Leasing Love: A #GeekLove Contemporary Ménage Romance (Your Ad Here Book 2) (7 page)

The policeman shrugged. “We get paid either way.”

They processed Jordan into holding and sat him in a small room with a table, a couple of chairs bolted to the ground, and what he assumed was a one-way mirror. He couldn’t see a clock, but the shifting sun outside, moving down past the horizon and casting the room in a sickly orange glow, told him he was there several hours.

His irritation and anger simmered and grew, the longer he waited. Why the fuck wasn’t anyone talking to him? Chloe got him an attorney. Someone should be here already and consulting with him. He was tempted to slam his fist into the table, to get an outlet for his frustration.

Finally, keys rattled in the lock, and a uniformed officer opened the interrogation room door. “Mr. Iverson, you’re free to go. The charges have been dropped.”

He gave the man a tight-lipped smile, jaw aching from being clenched for so long, and stalked into the lobby.

Chloe was waiting next to a man in a suit that probably cost as much as Jordan’s high-end graphics laptop. She met Jordan halfway and hugged him tight. “I’m sorry it took so long. I wish I understood why. Dave took the demo. Said it was a hit.”

The news was more of a relief than Jordan expected. It was nice something went right.

“Mr. Iverson.” The suit approached, hand extended. “I’m Dean Twents. I represent the firm retained by Rinslet. Mr. Knapfer has dropped the charges against you. Not that he had anything beyond circumstantial evidence anyway. Well done, keeping your mouth shut.”

Jordan gave him a tight-lipped smile. “Not my preference.”

“It doesn’t have to be. I have some news for you, and you’re not going to like it.”

Jordan resisted the urge to ask if Dean was always a humorless fuck or if it was a mask he wore for the job. “What news?”

“We’re going straight to the airport from here.” Chloe’s voice was as tight as the lines around her eyes.

“Bullshit. I didn’t do anything.”

“And if you’re gone, you can keep up the trend,” Dean said. “I have a company car waiting.”

Jordan wasn’t listening to him. His attention was still on Chloe. “We have things to wrap up.” He was nitpicking. The show ended tonight, but he was being punished for nothing.

She frowned. “Zach made the call. He says I have to make sure you get on the plane.”

“Fuck.”
Fuck-fuckity-fuck-fuck-fuck.
He wanted to whine that it wasn’t fair, but had a feeling it would get him nowhere. “Fine.” He didn’t trust himself to say more. This was such complete and utter crap. He had to leave the biggest event of the year with his tail tucked between his legs, because some asshole blogger had their panties in a bind. Over something Jordan didn’t even do. It was nice he wasn’t spending the night in a cell.

The mental assurance didn’t alleviate his irritation.

Liz took a seat near the front of the panel room, where Rinslet would present their demo in about fifteen minutes. It was nice she didn’t have plans for the afternoon, half because memories of Jordan and Chloe had kept her distracted all day. She reminded herself it was okay she hadn’t exchanged numbers with them.
One-night stand
meant exactly that. Besides, she knew where they worked.

Wow. That sounded a little stalkery, even in her head. She shook the thought aside. When she saw their names on the schedule under
Presenters
, she had to check them out. Not because she was following them, but because everyone here was speculating about what they’d do this year. Apparently the two weren’t exaggerating when they said part of their job was working the media. Everyone was whispering and guessing about Rinslet’s big reveal. Not only the
what
, but the
how
of it.

Which was the second reason she was grateful for a clear calendar. She’d waited in line for several hours, to make sure she got a seat in the auditorium.

The lights dimmed, and the low roar of muttering voices reached a crescendo, and then fell silent when the room went dark.

“
Gals and guys. Geeks of all persuasions.
” An announcer-style voice spilled through the speakers. “Are you ready for something
spectacular
?”

The room erupted in cheers. Rinslet knew how to work the crowd. This kind of hype and anticipation must be hard to live up to. Black lights flashed across the display, illuminating first the screen and then the person strolling toward the middle of the stage.

The flashing display made it difficult to identify who it was, but after this morning, Liz was pretty sure neither Chloe nor Jordan was that tall or broad-shouldered.

A new current of whispers spilled through the crowd, and she caught snatches mingled in with the music. She wasn’t the only one who noticed the last minute presenter swap-out.

“You expected our notorious troublemakers to present this afternoon.” The voice boomed over the speakers. “We’ve got your favorite community manager, Grave Dave – The Inquisitor, instead. And that’s just one epic surprise among many you’ll see over the next hour.”

Liz couldn’t ignore her disappointment. The presentation should be good anyway. She still wanted to see what the company was up to. Forty-five minutes later, she exited the room, blinking away the sparkles left by the light show. It was the prettiest part of the demo. She liked what she saw on screen, and the demo that went with it, but it didn’t feel like the grand press spectacle everyone said she was in for.

She probably didn’t understand enough about gaming to appreciate it. Or she was letting the letdown over not seeing the fun couple cloud her judgment.

“…arrested…”

“…right outside the stage door…”

“…positive. Jordan Iverson assaulted…”

The fractured conversations drew Liz’s conversation. She tried to follow one long enough to get more information. Were they okay?

Her phone vibrated, disrupting her attempts to eavesdrop. It was Mercy.

“Hey.” Liz found the quietest corner of the convention center she could, which meant the background noise was still there, but a dull roar.

“Hey, love.” Mercy sounded cheerful, but hesitation ran through the words. “You doing okay?”

Odd question. “Last time I checked. What have you heard that I haven’t?” Liz made sure to keep the teasing in her reply.

“Lots of stuff. The best film speed and aperture for shooting in low light with a tripod and high-motion subjects, for instance.”

“You’re funny. Seriously. What’s up?”

“Eh.” Mercy dragged the word out. “Ian told me what happened with your accounts. I’m worried about you.”

“Thanks.” The concern warmed Liz but embarrassed her at the same time. A downside to Mercy and Ian being together was that, for some reason, Liz was a favorite topic. It had been easier to face the clashing forms of sympathy when she got to tell each of them in her own way when something was going on. “You didn’t call for that.”

“Busted. Are you still flying back tonight?”

In fact, she needed to leave for the airport soon. “Yup. Do you need me in-office tomorrow?”

“Yes, but not ours. Any chance you got into that media shitstorm that was the Rinslet presentation?”

“I did…”

“What did you think?”

Liz frowned at the phone. “It was pretty. Why?”

“We’re talking to them tomorrow about licensing exclusive artwork and video. Or rather, if you’re up for it, you are.”

Liz’s stomach dropped into her shoes. She took a few deep breaths, to calm her racing pulse. They didn’t help. “Yeah. Sure.” It was a huge company. Not as if she was meeting with Jordan or Chloe.

“Thank you.” Mercy sounded relieved. “My brother pulled strings to get us on their calendar, and I can’t make it. You’re only a few miles from their offices, so… I’ll email you the meeting details.”

They made a little more small talk. Tried to catch up on how things went. Liz had to let Mercy go after asking, “Say again?” for the fiftieth time when the convention noise kept her from hearing.

Weird weekend. Liz let the events jumble and roll through her head as she wove her way toward parking. Amazing, but weird. One thing was for sure—this whole exploring-her-sexuality thing was amazing. She’d shied away from anything temporary in the past, but after last night and this morning, she wanted to discover more. Especially if a certain couple was involved.

She regretted the thought as soon as it surfaced. That was the opposite of
temporary.
Tomorrow night, she was hitting up the local bars instead. While she walked, she sent Jonathan a quick email.

Thanks for letting me crash your booth this week. The experience was fantastic. I’m on my way out, but you know how to get a hold of me if you need anything.

- Liz

When she’d started working with clients, the less formal correspondence made Liz wince, but she caught on that most of Mercy’s preferred the casual tone.

She was surprised when a text came through from Jonathan, seconds later.
You okay?

Why did everyone keep asking her that?
Last time I checked.

Good. Have a safe flight
.

A URL sat at the end of the note. She sent back a quick
thanks,
before clicking the link. She let it load as she took a seat in her rental car, and scanned the headline before she stuck the key in the ignition.

Assault at E3. You’ll Never Believe Who Was Involved
.

She grimaced at the horrible click bait. It was probably easy to believe.

And then she saw Jordan’s name. They were right. She didn’t believe for a second he’d beat someone up. Even that nagging Stew guy.

The words she read didn’t make sense. Or rather, she understood them, but what they claimed wasn’t possible. Logic argued she didn’t actually know Chloe and Jordan, but it didn’t matter. She trusted them, and they’d been with her. She hoped they got everything sorted quickly.

* * * *

A good night’s sleep with Chloe wrapped in his arms chased away most of Jordan’s resentment about last night’s arrest. It was a mistake. Done and in the past. He was still pissed off he had to go through it at all, and Dave didn’t quite pull off the feeling they wanted for their demo, but it was time to move on. Not every year could be a screaming success. As far as Jordan was concerned, making things better with Chloe ranked higher than knocking the media dead in a panel.

“I’m thinking more like this.” He grabbed three dry-erase markers and sketched on the whiteboard in his artists’ office. The three guys shared the large space, because when they needed to collaborate, they got loud, and when they needed to concentrate, no one else could be.

He let the loose lines flow, switching between the colors for skin, fabric, and shadow. It wasn’t his preferred medium. If he had his way, he’d pencil it, scan it, and then 3D render it. But his job wasn’t creation; he was responsible for direction. If he took this past a rough, erasable concept, he’d end up putting his own flare on the design and hunch down over the computer until it was near perfect—since true perfection didn’t exist.

A couple minutes later, rough ideas of their flagship curvy heroine and muscled hero filled the board. “Posed similar to this. But—you know—the way you guys do.”

“…ass shot…?”

“…torn leather to the cleavage…”

“…give him scars and a bullet wound…”

Saving the eye roll for when he was out of the room, Jordan waved and closed the door behind him, to let them brainstorm. They’d have mock-ups for the limited-edition T-shirts by the end of the week, and finals not too long after. Now that E3 was over, it was time to start planning for the next PAX. A thought occurred to him, and he opened the door long enough to say, “No ass shots.”

“Full frontal?”

This time he rolled his eyes. “Only if you do the same for both.”

“Really?”

“
No.
Strategic rips are fine, but don’t show more of her than him. H and h get equal billing on all graphics. She’s the fucking star of the game.”

He let them get back to work. They had plenty of time to make their deadline. Even as the dates clicked off, his more immediate calendar joined in. Who was he meeting with next? And if he walked back into the art room and spent the next thirty-six hours doing the images the way he wanted, how many people would he piss off?

With any luck, not Chloe. She might enjoy the distraction as much as he would. Staying up all night, plotting, eating too much pizza—being eighteen again and living the ultimate dream of being hired as head writer and artist for a struggling software company with bigger dreams that pockets.

He sighed and archived the past, in favor of making it through the day. He loved his job, but sometimes he missed the freedom and creativity he surrendered to do it.

“Jordan.” Scott’s sharp voice snagged his attention, and he turned. “What are you doing for the next half hour?”

“Catching up on email if I’m lucky.”

“You’re not. We’ve got a vendor coming in at…” Scott glanced at his phone. “She’s in the third-floor conference room now. I’ve got a crisis to deal with. Can you talk to her?”

“About what?”

“I’ll forward you the meeting invite. Thanks.” Scott had his head down and was walking away before he finished talking.

Whatever. Jordan headed for the stairs and jogged down one floor. He tried to pace himself between not keeping the appointment waiting and getting the information he needed for the meeting. The new email buzzed through as he reached the conference room. He entered and ignored the forwarded information when he saw Liz already seated. The pinstriped jacket, matching skirt, and satin shirt were out of place in the casual Rinslet offices, but she looked gorgeous.

Her wide-eyed expression when she saw him shifted to a smile, and she stood. “Scott McAllister?” she teased.

“I wish.” He shook her hand and took the seat next to her rather than across the table. “Well, not really. Dude’s gotta be pushing an ulcer, and he’s not even forty. But I wouldn’t mind the bank account.”

“Is he joining us?”

“No. He had a crisis. Asked me to fill in. Which means… I’m not up-to-date about why you’re here.”
Looking for Round Two?
He kept the mental question from his expression. “Give me thirty seconds, to read the itinerary.”

“I’ll fill you in.”

He’d prefer that. Watching her was a lot better than staring at his phone. Fuck. What was wrong with him? Not appropriate. Still, he couldn’t pull his gaze from her clear blue eyes.

She looked away first, blushing. “I’m sorry. Isn’t this a conflict of interest?”

“A wh— Why? Oh. Right.” The same reason he was imagining asking her to join him and Chloe for lunch—drifting into fantasies about what the three of them could get up to. Which was completely off the table now. “It was a one-time thing.” The words tasted foul.

The way her brow flickered into a frown before an impassive mask returned made him wonder if she felt the same way. “Exactly. And it’s not as if it impacts whether or not we make this deal.”

“Not at all.” Though it did make it tempting—and a very bad idea—to ask if he could personally oversee this partnership. “So, we’re good?”

Her smile from earlier returned and froze in place, not reaching her eyes. She gave him a brief rundown of what they were looking for. “I didn’t even know you dealt in licensed art.”

“It’s a new market for us.” His idea, too. “I wanted my people branching into new designs, so we set up an independent group that works directly with advertisers and marketers.”

“Wow.”

Her awe cranked up his smugness a notch. “Yeah. It’s done pretty well. Have you had a chance to look at our standard contracts?”

“No. I didn’t find out about this until last night. But I have a feeling, if we move forward, I’ll be your point of contact.”