Page 78 of Triggered By Love
“We’re dating.”
“Cut it off.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m already getting beat up for you killing that young immigrant. Thanks to you, Congressman Overton is sponsoring a bipartisan gun control bill on off-duty cops.”
“It won’t get past the Senate,” Jason said. “But that’s not the real reason you’re calling.”
There was silence across the line, and Jason surmised Grimes was weighing whether to let on that Richie’s guys had called or thinking up a lie.
“You’re right. I’m concerned about you.” The chief’s voice softened. “You’re seeing warriors behind every tree. You’re suffering from mental exhaustion. Crashing your car and chasing phantoms. Effective immediately, I’m putting you on a two-week leave of absence—without pay.”
“Let’s see what the union has to say about that.” Jason wasn’t going to give up his rights. “If the psychologist puts me on a mental health leave, that’s classified as disability.”
“I didn’t say mental health leave,” Grimes argued. “Insubordination and jeopardizing the safety of civilians. I’ll have papers for you to sign in the morning.”
“I’d tread carefully if I were you.” Jason pulled his trump card. “You’re not the only puppet dancing on a string.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Avery satin the darkened conference room picking at her salad while the engineers chowed down on pizza and energy drinks. Club Cockburn Dating App was every man’s fantasy. The female avatars were shaped like Barbie dolls, and the males were bodybuilders. Everyone wore the wardrobe of their dreams, and there was nothing cartoonish about the characters. They appeared in full color and photographic detail, yet were recognizable as the individual portrayed.
Cory’s dark-brown eyes which dipped downward at the corners were his, along with his nose, which was rendered slightly narrower than his true bulbous one. His double chin was replaced by a cleft chin, and his teeth were straightened. With the flick of a finger, he could pick and choose from a variety of haircuts, all rendered with his natural hair color, or if he was being bold, colored to any hue or shade desired.
He could instantly change his perceived height and weight, as well as how much adipose tissue he desired to soften the angles of a muscular physique. If he chose to, he could go full Arnold on the bulging biceps. The wardrobes were endless, including Avery’s Cocky Heroes line as cross-promotion.
Alida even got Matt Swanson to allow characters to wear his numbered jersey as one of the choices.
“The licensing deals you can get are endless,” Alida said, controlling Cory’s avatar on screen. “We can also include bonus venues, such as walking in a fashion show, giving a State of the Union address, landing on the moon, and of course, the mansions of the rich and famous. Imagine renting the Overton Mansion in Southampton for a virtual beach party.”
“I’m excited about this project,” Damon said. “Avery, what do you think? You could have a virtual boutique here with all of your clothing lines. Pay per dress. Think of the micropayments you’ll get on social media when users post their photorealistic selves wearing your clothes.”
“It’s really something,” she said. “I do have a concern though on how much the licensing is worth. I can see a race to the bottom as new designers offer their wares free or free for a limited time.”
“I’d expect the premium lines to retain their value,” Alida said. “If you want to appear at the Club wearing a Tiffany diamond, you’ll need to pony up. Same with arriving in a Maserati.”
“Except online, who cares?” Avery spilled her thoughts. “A knockoff cubic zirconium necklace would appear the same as a diamond one. The images are photorealistic, but are the participants truly impressed?”
“The Club Cockburn caters to higher end and tech aware clients. They are the ones who carefully cultivate their image and status.” Alida huffed. “It’s all about creating the demand. That said, Damon, your sister has a point. We will need to manage the licensing. Scarcity is what keeps value high. If we let every designer into the Club, there would be a race to the bottom.”
“Same with the sports teams,” Cory said. “Do deals only with the professional teams and the all-star jerseys.”
“I see your point,” Damon said. “The true goal is finding a soulmate. We need to provide enough personalization to enhance the attractiveness of the client without obscuring his or her individuality, but not so much that all distinction is meaningless.”
“Right,” Avery agreed. “I believe it’s the chatrooms and the private salons that will keep people coming back. The fashion and sports are conversation starters, but it would be the personal connection that keeps them engaged.”
The conference room door opened with a whoosh, and someone rushed in. “Damon, sorry to interrupt, but I can’t do the investment banker meeting.”
“What is it?” Damon turned to a young Asian woman with a short pixie haircut—one half longer than the other.
“My sister Ivanna was attacked outside her apartment.”
“Is she okay?” Damon asked while Avery gasped, wondering how many Asian women in New York City were named Ivanna.
“We don’t know,” the woman replied. “A passerby found her fifteen minutes ago. They took her to the hospital, and I’m her emergency contact.”
“Could I ask where her apartment is located?” Avery pushed from the table.
