9
It’s Always About Tits
“When’s Max coming back?”
If I’d ever wanted to know what it felt like to be a parent, I was learning. Not because I’d spent any time with the new addition to the Titan family.
Because the rest of the team—the grown-up part—seemed to be experiencing separation anxiety.
I folded my arms and surveyed the room of developers, my gaze landing on Muppet. His ruddy face was colored with longing and impatience.
“When he’s ready. It’s been a week. We have a room full of professionals. Let’s focus on getting back on track with our timing for Omega.”
“By having staff meetings?” Jimmy, the oldest guy on our team at forty, sounded dubious.
I fought off a wave of frustration.
At first when I’d sent the email asking everyone to convene, there’d been some confusion. Probably because Max usually checked in with people one-on-one, then he and I’d talk.
“We’ll stop having meetings when you can tell me we’re back on schedule.”
A noise at the door to Titan’s suite had me, and the team, turning to look.
The blond woman striding in wore sky-high heels at the end of her mile-long legs and a suede trench coat. Her curly hair exploded over her shoulders.
Charlie crossed the Pit and leaned a hip against the doorframe of our conference room.
“What happened to your face?”
A few snickers sounded and I resisted the urge to touch my nose. Since my face’s encounter with Sam’s fist yesterday, I’d started to turn purple.
“Would you believe I got in a fight?”
“At a bar, no. Over whether Zelda or Doom is the best video game of all time? Yes.”
“Super Mario Bros,” I replied.
She rolled her eyes. “Whatever. Tonight’s slow at the club and I want to offer you guys a booth. In case you wanted to have a drink for Max and Payton.”
Before I could respond, every single person around the table did some version of ‘I’m in’.
I glanced at the empty can of Red Bull on the table in front of me, wishing the team could muster as much enthusiasm for doing their damned jobs. “Sounds like it's a go.”
“Are we done?” Muppet asked.
I grunted. “Yeah. Get back to work.”
I shifted out of my seat, tucking my computer under my arm. Charlie followed me to my office.
Since Payton and Max had gotten together, Payton’s best friend and former colleague Charlie had become a friend of mine too. She worked PR at a local comedy club and ran a profitable social media business on the side.
“So about those drinks at LIVE. Mr. Humorless coming?” I asked.
She crossed to my desk, pausing to nudge a pointy-toed stiletto against the beanbag chair in the corner.
“Avery’s busy pandering to the masses at work. I figured when he got promoted to director at Alliance, he'd have more control over his life.”
I nodded. “Common misconception. The higher you go, the more people decide you're worth fucking with.”
To everyone’s surprise—except Payton’s and mine—Charlie had come out about dating her former boss after years of tormenting him. It was about as fucked up a fairy tale as you can imagine.
“You need someone, Riley.”
I shrugged it off. “I’m fine.”
“No one keeps themselves in that kind of shape for themselves.”
I barked out a laugh as Charlie popped a hip on to the corner of my desk. I opened my phone to scroll through emails for anything urgent.
“What’s got you grumpy, Wonderboy?”
“We set up Max’s email to forward to me this week. I had no idea he got so many offers. Opportunities. Things that would get us exposure, partnerships.” Money. “He never forwards them. It's almost like he doesn't want to evolve.”
I stopped scrolling when a new email caught my eye.
Thanks for your help yesterday. I made a couple more attempts. Let me know what you think.
-Sam
I opened the attachment and my abs tightened under my dress shirt.
The first image was the title character and the villain facing off. Tension leaped off the page and even without knowing the story, you knew instinctively that winning meant life or death.
The second was the title character, standing alone on a hilltop.
The posture should’ve made her look strong. Instead she was vulnerable. Her wings tucked behind her like she was ready to sleep or to put down her armor and rest forever.
It took me that long to realize the images were in charcoal. There was no color, but even without it, they were alive.
“What’re you looking at?” Charlie asked.
I cleared my throat, trying to shake off the reaction. “Phoenix was optioned for a movie. I’m trying to source concept art that doesn’t make Max want to stab his eyes out.”
She rounded the desk as I pulled up my desktop computer. With a few clicks the two sketches swallowed up the screen.
“Damn,” she declared. “Those are hot. Who drew them?”
“Someone Max and I went to high school with.”
“It’s not about tits.”
Charlie slanted me a look through knowing eyes. “It’s always about tits.”
“I respect her,” I corrected, and it was true. “She’s talented as fuck. And she has this way of seeing the world…like she has X-ray glasses or something.” I studied the drawing again, trying to explain. “She can find things in objects, people, that you don’t see at first. She pulls them out, captures them on the page. And you wonder how you never saw it all along.”
“She seen your face yet?” She cocked her head, sending curls bouncing.
I pointed to my nose. “Her latest masterpiece.”
Charlie’s mouth curved. “Oh, honey. Bring her for drinks tomorrow. Rocky and I are going to be great friends.” She reached for a gummy bear in the bowl on my desk and popped it into her mouth before turning for the door.
I studied the images on the screen, side by side. The characters locked in battle and the phoenix sitting—beautiful, alone, and silent.
It was a dystopian Da Vinci, rendered in charcoal.
Validation filled my gut, a kind of triumph I hadn’t felt in a long fucking time.
I’d been right to push for this. One hundred percent.
It was worth the money. And the bruising.
I pulled out my phone.
Riley: These are good, Sam. Really fucking good.
Dots appeared almost immediately.
Sam: I’m glad. I think something clicked for me at around 3AM. If you like them I can start working on the real thing tomorrow in color
Without permission, my brain pictured her painting at three in the morning.
The overhead light would be off, I decided. Her desk light on.
Was she wearing the same clothes as when I’d seen her?
Or did she go to bed first. Had she been lying between the sheets, awake and restless, only to get up again and paint.
What did she wear to bed?
The fact that my brain went there bugged me.
I stared at the text bubbles.
Charlie was wrong. I wasn’t interested in Sam. We’d had our chance once, and it didn’t happen. For a million reasons.
Which was why there was no reason not to invite Sam to LIVE. She was working with us. She and Max were friends.
Riley: We’re going for drinks to celebrate with Max and Payton after work tonight.
Riley: The whole staff at Titan’s coming. You in?
My heart beat faster in my chest as I watched the screen on my iPhone. The dots started. Stopped.
Sam: When and where?