Page 1 of Bound to the Orc Renegade

CHAPTER ONE

Taylor

“Once they banish the evil wizard on level ten, they’re whisked away on a romantic date in the floating city.” Nerves shoot through me, and I hope it’s true that others can’t hear the shakiness of my voice, because I sure as hell can. I click for the next slide, which shows a mockup of a beautiful fantasy bedroom with wide doors opening onto a stone balcony set with a candlelit dinner for two. The view looks out over a terraced city that drops to a gently lapping ocean, its surface turned silver by a huge full moon.

“Romanticdate?” Julian’s voice drips with sarcasm as he glances around the conference table at the other guys. Tall, blond, and generically handsome, he’s appointed himself leaderof the game writers, even though we’re all supposed to be equal. “Right. Players aresogoing to want to do that.”

“Some will,” I say, adrenaline coursing through me until I feel like I’m vibrating. I practiced my presentation all week, and this asshole derails it only five minutes in.

“Chicks will, you mean.”

“Romance is becoming more popular for players of all genders. You can’t tell me the newWitchergame is such a hit because only women play it.” Adding in romantic storylines is why I got this job. This previously all-male writers’ room needed new ideas. Too bad the boss so keen to have me shake things up is hands off in day-to-day interactions.

Now I’m faced with a circle of male faces, with expressions ranging from bored to amused. Shit, Steve’s not even paying attention, too transfixed by something on his phone. Dave reaches for the cheese puffs, crinkling the bag so loudly the sound grates through the room.

We’re all in T-shirts and jeans, and we look just like you’d expect a group of geeky gamers to. I left my deconstructed brown bob just as messy as usual—shorthand for “look, I’m just one of the guys, not some girl trying to look glam.” I even wore my retro-cool Zelda shirt today to try to score some extra points, but they’ve made it clear over the past two weeks that I don’t fit in. I can’t tell if it’s because I’m a woman or because they resent being told they need to add romantic subplots to the new game or both. Now that I’m giving my first presentation, they clearly don’t wanna hear any of my ideas.

The closed blinds keep out the evening sun, leaving the screen behind me the brightest thing in the room. Ten different types of snacks and drinks clutter the messy top of the conference table. The smell of it all hangs heavy in the stuffy air. I feel closed in, trapped.

“Taylor, Taylor, Taylor.” Julian shakes his head and waves a dismissive hand at the screen. “Thosegames have sexy things, like baths. Not dinners.” He sneers the last word, which is really effing rich since he’s the guy who puts a pub dinner and drinking scene into every level of his games as a reward.

I can’t even use my words—I’m nice, but I have limits. If he’d given me another thirty seconds, he’d have seen exactly what I have planned. So I click, and the next slide shows a different part of the bedroom, where a large, rectangular bath waits, sunk into the stone floor. Purple flower petals float on the surface, which gives off wisps of steam, and a luxurious bed stands in the background, covered with silky sheets of the same color, everything lit with golden candlelight.

“You mean like this?” I chirp, forcing extra sweetness into my voice. “Our players will get the sexy bath,ifthey say the right things at dinner.”

A chorus of groans goes up, and Steve says, “Women are hard enough to talk to in the real world. Guys don’t want to have to say the ‘right’ things in a fantasy one.” He actually curls his fingers to make air quotes around the word.

“Yeah, well, women wanna finally hear the guy make an effort.” I smile big and wide, showing lots of teeth. “It’s ‘our’ ultimate fantasy.” I make air quotes right back.

“That’s it.” Julian stands and takes a step forward, looming over my five-foot-nothing height. “I’m out of here.”

“I haven’t finished my presentation,” I say.

“Go ahead. I’m not stopping you.” He throws a smirk at the other men in the room and waltzes through the door.

Steve, as always, scuttles after him, his mousy face trying for the same smug smile and falling short, instead leaving him looking constipated.

The other men shift nervously in their seats, torn between staying for the presentation like they should or being “one of the guys” and walking out.

I click off the projector, making the decision for them. It’s not like I’m gonna get through to any of them. Even the ones who like my ideas won’t stand up to Julian and admit it.

“I’ll finish during the meeting next week,” I say.

The guys let out a collective sigh of relief and file out, Dave throwing me one last sympathetic look over his shoulder.

God, I can’t wait to get home and power up Warcraft and surround myself with the acceptance of my guild. None of them think I’m a loser. And Steph’s my best friend. She’ll open a private chat the moment I get on, and I’ll be able to tell her everything.

I take my time packing everything up, not yet ready to walk the gauntlet of the open office bullpen and effing Julian’s gloating face. What the hell am I gonna do if this doesn’t work out? Dammit, I moved to Seattle for this job. I like the city but have no friends here yet. It’s expensive as hell, and I’m locked into the lease on my tiny apartment for at least another five-and-a-half months. Maybe I could get a cat. At least then I’d have someone to go home to, since I suck at internet dating.

I plop down on the closest chair and pull out my phone. With a couple of taps, I reactivate my resume on a few of the career sites. If the boss asks me about it, I can say I forgot to turn it off. But it’s a long shot, anyway—it took me several months to get this job. I doubt getting another will be quick.

I just want the chance to tell my stories. Is that too much to ask? Write adventures where women get to do some of the fun things, too.

By the time I turn off the lights and leave the conference room, it’s quiet in the bullpen. Computer stations line each of the walls of the wide-open room, screensavers set to eachperson’s favorite video game. The windows on the far wall are dark. It’s just past seven—I lingered longer than I thought, not that our company tends to be nine to five.

I shove my file folder into a drawer and snatch up my keys. I stopped carrying a purse after the guys made fun of it my first day, simplifying down to a phone wallet with just enough room for a credit card and my driver’s license.

As usual, I head for the stairs, swinging open the heavy metal door with a creak of the hinges. We’re on the third floor, so it’s not worth waiting for the elevator, especially to go down, and I could use the exercise after sitting all day.

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