Page 27 of Don't Game Me
“That was a one-time mistake long ago. I drank too much, and she was at the club…” Why was he defending himself? He’d been barely twenty-two and stupid when it happened. Was Becca trying to provoke an argument on purpose? Wait a second. That was good. That’s what he wanted, right? Them arguing…not kissing.
“So, youcouldbe involved with an assistant,” Becca interrupted. “You might even be interested. You just haven’t in a while. Would you with Emma?”
“No. I’d never get involved with Emma or Kylie or anyone at work.”
“So, you only date tall, blonde, curvy, non-work-related women. Like the one who phoned you at the store? She’s yourtype?”
“I don’t have a specific type.”Tread carefully.
“Magazines and online posts only seem to print pictures of you with highly photogenic girls.”
“They do.”
“So, I’m right?” Her judgmental tone put him on the defensive.
“Right about what? Why are you jumping all over me?” He zoomed around a car going only a few miles above the speed limit and hit the accelerator when a small gap opened up on the highway. Becca grabbed the doorhandle. Maybe crazy driving would distract her enough to end this conversation.
She snapped, “Stop driving like a moron. I’m just trying to understand who exactly yourtypeis.”
You.He wouldnotadmit that out loud.
PlayingZoneworld Warriorhad been a huge turn on. Well, so had kissing her. He couldn’t remember playing a game with a girl he was attracted to since high school, and back then he’d been hot for the only girl who gave him even a bit of competition. No woman of the past few years had more than a marginal interest in video games. Besides, he hadn’t hooked up in months.
Finally, he said, “Whoever is my type is my business. A lot of girls call me.” That came out wrong. His tone implied she wasn’t his type and he wouldn’t hook up with her. Very far from the truth.
This isn’t bad. It’s great.Push her away.
She crossed her arms and glared daggers at him.
A half-hour of uneasy, silent minutes later he led Becca into his office. No food.
Damn it.
Food might be enough to get Becca to talk again. Maybe even smile. She loved Thai.
A pile of haphazard phone messages and interoffice mail littered his desk. No one piled crap on his desk. That was a cardinal rule in his office. He had appropriate baskets on the side table for this. He threw the mail into the right baskets and organized all the phone messages. Three from Germany.
Where was Kylie?
He rounded his desk and clicked the intercom for Emma’s office, a few doors down. “Where’s the food?”
“Not here yet. I just ordered, uh…about fifteen minutes ago.” She was still sitting at her desk? Her job was to know when he arrived—that meant appearing in his office, ready to work.
He released the intercom with an audible, “Damn it.”
His gaze met Becca’s. “Sorry.”
Becca smiled as if entertained by his frustration.
He fingered one of the phone messages and said into the intercom again, “The message from Renke from an hour ago…I need his phone number.”
“I assumed you had it,” Kylie replied.
“Did you write down the number?”
“No. You need it? I can text Emma or something.”
“I’ll take care of it.” He switched off the intercom. On his cell, he dialed Emma. She answered on the second ring. “I need Renke’s number…”
