Page 24 of The Player (Close Quarters 5)

“Does your dad still make art?”

I nod. I get a jolt of a different feeling when it comes to my father—anger, regret. I see the missed calls from his number pile up on my phone week after week. Without my mother as a buffer between us, our relationship has been...strained.

“So, what I wanted to talk to you about has a lot to do with my family,” I say, pushing the swell of emotion to one side and locking it up, as I always do under my business persona. “Every year, I run a show for the anniversary of Mum’s passing. It’s the biggest show we host, and all the money raised from ticket sales goes toward funding an arts scholarship in her name.”

Emery looks around the room, shaking her head. “That’s a lovely idea, but I don’t know how you think I can help with this. I design board games not—” she gestures to the bubbles “—magic.”

“But gamesaremagic. Childhoods are magic, and I think I can capture that with your help.” The vision has been growing stronger by the hour—an interactive art exhibit with modern artwork. I already have a few artists in mind with pieces I want to display. “The concept art you showed me at the convention was amazing. I think we can pair that with other media types and make something that catapults people back into their childhood for a night. It’ll be completely nostalgic and yet challenge their concept of what a board game is.”

She blinks. “Wow.”

“Yeah, wow.”

“I’m not sure I belong here. I’m not fancy, I don’t...” She shook her head. “You really think your people will be interested in somethingImade.”

“They’re notmypeople,” I reply. “They’re just people. Some of them come from money, but some don’t. I’d bet that most of them have a fond memory tucked away somewhere of playing chess or checkers or Monopoly with their loved ones. That’s pretty universal.”

She nods and I see the ideas clicking through her brain, the flicker of activity in her eyes that tells me she’s excited about the idea. But she’s holding herself back. Like she did with me. For all her badassery, for all her cactus spikes, and her blue hair, and her penetrating stare...she limits herself.

“Come up to my office,” I say. “I want to show you something.”

She purses her lips together, like she’s expecting me to pull a fast one. But she follows when I head out of the main room and up the wooden staircase that leads to my office. It’s a bit messy, since I didn’t think I’d be bringing her up here. My desk faces a huge window, which floods the space with light. There are papers everywhere with scribbles for layouts and drawings, which try to capture my vision for the show.

But that’s not what I wanted to show her.

My wallet is sitting in the top drawer, where I always keep it when I’m at work. Emery looks at me with her head tilted as I flip it open and pull something out. It’s an old photo. I keep it folded in half and tucked behind my bank card. It’s faded now, with a permanent crease down the centre, but it’s more important to have this with me at all times rather than keeping it hidden in some album in pristine condition.

“That’s my mum.” I hand the photo to Emery. The image is yellowed, muted. It shows my mother, with her long brown hair, laughing as she holds a hand of cards to her chest. “It was from a poker game where she interrupted my dad and his friends, asking if she could play. They let her, because they thought she’d be an easy mark, and she cleaned out the lot of them.”

Emery grins and the smile is so bright and so genuine, it socks me in the chest. “I think I would have liked her.”

“I think so, too.” I nod. “That’swhat I want to capture with this show. That feeling of winning, the fun, the competition, the bonding. All those emotions that we get when we spend time with the people we love.”

“You’re putting the hard sell on,” she says, handing the photo back to me.

“That’s my job—I’m a salesman. And I think this could be mutually beneficial,” I say. “You have a new game coming out that needs publicity, and this could help launch it to a whole new set of customers. These are people who would likely have no idea the last game didn’t go the way you wanted it to. They’re probably not part of the online community that’s been dragging you. They’re fresh new customers.”

“I can’t say no, can I?” She laughs and shakes her head.

“Not many women find they can say no to me.” I wink and she rolls her eyes.

“You were doing so well.” She throws her hands up in the air. “And then you’ve got to go all sleazy playboy on me.”

“It’s not sleazy.”

“But you’re not denying the playboy part?”

I shoot her a look. “Would my protest mean anything at all to you?”

“No,” she admits. “It wouldn’t.”

“Then why bother? Iknowwhere my skills lie, and I know exactly how to use them to both our advantage.”

I swear, that wasn’t meant to be an innuendo. But I catch the dark flare of her eyes. I’ll be honest, I thought she looked wild with those purple contact lenses and that red wig...but that hasnothingon how she looks now. Because now I know it’s for me.

Not a guy in a Batsuit. Not some nameless stranger.

Me.

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