December has a way of turning the world holiday-obsessed. Sure, after Halloween you see bits of it. Red and green in the stores.

Next come the elves on shelves. Then the pop artists covering classics in every corporate lobby.

Now, with two weeks until the big day, the counter-sized Christmas tree in the kitchen at Titan had emerged. It was decorated with red balls and crowned by a Darth Vader ornament where the angel should be.

At Titan, my rhythm had nothing to do with Christmas carols wafting through stores. Or the sudden crisp, coldness in the air.

I’d spent the weekend working, working out, and finishing my shopping on Amazon before the shipping deadline.

I wondered what Sam was doing since I’d dropped her off Friday.

I didn’t have to wait long to find out.

Monday afternoon, Sam had sent me electronic copies of five watercolor paintings.

The images she’d created for me—for Titan—were stunning. Color drawings of the Phoenix and her posse, plus the villains of the regime that had taken everything from them.

We'd spent ten minutes on the phone while she’d explained her vision to me, an edge of nerves in the low voice as familiar as my own.

“I thought the Phoenix would be more interesting with a vulnerable side. Because contrast is important. Strength isn't as strong without weakness. Light isn't powerful without dark.

“I wanted their world to be post-apocalyptic but with little glimpses of what it could be again. In Epic’s version everything was gray. I wanted to show weeds growing at the edges of the compound. Because nature always finds a way.”

It was fucking perfect.

What wasn't fucking perfect was I’d submitted the images to Epic Monday night. Now, on Wednesday, I’d yet to hear anything back.

Finally, as I was getting a Red Bull from the fridge, my phone dinged with a response.

“Shit.”

I started through the Pit to my office, catching sight of a meeting in the conference room. Two weeks after Tristan’s arrival, Max had started to make semi-regular appearances down here.

The three coders scattered at my appearance, and I dropped into a seat next to my friend.

“Epic’s seen the concepts. They aren’t going to use them.” I showed him the brush-off email.

I waited for him to grunt, or glare, or huff. Instead he just folded his arms over his chest. “Then I guess that’s that.”

“What do you mean.”

“If you haven’t noticed, we have a facial recognition interface to complete for Omega. On the line of business that’s actually our business.”

I let out a half-laugh. “So we’re just tapping out.”

“I’m tapping out. I can’t do this, Ry. I only have so many hours a day and between the new game and Tristan and Payton…I can’t work around the clock anymore.”

I was grateful Max had discovered some kind of work-life balance.

Why the hell couldn’t he have found it a month from now?

I shoved out of the chair and stalked back to my office.

After everything I’d done to get Sam on this, Epic was saying thanks, but no thanks. It wasn’t about the money. It was that we were on mile one of a hundred mile race, and Epic had quit before they even began.

I’d seen my share of failed blockbusters. The thought of Phoenix becoming one of them sickened me.

I had promised to let Sam know when I heard back. Still, I hated typing out the text to let her know.

Two minutes later, my phone rang.

“What happened?” Sam started without saying hello.

Since Monday, I’d been wanting to hear her voice. But I’d been hoping to do it with good news, not bad.

“They’re not using them.”

I expected her to swear, or commiserate.

Instead she said, “You sound edgy as hell.”

I glanced at the stack of Red Bull cans in my recycling bin. “Why do you care.”

She hesitated. “Meeting everyone at LIVE on Friday…it showed me what you and Max are part of. And I care about that.”

“Awesome.” I was being a dick but couldn’t summon Nice Riley today. I didn’t know if it was the news from Epic, or Sam’s voice on the phone, getting under my skin like an electric current.

“So what. You’re just going to sit in your office and sulk for the rest of the day?”

“Men don’t sulk. They brood.” But I didn’t want her to agree, to hang up and decide it wasn’t worth it. “Got a better idea?”

“Actually, I do.”

“When did you take this up?” I asked as we carried our rented compound bows toward the set of targets.

“After high school. Once you get the hang of it you can’t beat it for stress relief. I haven’t been since my dad got sick but I used to go once a week.”

We picked an empty target at the indoor range. Not hard to find in the middle of the day. “So what,” she started. “You thought some big studio would take my art and email back to say ‘sure no problem we’ll use it, thanks for pointing out ours sucked’?”

I grimaced, looking over at her as I pulled my rented bow out of its zippered container.

“Pretty much.”

Sam stripped out of her short leather jacket, revealing a black long-sleeve sweater. That, coupled with the way her hair was twisted up into a ball on the top of her head, had me thinking of French girls and badass ballerinas.

Which was not helping my mood.

She took a spot at the line. “You know better than to expect some film studio to fall at your feet.”

“Actually, a lot of people fall at my feet. I’ve grown accustomed to it.”

A smirk started on her full lips.

She let the first arrow fly, a practice, and it landed in the second circle from the middle.

“You want some pointers?” she offered.

I grunted. “I’m fine. I have done this before.” Twice, in gym class.

I followed suit, mine landing near the outside edge of the target.

She nodded toward the target. “Let’s make this interesting. Five arrows. I win, you go to LA and sell the studio on using my images instead of theirs. And you don’t come back until you do.”

I shot her an incredulous look. “They’re already onto scripts. Directors. It’s done, Sam.”

She lowered her bow and turned back toward me. “You want me to say you’re right and there's no way you can change this.”

“I am right. It's fucking over.” She didn't have a clue what she was talking about.

“You’re stubborn. Almost as stubborn as Max. But I’m not giving up you.”

“Why not.”

“Because you didn’t give up on me.” Her eyes were serious on mine. “You told me I could do this art, and you were right.”

“You’ve been watching too many Disney movies. This is different. It’s not a ‘dig deep and you’ll find it’ deal. It’s me against a Hollywood studio.”

“You have something on your side. Something I’m guessing most gaming companies don’t have.”

“What’s that?”

Sam stepped into me, her face tilting up to mine. “Charm.” My breath caught as she patted my chest. Her eyes twinkled in amusement and challenge. “So charm them, Riley.”

I wished I’d had on a dress shirt instead of the extra layer of the cashmere sweater, because the feel of her hand lingering on me was making my muscles jump.

But her touch was gone as fast as it’d come.

“Fine,” I decided, my heart still beating funny after she stepped back. “But if I win, you do something for me.”

“What’s that?”

I rubbed the bow with my thumb. “Draw me.”

“What?” Her eyebrows shot up. “No.”

It was the one thing she’d never done and I realized I still wanted it.

“Come on. What are you afraid of?” I murmured.

She finally offered a slim hand. “Deal.”

My fingers closed around hers. “Deal.”

The warmth spread up my arm. A handshake, the most innocent touch possible, had me wanting to pull her against me. To see if everywhere else, she was as soft as her hands.

To see if touching her there would make her flush, like she was flushing right now.

With the kind of effort it takes to pause a Spielberg film for dinner when it's ten minutes in, I stepped back.

“Ladies first.”

We lined up and I watched her draw back, her hand resting on the curve of her mouth as she eyed the target.

When she released the arrow, it thwanged through the air and thudded into the target.

Reluctant, I tore my eyes away and looked down at the target.

I shook my head. “You're good. But I know something you don’t.”

“Which is?”

“When the stakes are high, I always come through.”

I lined up my shot. I might have been a little rusty but I recalled the little I knew. The pinch between my shoulders. The strength and the control.

Slow.

Slower.

I released the arrow with soft fingers. Like grazing a lover’s skin.

The arrow split the air and landed a few inches outside hers.

“Not bad.” Surprise edged into Sam’s voice.

I shrugged. “Whenever the Titan team plays Oasis, I’m always the archer. So if you believe that whole visualizing-as-practice thing…”

“You’re basically a pro,” she finished.

We took turns lining up our shots. Firing at the target.

By the fourth shot, we were neck and neck. She’d beat me twice, and I’d beat her twice.

Her fifth was beautiful. Everything from the strength in her arms as she drew back, the focus in her face. The purse of her lips and the intensity of her eyes.

The arrow split the air with surgical precision and thunked into the bulls-eye a hundred yards away.

Orlando Bloom himself would be left speechless, wherever the hell he was now.

I set up for mine, sneaking a glance at her. The cocky smile wavered and underneath it was something like fear.

I lined up the target, feeling the muscles in my arm work.

Then released.

We watched the arrow sail, and thunk into the target.

Satisfaction surged through me, and a current of discontent I hadn't expected.

“I’m available to pose for my portrait anytime.” I reached for my gear before she could respond, packing the bow back into its case to return to the front desk.

After trading in our gear, I turned for the door and caught her staring at her inner elbow.

“You’re going to have a bruise,” I said, brushing my thumb over the mark that was already starting to form on her skin.

“I’ll be fine,” she murmured.

I expected irritation in her gaze but there was something else too. My fingers tightened on her arm, just enough to feel her pulse.

“How do you feel?” she asked.

“Feel.” Her body was a magnet, drawing me closer. I wanted to know where else that pulse beat, steady and insistent below the smooth satin of her skin.

“After the exercise.”

When a woman moved to pass us, I dropped Sam’s arm, breaking the spell.

“Better,” I admitted.

I snuck a look at her as we walked to my car. “For the record, I’d be up for changing Epic’s mind, but that means going in person. Which is a waste of time.”

“Unless you convince them. Then there’s no better use of your time,” Sam countered, letting me hold the door for her as she slid inside. I rounded to my door and shifted in.

Maybe she was right. Sam didn't know anything about my business, but I had to give it to her. She wasn't ready to give up.