I’m sitting at Vine, waiting for Diego. He suggested the restaurant. It’s a sleek, new Asian-fusion place on Beach Drive in downtown Palmira. I walk into the bright, minimalist restaurant decorated with white walls and blonde wood. When did Palmira become so cool? I didn’t see a sign for an early bird special anywhere.

I’m way early, twenty minutes early. I like to over prepare for things. I didn’t get much sleep again, because I was thinking about Diego and why he wanted to meet. Why he'd me to a business lunch instead of a date. Why he kissed me with such hunger.

“Would you care to order?” I’m startled when a waitress looks at me expectantly.

Smiling, I shake my head. “I’m waiting for someone. I’d love some water.”

She nods and glides away. My mouth is Death Valley dry, and I reach for my lip gloss in my purse, so I have something to do with my hands. I give my bottom lip a quick swipe of pink goo, then smack my lips softly.

I’m wearing the only little black dress in my closet. He did say “business proposal,” so I thought I’d look the part. I dug out my New York clothes. Hair slicked into a ponytail, glasses off, contacts in, nails polished with a simple, clear shine. My black, mock-croc handbag hangs on the back of the chair, and I slip the gloss back inside.

I’m wearing pointy black kitten heels, and I almost feel good. Sexy.

This is rare, the sexy feeling.

I mean, I’ve had sex. A fair bit of it. But every hookup, every date in New York, was underwhelming. I had anticipated my social life to be like Sex and the City, and what I got was more like a bad episode of HBO’s Real Sex: quirky, choppy and sadly hilarious.

I know I’m attractive to guys, but none in New York seemed all that interested in keeping me around for anything other than a friend with benefits. They were too busy looking for the next girl’s Internet profile, the next photo, the next fuck.

No one that I’ve dated has ever really looked at me. It was beyond frustrating – more like demoralizing and shallow.

Except for Diego. He always made me feel different. Like something other than Geeky Cat who liked Star Trek and comics and video games. He made me feel like a supermodel. During our brief time together, he made me feel whole, sensual, loved. More so than any guy has since. We grew up together glued to screens, but then that one summer, we connected in real life. I’ve never felt a connection like that with anyone else.

It’s depressing to think that no one else might ever measure up to him. Probably I knew that while we were together, which is why it hurt so much when I found out that he hadn’t protected my secret. Our secret.

“Cata.”

My tongue sticks to the roof of my parched mouth when I hear his voice.

His voice, even deeper and richer now that we’re six years older, startles me. I’m daydreaming and staring out the restaurant window when he walks up, silent as a panther. Rising, I tilt my face to his and offer my cheek for him to kiss. It seems like the proper, adult thing to do.

We sit. If nothing else comes of this meeting, it’s worth it to see Diego look so handsome. It marks the first and only time I’ve seen him in anything but shorts, a t-shirt, and flip-flops. Today, he’s clean-shaven, wearing a slim-fitting black suit and a dark blue shirt underneath. No tie, interesting black shoes, his black hair tamed and softened.

“You look more like an investment banker than a gamer,” I tease. He laughs.

“Had a meeting with a realtor about buying a rental property.” He pauses. “You look all grown up, as well.”

His voice rumbles through my body.

I press my lips together and try not to grin like crazy. Because it’s all I want to do in his presence. I forget why I was ever angry with him. Almost. But how can I let myself do that? I know he didn’t spread the photos around. But it’s hard to forgive someone if they’ve played a part in your humiliation. I guess that’s why I haven’t forgiven myself, either.

“How’s your mom?” I immediately curse myself for asking the wrong question.

He shrugs. “She’s in New York. She’s clean for now. I’ve stopped helping her.”

I nod and chew the inside of my cheek. It’s always been this way for Diego. His mom was a neglectful addict, and his dad was mostly absent. His shitty home life is why he practically inserted himself to our family as a kid.

“Does she know how successful you are now? Does your dad?”

“Yeah. They both do. I talked to my dad for the first time in a couple of years a while back. Know what he said?”

I shake my head, but my gut clenches. Diego’s dad never had anything good to say about his son, if I remembered right.

“He was like, ‘I guess those video games paid off. See, you didn’t need college after all.’” Diego grimaces.

“Do you still feel bad, um, conflicted, about not graduating?” Diego was one of those kids in high school who never did poorly, but never well enough for scholarships, either. He spent too much time gaming and reading. And yet, he was brilliant.

He looks at me with a sad smile. “It doesn’t really matter now, does it? Now that I’m making all this money. Two semesters of community college is enough.”

He’s got a point, I guess. I can tell it still stings at him, his lack of education. My heart breaks at his implied bitterness. My heart breaks for us, too. Sometimes I wonder how his life would be different if we hadn’t broken up under such nasty circumstances. Would my parents have helped him go to school? I’ve felt guilty about this for years, and I open my mouth to tell him this but the waitress comes up. She ignores me and beams at him. She laughs and makes small talk. I’m a little jealous, and it annoys me.

We each choose sushi rolls. I pick one randomly off the menu, not caring a bit about what comes to the table because I’m too nervous to concentrate on anything but Diego’s piercing gaze.

“Do you know her?” I ask when the waitress leaves.

The corner of his mouth quirks into a half smile. “Why?”

I shrug and say nothing. He clasps his hands in front of him like a businessman. Where did he learn these adult gestures? I stare at his hands for a few seconds and think about how they used to feel in my hair. I sigh and look him in the eye.

“How’s your mom?” His voice sounds too polite, strained even.

“She’s holding up. The other night she mentioned how she wants to go stay with her sister in Maine. I think it’s a good idea.”

“But you’ll stay here, in the house?”

Why is he so interested in my life?

I nod and wonder when I should bring up the fact that he’s been helping my family financially. “Yeah, but I don’t know for how long. I’m applying for jobs all over.”

I haven't actually applied for anything yet, partially because I’d been so depressed about coming home. But I don't mention that.

Diego pauses and looks up at the ceiling. It’s an expression he used to wear all the time when he was younger. It means he’s thinking hard.

“I have an incentive for you to stay.”

I rear back, startled. He grins.

“I’d like you to work for me.” He pauses again and then laughs when he sees the obvious shock on my face.

“I know. It’s a surprise. But I need help, and because you worked at NewsNow, I thought you’d be a good fit. I’m trying to lure a bigger company into buying us. I’ve had a back and forth with a CEO already, a man who’s been a little like my virtual mentor over the past year. Boosting our social media presence is critical right now.”

“What company?”

Diego mentions a ginormous online retailer that’s branched out into multimedia and streaming content.

“Sahara? You’re joking, right? Sahara wants to buy Gamerhouse?” I sit back, wide-eyed as Diego nods with a triumphant smile.

Sahara sells everything. If Sahara were to buy Gamerhouse and the concept, Diego would be beyond wealthy. He would be Forbes 500 wealthy. Mark Zuckerberg wealthy.

It’s such an stunning thought. He’d never been the kind of guy who wanted to be rich. Give him a game, a grilled cheese sandwich and later, me, and he was ecstatic.

How he's changed. I’m suddenly self conscious, and I slip my hands under the table so I can pick at my cuticles. I think about how we kissed the day before, and my palms start to perspire. Why am I so nervous around him?

“So, we need to show this company that we have a little more reach. A broader base. We’ve got lots of intense fans among a niche of gamers. I need someone to help kick it up to the next level. We’re doing well on our own, me and Sawyer and Liam. But I need a dedicated person for social media so I can concentrate on other things. Someone who knows the media landscape. Someone I can trust.”

I shake my head. “I’m not a social media expert. I do content.”

“Right. But you know what gets clicks. We’ve never done things in a traditional way, and you know I like the way you think. I want you to boost our online … signal … if you will. Expand our brand. Post content and not just stupid shit about how the guys and I are playing the latest game. I need someone to drive the message. Shape information relevant to our brand.”

He mentions a figure that’s far more than I was making in New York. I blink several times. I do a mental calculation, with my bills, the Honda’s air conditioner, how much I could save since I was living at home, rent-free.

I could also help my family get out of debt. Pay off my mom’s second mortgage. Help my brother get new equipment for the restaurant. Maybe even pay down that one student loan I’d taken out.

“You’re paying that kind of salary? You’re making that much money playing video games?”

He nods. “It’ll probably be only a six-month contract for you. Hopefully soon, the company will see we’ve expanded our fan base and will close the deal. Come on, Cata. We can work together.”

“Are you doing all of this out of pity? Offering me a job? Paying for my dad’s funeral? Giving my mother money?” I blurt my words, and maybe my voice is too loud for this restaurant.

We stare at each other, and I’m starting to suspect the answer is yes. I blow out a long breath.

“Diego, I don’t want your charity. You can do whatever you want with my family because that’s their business, but I hate the thought—“

“Stop.” His voice has an edge. I want to glare at him, but I realize his eyes are soft and pleading, even though his voice is more commanding than I’ve ever heard it.

“I admit that paying for your father’s funeral and helping your mom was my way of attempting to apologize for the photos. I brought shame on your family by letting that phone out of my hands. You lost that scholarship. I never wanted that. Not in a million years.”

I look down at my plate. I can tell my face is hot.

“But I’m not offering you a job out of pity. I’m offering it to you because you’re excellent at what you do. And I need excellent. And I need someone trustworthy.”

I roll my eyes. “How would you know I’m excellent?” I make little quote marks in the air with my fingers. I don’t feel excellent at all.

“I’ve read your work over the last year. You’re brilliant. You have exactly the right tone and voice, and you know about video games. You can take us to new heights. Be creative – do an online magazine. Video. A podcast. Whatever you need, I can provide you the resources. Hire a staff. Whatever. It’s your project.”

“You’ve read my work?”

He looks out the window, seemingly interested in an elderly man walking his dog. “I’ve kept up with your career, let’s put it that way.”

My face feels hot from his admission. “So you knew that I was fired even before I said anything? You know what happened?”

He nods and still won’t look at me.

“I didn’t sleep with that politician. All of the tabloids were wrong,” I say, quietly. “He sent me some texts and photos after we met at a party. And my editor and I decided to publish them.”

“But why did they fire you?” Diego’s voice is even, emotionless. Maybe he doesn’t believe me about sleeping with that asshole congressman from New York.

“My editor and I didn’t know that the politician was friends with the owner of the media company. So we got the ax. The owner said we violated the site’s ethical standards. It was bullshit.”

“Sounds like it. I’m sorry. And honestly, I don’t care.”

“You don’t care?” I frown.

He licks his lips. “That came out wrong. I care about you. I, um, don’t care about what you did in New York. I know media can be cutthroat. That’s in the past. And I believe your version of the story. Unequivocally. I know you wouldn’t lie about that to me.”

I shrug, trying to appear casual. “I guess I didn’t expect the tables to be turned on me so quickly. That other websites speculated that I was in a relationship with the guy, or wanting to be with him, that’s what hurt. Because I wasn’t.”

Diego nodded. “I didn’t believe those. Didn’t seem like the kind of thing you’d do. Plus, that guy wasn’t your type. I knew that. Too old. He was short and bald, and you like ‘em tall, dark and handsome.” He breaks into a grin.

I giggle. Well, he’s right about that. “I guess I’m pretty unlucky when it comes to technology. Between what happened in New York and with us.”

Diego’s eyes meet mine. “Will you have a problem, being in the public eye again?”

“No. I’m fine,” I say quickly. This job would allow me to regain a measure of pride. “If you don’t mind the inevitable publicity that might come with being associated with me.”

“I am. I don’t care what happened in New York. You were the best at NewsNow. You wrote a lot of great articles, got a lot of people talking. I saw those articles that were later picked up by the New York Times. That was a big deal for you. That’s what I want with our social media. If other websites want to make a big deal about you, all the better.”

So he has read everything about what happened to me in New York. I don’t know how I feel about him keeping tabs on me. Satisfied? Annoyed? Thrilled? Probably all three. I steer the conversation back to business.

“But, what I don’t understand is, why don’t you get someone who’s really experienced, someone who’s a gamer?” I ask.

He turns to me and stares. I feel myself falling into his gaze and I tense.

“Why? Why are you offering me this job? Are you using me for the potential notoriety?”

“No.” His mouth purses, as if he’s annoyed that I asked the question. “I’m asking because I want you.”

I’m breathless at his words because I remember a moment when we were teenagers, and he said the same thing. We were on the beach at sunset, and I melted into his arms.

Why are you with me? I had been a tangle of teenage insecurity.

Because you’re smart and funny and gorgeous. Because I want you. I love you, he’d replied.

Back in the now, I look at his mouth, then his hands, and I’m unable to speak. I want to kiss him so badly.

“Cata. Hey. Are you okay?”

Startled, I nod. “I’m fine.”

The sushi comes and the waitress forgets my iced tea. I don’t care. I pick at the food, my mind reeling. Diego explains how Gamerhouse works. I notice that he no longer slumps over his plate and shovels food in his mouth like when he was a teenage boy. He’s even learned how to use chopsticks.

“Where did you learn to use those?”

He shrugs. “Sergei, the owner of Sahara, flew me out to Silicon Valley a couple of times. I picked it up out there.”

I nod slowly, and he changes the subject, launching into an explanation of how Gamerhouse works.

“Liam games midnight at night till eight in the morning. Then Sawyer takes over until four. I take the four-to-midnight shift, so I have mornings to deal with the business. I don’t have time to do the social media on top of everything else, and Sawyer and Liam are hopeless with that kind of work. They’re performers.”

I blink, taking it all in. “And what about the cameras? Will I be online, live? Or just in the background?”

Diego narrows his eyes and licks his lips as if he hasn’t thought this through. “We only have the live cameras downstairs. No cameras upstairs or in Sawyer or Liam’s areas. So yes, you probably will be on camera, at least some of the time. Do you have an issue with that?”

I shrug. I had spent my first year out of college working at New York’s biggest celebrity-news gossip site, then was publicly disgraced because a congressman had sent me dick pics after meeting him at a party. Combine that with being back in my hometown, where seemingly every man with eyes saw naked photos of me, well, I should be nervous. But Diego’s confidence in me is somehow contagious.

Being the social media manager for Gamerhouse is a great opportunity. On so many levels. It’s a chance to begin again, on a big stage. It’s also a chance to save my family from financial ruin.

“No. I’ve no problem being on camera.” I try to sound breezily confident. “If I take the job, will I do it from home?”

We stare at each other, the obvious sexual tension ratcheting up until I squirm in my seat.

I suspect those dark chocolate eyes of his have seduced lots of women over the last five years. He doesn’t need to tell me otherwise. His expression, slightly amused and arrogant and full of swagger, says it all.

“I have an office for you.”

I crack a smile, wondering how far the office is from his bedroom. I remind myself to be professional. Diego’s going to be my boss. I need to push aside that kiss from yesterday and all these messy feelings.

“What?” he asks.

“Nothing,” I whisper. I watch his eyes flit to my mouth and I feel a pang in my stomach, even though I’ve eaten.

He talks fast and with obvious excitement about how they’ve expanded into in-game product placement. How a Sultan from Saudi Arabia gives them a five grand donation every month because he thinks they’re funny. How a rich older woman in California sent Sawyer a bed because he was complaining about his aching back.

By the time Diego’s done, I’m laughing hard, captivated. He makes working at Gamerhouse sound fun, almost like being part of a family. And it is a brilliant concept. There’s a lot I could do with their social media to promote them. My mind spins with possibilities, then halts when I stare into Diego’s eyes.

I take in his beautiful, animated face. He’s still the same; when he gets excited about something, his face lights up with a little grin, and he talks fast. His accent comes out. It’s amazing how quickly my anger at him has thawed. Something in his smile, his gentleness, his easy laughter, is making the horrible memory of the photos fade.

I’m going to give this a chance.

I’m going to give him a chance.