CHAPTER EIGHT
Rule No. 8: Once the game has begun, don’t try to find us. We’ll be sure to find you.
"It's lunchtime," Jackson said, his voice low and matter of fact. "You should take a break from the work Donovan has you doing today." Flicking his eyes to the multiple piles of disorganized record keeping, he didn't smile or even smirk. His face was a blank mask, a professional facade that gave away nothing of what he was thinking. Eyes meeting mine again he offered, "I could take you to a small cafe around the corner. The sandwiches aren't half bad."
Stuck in place, Donovan's threat to fire me was still fresh on my mind as I stared back at a man who'd been rude and cold just a few minutes ago when I'd tried to introduce myself. To say it was difficult to understand why he was now inviting me to lunch was an understatement. "I'm not sure how long I have for lunch," I admitted on a rush of breath. "Dono-" Stopping midword, I remembered that the man who held my purse strings had demanded I refer to him as Mr. Stone, and I highly suspected he was listening in on this conversation. "Mr. Stone didn't tell me more than what I'm expected to do with these papers and that I'm to sign for deliveries."
Jackson lifted a brow, not quite amused, not quite questioning. "I'm sure he knows you'll take lunch. It's expected of all the employees."
Since he'd already brought up the expectations of the employees, I thought it was a good opening to find out more about this horrible job I had no option to turn down. "Is there an employee manual? One that gives me a few details about those expectations."
His blank mask was cut through with a hesitant smile, his amber eyes darting between Donovan’s door and me. Turning he had his hand on the knob as if to open that door when he answered over his shoulder. "I am the employee manual. We'll talk about the rules over lunch."
The door popped open and Jackson leaned in to look at Donovan. "I'm taking Mia to lunch. We'll be back in an hour."
Donovan didn't respond, at least not out loud. I shook my head. Of course, it wasn't out loud. The man didn't talk. His constant silence was going to take some getting used to, but I assumed he must have nodded or made some other indication that Jackson could proceed. Within seconds, Jackson closed the door again and motioned for me to walk ahead of him into the lobby.
I walked ahead of him as he'd indicated for me to do, but I'd be a liar to say it didn't feel like danger was standing at my back. Hating how close he was, I reached for the handle of the door leading into the front room, but felt his body heat against mine when he reached faster. Opening the door for me, he held it until I'd passed, closing it again once we were both standing on the other side. That was one point in his favor over Donovan. Although it was painfully obvious that Jackson had about as much warmth as an iceberg, he at least had manners.
His manners remained intact as we exited the office and left the building. Walking down the sidewalk, a noticeable tension left his shoulders once we had rounded a corner and were outside of view from Donovan's window. If I hadn't been just as tense, I wouldn't have noticed the sudden relaxation in the set of his shoulders, wouldn't have realized that while a certain someone could still see us, Jackson hadn't spoken another word.
"So, I hope I don't get in trouble for saying this, but what is up with Stone Industries?" Flicking a glance at Jackson where he walked beside me, I caught the barest hint of a grin on his lips. It didn't help to soften the hard set of his eyes, or the chiseled strength of his square jaw, but it was still better than the bone chilling cold that had wafted off him earlier. Perhaps Jackson and Donovan worked well together because they both existed within blocks of emotional ice. Unfortunately, I wasn't the type who could handle the cold. It reminded me too much of my father.
Speaking slowly, he kept his gaze trained on the sidewalk ahead of us. On the people who were pouring out of their buildings in route to their own lunchtime destinations. "I'm not sure how that question could get you in trouble. It's a reasonable request for information. I'd ask the same on my first day of a new job."
Soft laughter shook my shoulders. "Per Mr. Stone's obvious dislike of me, I'm afraid to ask anything."
Jackson stopped in place, his hand reaching out to grab my wrist. Out of instinct, I pulled away at the unexpected touch. I could handle the contact when I was prepared for it, but never when feeling another person's skin against mine was sudden. Jackson stared intently at me after I'd jerked away, his gaze sliding down my body and back up again. "Sorry," he apologized, "I didn't mean to startle you."
Flustered by everything that had occurred in my life in the past few days - the fear of being homeless, the stupid decision to sign up for a game I was still trying to avoid thinking about, the acceptance of a job I knew nothing about - I had to force my lungs to draw in a deep breath before I could offer him a practiced smile. "It's okay. I just don't like being touched without some kind of warning."
"That's interesting," he murmured, more to himself than to me. His voice was stronger when he answered, "I was just stopping you because of what you said. I don't think Donovan dislikes you. He takes some getting used to, but he wouldn't have hired you if he didn't like you."
"He has a funny way of showing it," I said, disbelief and soft laughter obvious in my words. "He's already threatened my job today and only because I'd spoken to Trevor while he was making his deliveries."
We started walking again, although we weren't in as much of a rush as the crowd around us. I worried if we didn't pick up our pace, we'd get lost in the shuffle and I'd be late returning to work. I said as much, but Jackson shrugged it off. "I have as much say in the satellite office as Donovan. He won't hold it against you for being a few minutes late getting back. Especially since you're with me."
His words didn't make me feel better, but I did pick up on one new bit of information that I hadn't known before. "Satellite office?"
We rounded another corner and Jackson turned to step toward a glass door leading into a cafe hidden within a strip of other small stores. With his other hand, he reached as if to touch my shoulder and guide me inside, but he hesitated, most likely remembering my dislike of being touched. I'd stepped inside by the time he responded.
"Yes, the Ninth Street building is only one of many satellite offices. Our main North American hub is located on the other side of town. Donovan hates the constant activity, so he chooses to work here where it's the two of us...well, three of us now that you're here."
The admission surprised me. Taking a seat in a corner booth where the waitress/cashier/cook motioned for us to sit, I waited until Jackson was settled before asking another question. The cafe was so tiny, it felt like the three of us were practically on top of one another even when the sole employee was on the other side of the room.
"How big is Stone Industries?"
Now that Jackson had lightened up from when we first met, he didn't seem as aloof, cold and distant as before. My body relaxed along with his, my mind hesitant to be thankful that the other member of my satellite office wasn't as quick to judge as Donovan Stone.
Sunlight poured in from the window next to us, the warm light meeting his eyes to reveal streaks of brown within the amber color. With broad shoulders that practically filled his side of the booth, he relaxed against his seat and slung an arm over the top of the cheap pleather seat. Wearing a blue button up shirt, he'd skipped wearing a tie or a jacket to match his black slacks. His eyes were trained on the sidewalk traffic outside when he asked, "You didn't research the company before accepting the job?"
"I didn't have much of a choice. It was that or learn how to survive without eating."
His gaze shot to mine, the sharp look startling me into silence. "So that's why you took the job? I was wondering."
Opening my mouth to ask what he meant, I was interrupted by the waitress approaching our table. Quickly scanning the menu, I settled on a salad while Jackson ordered a sandwich. She ran off to throw together our orders as my gaze slid back to Jackson. "What do you mean you were wondering?"
He shrugged, the movement drawing my attention to the perfect tailoring of his shirt that accented every strong, sleek line of his physique. If anything, the eye candy in our little satellite office was enough to keep me occupied. Between Jackson and Donovan, any woman would be lost to the cold, masculine perfection that dominated the small office. "Donovan has been running ads for the admin position for close to six months. At first, hundreds of resumes poured in, and he must have spent weeks conducting interviews. Every offer he made was turned down."
My eyes rounded, the moment of shock dissipating just as quickly. It wasn't surprising that the job offers were being turned down. I would have done the same if I weren't so desperate. It just made me feel worse about myself to learn that so many other people had better offers so that they were in a position to decline Donovan's offer. What was wrong with me?
Taking advantage of my silence, Jackson answered another question of mine. "Stone Industries is a multinational corporation. We have one main hub in North America, along with sixty satellite offices. We have another hub in practically every country spanning the globe. The company was started by Donovan's father. Donovan only took over when his dad passed four years ago. He never wanted to run the business, but has done so because his father made him promise while he was on his death bed."
Fiddling with my napkin just to work out the pent up energy inside me, I commented, "It sounds like you know Donovan well."
Jackson grinned. "We grew up together. Played video games most of our lives and dreamed of developing games ourselves. Donovan's dad was always the workhorse, but he took the time to teach us coding and about software development. By the time we were ten, we could both build a computer from the ground up, but neither of us wanted the corporate life. It's why Donovan started the small office away from the main hub. He hates the constant noise. As I'm sure you're aware, his communication skills are limited."
Proving himself to be a wealth of information, I was happy for the better understanding of my new job. Still, I couldn't resist discovering more about my enigmatic new boss, a man who hadn't spoken one word to me, but still managed to frustrate my life since the moment I met him. "Was he born unable to speak?"
Jackson's lips twitched, but he didn't give any other outward indication of what he was thinking or feeling. "I wouldn't say he's unable to speak, but that's his story to tell. No. He wasn't born that way. But nobody, besides me, has heard his voice in three years."
Brows pulling together, I mulled over that strange tidbit. He could talk, but refused to? What could ever possess a person to make their lives more difficult by refusing to communicate when they had the ability? Especially when he was the CEO of a high-power company.
Every person has their quirks. I don’t like being touched, and I also don’t like looking in mirrors in the dark. It’s weird and stupid, I know. But I have my reasons. My father was the reason I hated touch. And the mirrors? That was a result of my fear of dark places, of shadows lurking that wouldn’t easily reveal their faces. Often I covered them because I had the irrational fear that one day I’d walk past and find I wasn’t alone in the dark.
Talking must have been a quirk of Donovan’s. I wasn’t in a position to judge, but I still wanted to know why.
Two plates were set on the table, the waitress' sudden presence causing me to jump in place. Her smile was apologetic to see it, but I simply smiled back. It wasn't her that was causing me to be so jumpy. It was the weight of my decisions over the past few days.
All the talk of computers had me fidgeting in my seat. I had to swallow down the anxiety that had settled in my throat. After doing something as stupid as I had done just a few nights ago, I wouldn’t be upset if I never saw another computer in my life.
Nothing with the game had happened yet, but that didn't make me think I'd received five thousand dollars for nothing. The game would begin eventually, I just didn't know when.
With that thought rolling over in my empty stomach, I ate quickly in an attempt to fill my belly with something other than regret and fear. Unfortunately the few bites I could manage only made the discomfort worse.
Every so often, I would meet Jackson's gaze after we fell into a comfortable silence while eating our lunch, and each time, I had to fight back the urge to ask him more about Donovan Stone.
Eventually we both finished, my plate still half full while his was practically licked clean. Looking at the lean strength of his physique, I wondered how many hours he spent working out in order to not gain weight from such a healthy appetite.
"You said you’re the employee manual," I finally commented to break the silence. "Can you tell me what I need to know in order to not get fired on my first day?"
Moving so that he could pull his wallet from his pocket, he slid a black card from inside and placed it on the table. I reached for my purse to pay my half, but Jackson lifted a brow. "You can put your money away, Mia. Lunch was on the office."
Split in half, I wanted to refuse his offer, as well as jump up and down to accept it at the same time. Siding with accepting it, I smiled in thanks while slipping my wallet into my purse. Despite everything that was happening, there was still the sad truth that I was practically broke for the next month. Being a charity case rubbed me the wrong way, but I was willing to swallow down the bitter pill only because he said lunch was on the office and not on him personally.
"Thank you," I finally breathed out.
He chuckled. "Don't thank me. Thank Donovan. His name is on the office door. Not mine." His amber gaze darted to the waitress when she came to collect his card, a flirtatious smile stretching cheeks that were stained with a pink blush. Jackson winked and the silent praise he'd given her was loud and clear. I watched with curious eyes, wondering if I had the wrong impression of him when met.
The waitress left and his eyes returned to me. But rather than affection or warmth, they'd returned to the professional distance I'd seen in them earlier. "We'll talk on the way back to the office. The rules are standard. The most important thing you need to know is to be available to Donovan when he needs you, and to stay out of his way when he doesn't."
That didn't bode well for my employment. Not at all. I would definitely continue looking for something else, but in the meantime attempt to stay out of Donovan’s way long enough to collect my first paycheck.
True to his word, Jackson walked me back to the office and explained the rules. Everything was standard: come in on time, take a one hour lunch, leave on time. Overtime was only by approval. The holidays were standard, sick time was standard, the benefits were crap, but other than that, nothing concerned me more than the previous warning that I was Donovan’s lackey when he needed one, and a non-entity when he didn’t.
By the time we reached the office, I felt slightly better about my position at Stone Industries. Jackson stepped forward to open the door to the building for me, and I was almost in reach when a man slammed into me from the right side. Knocked to the ground, I scrambled to keep all the contents of my purse from rolling away while a voice above me apologized profusely.
Unfortunately for the stranger, Jackson wasn’t in a forgiving mood.
The man who’d careened into me was jerked away by the collar of his shirt, his hand holding a phone that caught a ray of sunlight, flashing as he was removed from my space. I wouldn’t have thought anything of it, but within the chaos, I could have sworn I heard the snapping shutter of a camera. Freezing in place where I was kneeling on the ground collecting the contents of my purse, I tried to convince myself I heard wrong...because why would a random stranger snap a picture of me?
I knew why. I just didn’t want to admit it to myself.
“Watch where the hell you’re going, you son of a bitch! You could have hurt her!”
Jackson’s deep voice rolled like thunder down the sidewalk, his anger palpable within the rushed whispers and murmurs of people passing by. Shoving the last of my random belongings into my purse, I stood and turned in time to see the stranger staring at me, his mouth hanging open, his eyes focused and apologetic.
“I’m so sorry,” he stammered as he jerked away from Jackson’s grasp. “I was in a rush. I really need to get going.”
Before Jackson could grab him again, he ran off, but not before I could dedicate his features to memory. Dark hair. Dark eyes. Dark clothes. But skin so white, it was alabaster reflecting the scant sunlight. He turned a corner, disappearing from view by the time Jackson stepped up to me and laid a hand on my shoulder. Out of instinct, I pulled away from his touch, my heart lodged in my throat, my pulse racing so hard I was left dizzy.
“Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”
“No,” I answered honestly. Although my weak voice gave away how shaken I was by the incident. Not so much the getting knocked down part, more the sound of a camera shutter. I made a mental note to check Dark Realties that night to see if it had been my stalker introducing himself to me by colliding with me on the sidewalk.
Jackson arched a brow. “Are you sure? You don’t sound okay.”
Shaking my head, I forced a smile, making sure to keep enough distance between us that he didn’t reach out in an effort to comfort me with his touch. If anything, feeling a hand on my body at that moment would only make it worse. “I promise. I’m fine. Let’s just get back upstairs before Donovan is angry that I’m late.”
Holding the door open for me, Jackson didn’t say a word as I passed him, but I was pretty sure I heard him mumble behind me as I walked quickly into the main lobby.
“Don’t worry about, Donovan. I’ll handle him.”
. . .
The remainder of the day was smooth sailing. Jackson left shortly after dropping me off at the office and Donovan neither messaged me on my tablet nor came out of his office. By close to four, I wondered if he was even in the office at all. Fighting the urge to approach his door several times, I tried to focus on the mountains of paperwork piled around me, on the tedious task that didn’t occupy my mind enough to keep me from thinking of the game. It was difficult not to sit down for a minute and use the computer at the reception desk to check the Dark Realities page.
At first, I’d hoped my picture wouldn’t show up, that my image staring back at me wouldn’t make it perfectly clear the game had started. But after thinking about it - obsessing over it - I realized that seeing the image wouldn’t be all bad. Not knowing was the worst feeling of all, but seeing that image would not only tell me the game had officially begun. It would prove that the man whose features I’d memorized was, in fact, the man I had to watch for.
It would give me an advantage, albeit a small one.
The end of the workday was within my grasp when Donovan finally decided to make an appearance. His door popped open as I was setting aside the incomplete files, leaving them in a place where I could jump back to completing them when I returned the next morning. The sound of the door opening drew my attention, my gaze locking to Donovan’s as he stood in the doorway staring at me. As usual, he was rigid and unapproachable, unsettling because it felt like he could read every thought in my head, could hear the jagged beat of my heart whenever he was nearby. The silence didn’t help and my thoughts scampered back to what Jackson had told me at lunch.
It wasn’t that Donovan couldn’t talk. It was that he chose not to. I couldn’t help but wonder why.
He was a gorgeous man, his skin tone a perfect golden color that was atypical in a city where we mostly saw fog and rain rather than sunlit days. I wondered briefly about his heritage, about his history, about those cold blue eyes that revealed depth beneath the frigid professional demeanor.
A minute must have passed before I finally broke the silence between us. “I made a small dent in the paperwork today.” Offering him a smile, I added, “But even that dent wasn’t enough to tear down the piles. It’ll probably be a few weeks before it looks better in here.”
Donovan said nothing. It wasn’t surprising. But knowing his silence was choice and not necessity left me off balance. People are social creatures - most of us anyway. To limit yourself in such a major way was like wearing a neon sign telling the world you had no interest in it. Even with my quirk about being touched, I still craved interaction, as long as it was kept at a respectable distance.
Not him. He simply observed, and when he found it necessary, he shot off messages on a tablet or in an email that distanced him even more from the people around him. In everything, Donovan Stone was untouchable and cruel.
He was also my boss, my only means to earn a living, the one man who had bothered to respond to the resumes I’d sent out. And for that reason, I had no choice but to play nice.
“It’s five minutes to five,” I pointed out. “I’m going to put these files aside and start shutting down for the day. Is there anything you need from me before I go?”
A sharp cut of his chin to the left was his only answer. He wasn’t holding his tablet, I noticed. With his hands tucked into his pockets, he leaned against the doorframe, silently watching as I set the files aside and opened a drawer to retrieve my purse. I could feel his gaze on my body, as if his hands were brushing over my skin, sweeping my hair aside and his warmth collided against my back as his breath wafted against my neck.
The ten feet of space that stood between us did nothing to make me feel safe. It was strange he could affect me so easily, even stranger that I didn’t jump away in order to avoid those phantom fingers exploring me.
I was losing my damn mind.
Forcing a shaky grin to stretch my lips, I spun expecting to find that he’d approached me, that I could feel him because he had crossed the room to stand nearby. But when our eyes locked again, he was still in the doorway of his office, still staring, still frustratingly silent.
“I should go,” I breathed out. “Do you need me to turn off the lights or lock up on my way out?”
A few seconds passed before he did anything in response to my question. Just before I was about to ask another to break the tense silence, he pushed away from the frame of the door. Stepping toward me, he forced me to shuffle back. Not physically, but with that odd ability he had to touch me from across distances. My butt hit the edge of the desk before he stopped at the end of the half wall. My entire focus was held by him, his eyes searching my face before he reached out to flick off the lights.
He was as beautiful beneath the orange glow of the security bulbs as he was standing in the brighter lights. He felt more dangerous as well.
The silence was deafening, but the tension eased away when he turned without giving any indication of what he was thinking or feeling to stroll back to his office.
His hand was on the knob, his body passing through the doorway when I blurted, “Thank you for lunch, by the way. Jackson told me the company paid for it.”
Desperate to say anything that would thaw the cold left in his wake, I waited for his response.
He simply stepped deeper into his office and shut the door, the quiet click a beat of finality to this awful day.
Shaking my head, I made my way into the front lobby, the strap of my purse clutched tightly in my hand as I walked out and descended three flights of stairs. Being away from Donovan didn’t help the anxiety I wore like a heavy coat.
Practically running down the sidewalk to my car, I kept an eye out for the stranger from earlier. Thankfully the streets weren’t yet deserted and I didn’t feel like a moving target. The drive home was quick, and I ran again once climbing out of my car, not stopping until I was inside the safety of my cramped apartment.
My back pressed against the door after I’d shut and locked it, a sigh of relief rushing over my lips to be alone and away from Donovan Stone. To be safe from the stranger who waited for me in the shadows.
My feet couldn’t carry me fast enough to my computer. With shaking hands I typed in my password and the screen came to life, several dings letting me know that I had emails waiting to be read. Ignoring them, I navigated to the web browser and typed in the URL of the Dark Realities site. But instead of the short video that always played on their home page, I found a white screen with blue lettering.
Website inaccessible. Please check that you entered the correct URL and try again.
I did try again, what felt like a hundred times, each time becoming more anxious as my fingers flew faster. Giving up on accessing it that way, I flipped to Google and typed Dark Realities into the search bar. Several choices popped up, but none of them were the site I wanted.
Panicking, I scrolled to the want ads where I’d found the site originally, but there was no listing anymore, nothing that indicated there had ever been a listing inviting me to the site.
My pulse ticked at my temple, my mouth going dry as I searched for a full hour only to continue ending up at the same white page with blue lettering.
Tears trickled down my face, defeat settling heavily on my shoulders.
Remembering the email they’d sent me regarding the bank transfer, I clicked out of the web browser and into my email hoping to find some way to access the site or contact them. Two new messages waited to be read; one from Dark Realities, one from an address I didn’t recognize.
Clicking the Dark Realities email, my breath caught in my lungs as soon as I read the message.
Thank you for joining the game, Mia. Below are listed the simple ten Rules of Engagement demanded by Dark Realities. We recommend you memorize them and play accordingly.
Scrolling down, I read the ten rules, my pulse beating harder and my breathing become more shallow as I understood each one.
Hitting rule number seven, my heart pretty much stopped dead in my chest.
Once the game has begun, don’t try to find us. We’ll be sure to find you.
Closing my eyes slowly, I forced them open again, reading the rule one more time to make sure it understood it correctly. Wondering how one person can be blocked from a site, I grabbed my phone and tried accessing Dark Realities on the tiny web browser. Nothing came up, just the white page with blue lettering that appeared to be laughing at me now.
How stupid was I?
How could I be so careless?
What had my desperate mind allowed me to do?
Learning that I’d lost access to the site was soul crushing. I’d hoped to be able to follow along, to have the ability to find clues as to who was stalking me. But now it seemed I was going to be completely in the dark with no way of discovering who to avoid on crowded streets. The realization sunk me, but still, I refused to give up.
Without bothering to read the last two rules, I hit reply on the email and pounded out a demand they let me return the money and release me from the game. Hitting send I nodded my head one curt time as if the movement were an exclamation point added to my message. I felt strong for a moment. Smart. Confident in the fact that I would find a way around these awful rules.
All of that shattered as soon as my computer beeped with another email, one telling me that the address to which I’d just responded didn’t exist. My jaw dropped open in shock, my lips trembling when I finally found the ability to close my mouth again.
I was completely in the dark, with only ten rules to lead me through this horrifying maze.
Remembering the last two, I flipped back to the email listing them, read the rules, and wished I hadn’t.
They owned me. Some stupid website owned me for the next two months. I’d given them all my information, so much in fact that I could be left penniless and homeless if I didn’t follow their rules.
Tears burst from my eyes and I shut my computer down, not remembering there had been another message waiting for me. I’m not sure if that was a good thing or bad thing, especially considering what happened the following morning.