Page 15 of The Game

“Adam, these are fab! We could do a behind-the-scenes.”

I study her over my glasses. “You do realize I did them for myself.”

“But social media would love them. That video of Anna’s dog is the cutest.” She chews her lip. “I could talk to Anna’s people about it.”

I love that Susie is always bursting with ideas. I wave my hand. “Knock yourself out. Lord knows I’m not going to be posting on this account myself.”

Susie eyes me balefully. “Are you saying this stuff you do”—she waves at the board I’m designing on the screen—“isn’t riveting?”

“Put some of your art on there. That’d be way more interesting.”

“If I post as you, I’m going to have to sound like you.”

“Yeah. Yeah. I understand how this works. Just make me sound like I’m a fascinating person.”

What am I agreeing to? And apersonalaccount? But yeah, Susie is right.I’ll be a one-week wonder, and then everyone will move on to the next story. Most companies have armies of people spending their time trying to create a buzz about what they’re doing. No way is the interest in me going to carry on.The guy who once went to a red-carpet do with Anna Talanova. Big fucking deal. This is my fifteen minutes of fame.

Susie bustles off with my phone to talk to whoever she needs to, and I swing my chair around to look out at my brick wall. It’s less like a dead end and more like a protective fort this morning. I thought this event thing was a bit of fun, but capitalizing on it could be very useful. Invitations to speak … wow. That’s never happened to me before. I need to thank Anna.

I do a quick search for flowers, and in a few clicks, I’ve set up a same-day delivery to the apartment I went to last night. In the message box, I type:

I had a wonderful evening. Thanks, Adam.

Christ, could I sound any more boring? I type in a few more equally terrible attempts, go back to what I wrote in the first place, and then click through all the payment stuff.

I did have a nice time. She did talk a lot about tennis, but it was interesting and for once I stopped trying to design boards in my head, which is my usual go-to for keeping myself entertained.

I pick up the papers on my desk and a picture catches my eye. The text underneath it describes me asdashing. Heat warms my cheeks as I shake my head, lips turning up in a grin. As I read down, I find several references to the business. No wonder people called Susie. My gaze snags on a line: “Adam Miller runs a fast-growing electronics company and has experienced meteoric success.”

I let out a howl of laughter. I’ve only just stopped laughing when my phone buzzes in my pocket. When I pull it out, there’s a text:

Handsome, dashing, charming.

Followed by some GIF of a man in a tuxedo throwing champagne over himself. Fuck. Fabian.

Three dots appear:

Anna Talanova, man. She is HOT.

I scowl at the screen. No wonder she’s nervous. Fabian’s a solid guy, but how many men make comments about her all the time? Ignoring the fact she’s worked her ass off to reach the top of her sport, and reducing her tohot.

But Fabian hasn’t finished:

Liked the plum shirt, good call.

Not my decision. I had an hour and a half of hair and makeup.

My phone rings in my hand.

“Are you shitting me?” Fabian rumbles in my ear.

So, I fill him in on the whole thing: the call from Janus, the people, the primping. “They’d have a field day with your long hair and tattoos,” I say. In fact, why didn’t Janus callFabian? The press would have gone wild over his bad-boy vibe.

He laughs. “A low profile is kind of essential for hacking. But never mind that. Her agent called Janus?”

“It’s insane. But get this, my marketing manager, Susie, has had twomorecalls this morning from women who’d like plus ones. Apparently I’ve been described asnonpredatory.”

“As in you didn’t hit on her? That’s the deal? That’s what they’re all trying to avoid? Beautiful, successful women and guys just …”

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