Page 11 of Return on Love

“See you on the dark side.”

We begin playing. It’s like old times and at least for some time I forget my worries and immerse myself in the game. We don’t win, but it’s good while it lasts. That’s one reason why I like gaming and chatting with RamBam and other gamers. They don’t know the real me. Out there, I’m YodaPrincess, a force to reckon with, not Eva, the not-so-good-at-anything woman.

I’m feeling only a little better the next morning. My Dad’s look of disappointment in me still grates through my heart. I need this deal to work. So desperately. And I won’t let anything stand in the way—not Ryan with his icy cool temperament, not Weber, Priscilla or anyone else. Not even me. I pep-talk myself as I walk into the shower, feeling excited about the day. It’s a new assignment. Hell, a new industry for our firm. I need to get this right. It can be my entry into immediate VPship and maybe a fast-tracked partner path as the expert in this fast-growing field.

By the end of my shower, hope and excitement replace the apocalyptic feelings. I pick out my most business-like dress. A black skirt, beige blouse and black blazer, with smart high-heeled sandals to match. I comb my hair. Somehow, the hair, too, knows how important this is for me and stays in shape. I wear a simple pearl necklace Bob had gifted me. Back when we split up, I considered returning it, along with a bunch of his other belongings. But I couldn’t part with this necklace. It’s my favorite piece of jewelry, so I thought, why not? It was a gift, after all.

I hum a cheerful tune as I munch an apple for breakfast. I feel so positive that I even harbor a notion that I might establish a good working relationship with Ryan. That optimism, however, is short-lived when I recall the icy glares he shot my way at the party. I wonder if it was really him who caught me when I stumbled. I mean, it’s Ryan we’re talking about! The one who hugged everyone on the last day of our course together, but switched to handshakes when he reached me. The one who’d rather share a seat with someone in class, even when a seat next to me was vacant. Why would he stop me from falling? If anything, I’d expect him to capture my embarrassment on video and upload it to YouTube. Perhaps it’s because of the firm I represent. Yeah, that must be it. I hold the power here. The force is with me. Get that, Ryan. I can counter your dark powers with the money power I wield.

I feel confident and excited as I walk out into a relatively chilly street. It’s a short walk from the apartment to the building that houses MooreGames. The office is on the tenth floor. I show my card to the guard and he lets me in. There is no reception or receptionist. I see a few people busy doing whatever they do in here. It’s a small establishment, with several tiny rooms, which look like breakout rooms. They each have a whiteboard scribbled with stuff, arrows pointing in all directions, and random words or acronyms written all over. I peep inside one room, try to make sense of the writing on the board, and give up after a few minutes.

Thankfully, I see Gabriel walking towards me.

“Mornin’, Eva. Right on time. Hope you like your apartment and, of course, feel free to let me know if you need any help with anything.”

I nod. “It’s lovely. I couldn’t have made it better if I’d done it myself.” I remember my stark, barely furnished apartment in LA. Since Bob and I broke up, and I rented out that place, I’ve never really bothered to make it home. It’s just a place to stay, unlike the cute apartment here.

“Let me show you around the office first. Then, you can see some of our games and try your hand at them or see someone else play them for you. Then I can give you the financials, and we can start from there.”

I smile and follow him. He has set aside a small room for me near the main door. Wow! My own cabin! It’s small, but I have a place with four walls and a door. That itself is exciting for me. To prepare for VPship, my brain whispers.

Gabriel shows me the breakout or discussion rooms. There are some people in one such room.

“They’re discussing a new game. You wanna go in and say hi?” Gabriel asks.

“Of course.” Isn’t that what I’m here for? I’d love to witness the process of game creation firsthand. If it wasn’t for Ryan’s company, I could have a fan-girl moment right here. These are the ones who created Piggies—the game that became a phenomenon some years ago and then Moore.

Two young men sit on the chairs while one is standing and scribbling something on the board.

“Mornin’, guys,” Gabriel says. “This is Eva Jones. You probably met her on Saturday, though I don’t know how much of that evening y’all actually remember. She’s a consultant here for three months and will help make us a better version of ourselves. Right, Eva?”

“Hi,” they chorus, and I smile and nod, blushing a little at Gabriel’s statement.

“Aren’t you the one who fell down outside the hotel?” one of them says, and the others giggle like school kids. My God. Engineers! Don’t they ever grow up?

“My dad always says I should never drink more than my legs can handle,” the one standing by the whiteboard chips in with a huge grin on his face.

“Great advice. I wish someone had told me that,” I reply with an embarrassed smile. It did happen, so I had to bear the brunt of it. There was no point in explaining the heel scenario to these dudes. They won’t understand, anyway. “So this game,” I remark, studying the board. “Is it like a shooting game?”

The one by the board nods. “You wanna get a brief about it?”

“Perhaps later. Please continue your discussions. I’ll just sit here and listen, if you don’t mind.”

I listen to their discussion. I think it’s best to be a spectator at this point in time rather than a contributor. The game seems like a run-of-the-mill first-person shooter game. Point to the enemy and shoot. Go forward and collect higher powered weapons and build your arsenal. Their main point of discussion seems to be the shape of the guns.

I clear my throat, unable to keep myself silent any longer. “I see nothing new in this. This concept has been there for ages in varying forms.”

That brings an abrupt stop to their discussion, and all three of them turn to me. Finally, the one writing on the board speaks up. “There's a reason it's been there for so long. Because people love playing it.” He gives me a look as if I don’t know the first thing about online gaming. How I wish I could tell them I know gaming, better than them, at least as a user.

“People are bored with it. You have thousands of games with a similar storyline. And first-person shooter! C’mon. A child can make this! If you see the trends today, they’ve moved to more immersive games, where people can use their imagination and be creative along with regular play. Who even came up with this idea?”

A sudden shift occurs in the room's atmosphere. Attention moves from me to something behind. It seems as if they are seeing beyond me. Are they ignoring me so blatantly? No. I sense a presence in the room. You don’t need to be a Jedi to sense the change in force in the room.

I turn my head. And there, standing by the door, leaning against the frame with his biceps visible through his T-shirt, is Ryan. His frigid blue eyes stare at me. Or is he just looking through me? I don’t know. I can just feel the entire room almost freeze up in his Mount Everest-like presence.

“We were just discussing your idea,” one of his team members quips from behind me.

Of course, it was his idea. And, of course, that’s how my first official meeting had to be with him—with me trash-talking his work in front of his subordinates. Way to go, Eva! Great way to build a rapport with the Founder. Insult him on Day 1. They should teach it in Psychology 101. Maybe they should have a course in grad school with Qui Gon as teacher to remind students like me that the ability to speak does not make one intelligent. Yeah! I can see that.

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