

  “Not a Date” Date

  Lillian lingered outside The Electric Diner, standing in the falling snow and staring through the light-and-tinsel framed windows. Located directly behind the theater on the same block, the diner had a back entrance leading straight into The Electric lobby, making it the most convenient place to grab dinner before a movie. It had a greasy-spoon look, mid-century styles and original red vinyl booths lit by flickering fluorescent lights.

  Although The Electric Diner was on her list of restaurants to try, Lillian hadn’t been motivated to go and destroy her diet. She needed an excellent reason for that. A reason like Port Bristol’s resident heartthrob, who appeared in top form while sitting comfortably in an end booth. Through the colorful windows, Lillian drank in his details.

  Dark hair combed to perfection.

  A snug navy V-neck sweater accentuating his toned upper body.

  Thick-framed black glasses resting on his nose as he stared at his phone.

  Sam Owens melted Lillian’s freezing half-mile walk from work in 1.2 seconds flat. Even at his most charming, Richard never did that. His allure had proximity restrictions. Face-to-face and
he had a nasty habit of turning her into a mushy mess, while his wake left her a neurotic one. Sam was the exact opposite, and Lillian found herself really enjoying it—and him. She studied him a little longer.

  Fingers bouncing against the table top. Checking the time on his expensive wristwatch . . .

  And then she caught her own reflection in the window.

  “Damn it,” she muttered, tugging off her lopsided knit hat. “Now I look terrible.”

  Terrible was probably an overstatement, but she felt dramatic for some reason. Her cheeks were only a little red. Messy hair was a given once the hat came off. The coffee stain on her tan blouse probably blended in well enough not to be noticed.

  But Lillian needed to look amazing . . . for a friend.

  Not a date.

  Sam could not be a date. No matter how happily broadsided she’d felt when he’d asked her to meet him for dinner. Or how widely she’d smiled when he’d told her the show couldn’t start without her. Took a great deal of effort to hide it. Her cheeks had felt so hot she’d thought her phone might melt before the call ended. But despite her fist-pumping as she’d walked into her meeting, Sam had to see her, and believe she saw him, as a friend.

  Not even a friend—more of an acquaintance. And that was her defense if Preston Lavery ever found out and tried to fire her.

  And why am I risking my job to see Sam again?

  Most straightforward, least complicated answer: he was pretty to look at.

  So get in there and look a little harder.