Page 78 of The Chase

In fact, the jock issue comes up in at least three questions. I get the distinct sense that Kamal is anti-athlete. Bullied by a jock or two in high school, I suspect.

I can’t tell if I answered a single question correctly, or to his liking. Whereas Kamal moves and talks like a tornado, the interview itself is a tsunami, slamming into me without warning and retreating just as fast.

Before I can blink, he’s shooting to his feet and pumping my hand again. “Can you be in Manhattan in a few weeks?”

“Um, I’m not sure. It depends on my game schedule—”

“It’s a Thursday night—you play on Thursdays?” He frowns. It’s evident that the biggest strike against me right now is hockey.

“No, but…” I wrinkle my forehead. “What’s in Manhattan?” Have I gotten the job? Am I supposed to start working that day? My cover letter clearly stated I couldn’t start until after graduation.

“I’m hosting a fundraiser at the Heyward Plaza Hotel. It’s to raise awareness for autism. No, it’s a kids-with-leukemia event. Autism is in April,” he babbles. “April Autism Awareness—my fucking team loves their alliteration. I’ve invited the other candidates I’m considering. Only three others now. Two didn’t impress me in the face-to-face.”

And I did? I’m legit baffled. I can’t fathom how he was able to judge me one way or the other, given the length of the interview and the absurdity of his questions.

“It’s between the four of you now. The leukemia event will let me gauge how you network.”

Aw crap. I’m not good at networking. At all.

“Plus, it’ll be fun as fuck. Open bar, lots of ladies. You have a plus one if you’ve got a girl at home, but I recommend leaving her at said home…” He winks, and I hide my distaste.

It’s no secret that Kamal is a womanizer. According to an article I read, he almost married his college sweetheart about ten years ago but didn’t go through with it because she refused to sign a prenup. Since then, he’s been photographed “canoodling” with a Leonardo DiCaprio-amount of supermodels, along with several actresses and heiresses.

“My assistant will email you the invitation. If you don’t RSVP, I’ll assume you’re removing yourself from the running.” He slaps my shoulder. “But nobody is that stupid, so…” He grins widely. “I’ll see you next month.”

He tornadoes out of the bar in another blur of motion, leaving me standing there alone. Two seconds later, the server returns with a tray holding Kamal’s vodka and my coffee.

She stares at me in confusion. “Oh. Your party had to leave? Do you still…?” She lifts the tray slightly. “The tab’s already been paid.”

I look at the coffee cup, then at the glass tumbler. Screw it. Who cares if it’s early.

I reach for the vodka tonic and down it in one long swig.

__________

“Five minutes,” I tell my friends later that night. We’re all jammed in a booth at Malone’s. Directly under a speaker too, which means I have to raise my voice to be heard over the Drake track blasting in the bar. “It lastedfiveminutes. I checked my watch.”

“Time is money,” says Hollis.

“I don’t even know how the interview went,” I say with a loud groan. “Seriously. I got no indication one way or the other if he even liked me.”

“Of course he did,” Summer says firmly. She’s on the other side of the booth, sandwiched between Hunter and Matt Anderson. “He wouldn’t have invited you to the fundraiser if the interview had gone poorly.”

“Time is money,” Hollis says again.

Nate knocks him on the back of the head. “Cut it out with that nonsense. Just ’cause Fitzy met a billionaire today doesn’t make you a billionaire by association.”

“If he wasn’t serious about hiring you, he wouldn’t have flown all that way to meet you in person,” Matt points out. “He woulda sent an underling.”

“Not necessarily,” I counter. “He was a poor kid from Detroit when he designed his first game—he actually stole a lot of the parts he needed to build his own computer. The company is his baby. I think he takes a hands-on role as often as he can.”

“Either way, we’re here tonight to celebrate that you caught the eye of a major game designer and that’s amazing,” Summer declares. “Even if you don’t get the job, it’s an honor that you were even considered.”

“Let’s toast!” Hollis pipes up, raising his pint glass. “Time is money!”

Nobody participates in his toast, but I take pity on the guy and tap my Sam Adams bottle against his glass. It was Hollis’ idea to go out and celebrate, and as much as I don’t like being the center of attention, I’m touched that he’s so supportive of me. I think he’s more thrilled than I am at the possibility that I might snag a position at Orcus Games.

Luckily, the bar isn’t too crowded tonight, probably because we didn’t have a game. Malone’s tends to be a Briar hockey bar, though we do get the occasional football player in here. Typically, though, the football guys prefer their off-campus houses to the very pathetic Hastings nightlife. They’re notorious for their house parties. Me, I prefer the bar. Means I don’t have to clean up after anyone. Plus, the beer is cheap and Friday nights they have half-price wings.

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