“I can’t believe you’re wearing a bloody t-shirt,” I mutter, as all four of us jog down the corridor towards the gold-plated lift. We’re on our way to our first presentation of the conference, and we’re running late. After the horrendous flight last night, we just fed Cami, settled her down, and then passed out. We woke up this morning to the sound of the hotel phone ringing with our wake-up call, half an hour before our first presentation.
Like total idiots, we assumed half an hour would be enough time to get ready. Between feeding Cami, burping her, bathing her, and changing her, we barely had enough time to get dressed ourselves. I’m fixing my cufflinks as I run, and Seb is trying to simultaneously comb through his hair with his fingers and knot his tie. Several posh-looking guests side-eye us as we pass them, our footsteps too loud in the echoing, glittering hallway.
The hotel the conference put us up in is sexy as fuck. I’ve never been in a place so fancy. Our suite is huge; three king-sized beds, a kitchen and living area, and a massive terrace that looks out over the New York skyline. The building has three separate swimming pools, and the room service is catered by a Michelin star chef. The whole hotel has been taken over for the conference, and everywhere we go, we’re passing tech billionaires in perfectly pressed suits, talking quietly about investments and sales.
Which makes Jack’s casual graphic tee look even stupider.
“I’m a game designer,” Jack points out, glancing down at Cami. She’s frowny and red-faced in her carrier, but she’s not started crying yet, which must be some kind of miracle. “They expect me to turn up in a t-shirt and jeans.”
“Look at these people.” I wave at a couple walking past. The woman is decked out in louboutins and a diamond necklace. She looks stunning. “Would it kill you to put on a suit?”
“I tried to,” he reminds me through gritted teeth, “but you said I wasn’t allowed to wear my bow tie!”
I put my hand on his shoulder as we pull up next to the lifts, panting. “So help me God,” I say quietly. “If you ever—ever wear a novelty bow tie again, I’m moving out. I refuse to be seen in public with a man who dresses like Doctor fucking Who.”
“What’s wrong with Doctor Who?”
“He’s a dorky white guy! My whole career depends on my sex appeal! You’ll ruin my brand!”
“Stop arguing,” Sebastian orders, stabbing the call lift button. Cami squawks unhappily, and Jack sets down the carrier, picking her up and holding her against him. That calms her down, and she cuddles into his incredibly inappropriate t-shirt.
“It’s okay to puke on it,” I tell her in a stage whisper. “In fact, it’s encouraged.”
The lift doors open with a ding, and we step inside. “Do you remember your lines?” Sebastian asks me, pressing the button for the parking lot.
I sigh. “Yes. Jesus Christ. I might be shit at reading, but I don’t actually have a five-second memory.” I’m great at public speaking. When you shake your balls onstage five days a week, you lose your self-consciousness pretty quickly. “If any one of us messes up, it won’t be me.”
We both glance at Jack. His hands are clenched by his sides, and his face is white. His lips are moving as he repeats his part of the script over and over in his head. He’s obviously scared shitless. I don’t get why he’s so nervous. I’ve played Legend of Azaran multiple times, and his work is more than good enough to speak for itself. Apparently, he’s the only one who doesn’t see how great it is.
I clap a hand on his back. “You’ll be fine, man,” I assure him. “The game is solid. People will like it.”
“I just wish I had some more time—” he starts, and I shake my head.
“The game is out there. It’s great. Stop trying to pick holes in it and relax.”
He nods jerkily. The lift shudders to a stop, and we all step back as the doors slide open again. A short, portly man in a pinstriped suit steps inside, and Jack goes completely still.
I recognise the guy immediately. Hamish Cavendish. He’s the CEO of Cavendish Industries, one of the biggest gaming companies in the world.
Jack loves this guy. Watches all of his online TED talks religiously. He once made me watch one with him, and I came to the conclusion that Hamish is an arrogant, disgustingly wealthy knobhead, who has made way too much money and developed a God complex.
But hey, that’s just me.
Hamish gives us a mild smile and pulls out his phone, then freezes, looking up at Jack. His eyes focus on the pass hanging around his neck.
“Trinity Games?” He reads. “You wouldn’t happen to be Jack Insley, would you?”
Jack turns, his eyes wide. “Y-yeah?” He stammers, and I fight the urge to roll my eyes. The guy can talk about RPG stats and pixel counts until the cows come home, but put an important man in a suit in front of him and he dries up like a salted slug.
The man nods, offering Jack his hand. “Hamish Cavendish. I’m the head CEO of Cavendish industries.”
Jack shifts Cami to his hip and shakes his hand numbly. “I know who you are,” he gushes. “I… oh my god. I love your work. Under the Red Sky is one of my favourite games ever.”
Hamish raises an eyebrow. “Deep cut. Not a fan of my newer stuff?”
Jack turns bright red. “No, sir. I mean, yes! I just think it’s incredible how you wrote such a complex game in your twenties. It’s very inspiring. But I like all your later releases too. Knight Takes Rook was amazing, the graphics were stunning—”
I stamp on his foot to shut him up.
Hamish grins. “I was just kidding. Thank you, kid. We’ve been following your game development journey. You’re very talented.” He glances between us. “Is this your team?”
“I just work admin and finances,” Seb says, then nods at me. “Cyrus is advertising. The development is all Jack.”
Jack looks like he’s about to die. I try to hold in my amusement.
Hamish nods. “That’s impressive. How did you get started developing games?”
“Oh.” Jack looks down. “When I was younger, my dad used to play a lot of text-based adventure games. I used to make my own—write them out on bits of paper. When I was in high school, I took some programming courses, and worked out how to turn them into playable PC games.” He shrugs. “Then I just kept going.”
“That’s fascinating. I’d love to hear some more about it.” Hamish pulls a business card out of his pocket, handing it over. “I’m afraid my diary is packed until Tuesday night—we get most of the year’s business done this week, you know. But if you’re free then, I’d love to have dinner with you three.” He gives Cami an uncomfortable smile. “I know the hotel has a creche.”
I snort. We’ve had this kid three weeks; there’s no way I’m letting some stranger take care of her. Right now, the only four people I trust her with are myself, Seb, Jack, and Beth.
“I’ll have to pass, man,” I say, fixing Cami’s hair. She stares at me with huge eyes, then crumples up her face and starts to cry quietly. I take her off Jack and press a kiss to her cheek, cuddling her. “I’ll be looking after ladybug, here.”
Hamish looks slightly relieved. “Oh, good. She’s yours.”
Sebastian frowns. “Do you have a problem with hiring parents?”
Hamish waves him off. “Not so much in the later years, but definitely when there are babies involved. I find family life and business don’t mix well together, you know? I can’t stand when new recruits start having kids.”
“Oh, is that why all of your employees are men?” I ask lightly, tickling Cami’s belly. Seb cuts me a glare. “What? It’s true.” I’ve seen their website. Most of their employees are identical private-school old boys. I probably never would have noticed before Cami came into our lives, but now I have a tiny baby girl to look after. The idea of anyone underestimating her or refusing her job opportunities because of her gender is enough to make my blood boil.
Incredibly, Hamish doesn’t even deny it. “Yes. Not very politically correct, of course, but the truth of the matter is, it’s impractical to place females in high-ranking positions.”
Sebastian coughs. Cami frowns. She’s either outraged by the injustice against her sex, or about to poop.
Hamish sighs heavily. “They always promise they’re career-oriented in interviews, then inevitably choose to have families after a few years, and demand maternity leave. Hiring them is just bad business.”
I give him a flat look. “Well, thanks for your kind offer, but we’re due to go home Sunday. So I guess—”
Sebastian cuts me off. “We can extend the trip for another few days.”
I stare at him.
“Please do,” Hamish beams at Jack. “We’ve been looking to bring fresh developers into the company, and you’re in our top twenty candidates. I’m glad I got to speak to you.” He checks his watch. “I’ve got to run now, but my assistant will contact you with the details.”
The lift dings, and he gives Jack a warm handshake and a smile as the doors slide open. We all watch after him as he saunters out into the lobby. The other two seem too shocked to move, so I press the button for the parking lot, and the doors hiss shut again.
“Seriously?” I ask, unimpressed. “You want to work for that creep?”
“I am going to pass out,” Jack says faintly. “What the Hell just happened? I—we’re going to dinner with Hamish Cavendish? What am I going to wear?”
“Not a bloody bow tie, that’s for sure,” I mutter, jogging Cami. Now that the creepy man is gone, she’s calmed down again, and is trying to strangle me by yanking on my necklaces.
“Are you trying to get rid of me?” I ask her. “Is this your way of saying I’m your least favourite?”
A smile spreads over her face. She squeals delightedly and almost garottes me again.
“Top twenty?” Jack practically moans. “There’s no way I can beat out nineteen other candidates. I’m shit at networking. And interviews. Oh fuck, I’m gonna screw this up—”
“There’s not twenty candidates,” I say flatly. “He’s just saying that to make you shit yourself. Because he’s a knob. Now calm down, you need to be onstage in twenty minutes.”
“Right.” Jack takes a deep breath, running a hand through his hair. “Right. Yeah.”
Rolling my eyes, I pull out my phone. I haven’t even had time to check it since I woke up. I have a missed call and a voice message from Beth. I smile when I see the notifications, my insides warming, then swipe to text her back.
C: Heads up, babe, looks like we’re staying another few days. Wednesday at least. Jack has some more asses to kiss.
C: We’ll call later xx
