Page 23 of Edge of Secrets

Or my peril, rather.

“You look different. You changed your hair.” His tone was faintly disapproving.

“Why, yes, I did. And so?” I said, instantly on the defensive.

He looked like he was about to speak again when a handsome young man strode out into the lobby. He flashed a big smile and shook my hand, continuing to hold it. “Wow. Duncan told me you were an excellent writer, but he didn’t say you were so pretty. Can I call you Nell?”

“No, you can’t,” Duncan said sharply. “Ms. D’Onofrio, this is my brother, Bruce. Please excuse his unprofessional behavior. It won’t happen again. Will it, Bruce?”

Unprofessional behavior …? For real? From him? Once again, that moment in the stairwell flashed through my mind, and I could tell it was in his mind, as well. His eyes met mine, then slid away, abashed. Hypocritical bastard.

“Uh … I guess it won’t.” Bruce looked chagrined. “Sorry.”

Duncan gestured toward the conference room. “Come on. Let’s get started.”

I marched into the room and sat down, pulling out my folder of notes just before the two men took their places across the table from me.

Bruce began. “Ms. D’Onofrio?—”

“Nell is really okay,” I told him.

“I prefer that he use ‘Ms. D’Onofrio,’” Duncan said.

There was an uncomfortable pause while my mind revved and stalled in one of those what’s-wrong-with-this-picture moments. That was swiftly followed by the what-the-hell-do-I-do-about-it moment, and at the end of the queue, the is-it-actually-worth-it moment.

Bruce tried again. “So, Ms. D’Onofrio, as I was about to say to?—”

“No,” I broke in.

The two men just looked at me in silent confusion.

“Um, no, what?” Bruce said carefully.

“In this context, I believe it is my own personal preferences which should determine how I’m addressed.” I stared into Bruce Burke’s eyes. “Can I call you Bruce?”

“Of course,” he said swiftly. “In fact, I insist on it.”

I turned to Duncan. “How about you? Since both of you would be Mr. Burke, using your surname would be confusing, don’t you agree?” I waited, holding his gaze relentlessly and letting him ponder that moment last night in the stairwell for himself. Like I was going to address a guy who had tongue-kissed me and brought me to orgasm by ‘Mr. Burke.’ As-fucking-if. What would he want next? Sir? Not in this lifetime.

He looked like he’d swallowed a rock. “Fine. Call me Duncan.”

“Excellent,” I said briskly, turning to Bruce. “Then you can call me Nell.”

Bruce’s gaze flicked nervously toward his brother, then to me. “Ah … okay,” he said. “So, Nell. Moving on. Duncan showed me your writing sample. I was really impressed. I take it you’ve looked over our game outline?”

“Of course.” I’d been too rattled last night to review it, after the stairwell incident, but I had glanced at it this morning over my coffee, and had been pleasantly impressed.

“So?” Duncan prompted. “What do you think?”

I leafed through the folder, choosing my words carefully. “All in all, I think it’s great. The story is involving, and the graphics are beautiful.”

“Thanks. I sense the setup for a ‘but’,” Bruce said. “Let us have it.”

“It’s just that I think the choices the player needs to make to move through the game seem too, um ...” I hesitated, still reluctant to criticize.

“Too what?” Duncan demanded, his voice curt.

“Too rational,” I said. “Too logical.”

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