Beta Test (#gaymers) (2 page)

“I’ll let you guys chat while you wait for Rex, the office manager. Anyone need a coffee?” the receptionist asked. Her eyes twinkled and her tight facial muscles said she was having a hard time not laughing at Tristan.

I
would be too.

“I’d love one, if it’s not too much trouble. Black, one sugar.” Ravi’s voice was just as polished as the rest of him, deep and melodic with a hint of the sort of East Coast accent Tristan associated with lawyer friends of his mother’s.

“You?” The receptionist looked expectantly at Tristan.

“Black is fine.” Or at least it would be today. In reality, he drowned coffee under gallons of cream and sugar, and on rare occasions he let himself order one of those blended things. But today he was out to fit in, not make waves, and prove that he could be a team player. And liking his coffee closer to candy was just one of the things he wasn’t sharing with his new coworkers.

“So what do you do?” Ravi took a chair across from Tristan, pushing it back from the table and reclining it to the perfect conversational angle, no thrashing like a trout on a line required from
him.

“I’m going to be in the marketing department. Brand management.”

“This your first job in the software industry?” Ravi’s dark eyes swept over him as if he found Tristan’s new white shirt, dress pants and microchip tie somehow lacking. That last bit had been a touch of whimsy, a graduation gift from a friend who’d heard about his job, and a nod to the fact that the hiring manager said this was a
fun
office. But the way Ravi’s eyes were sparkling had Tristan reconsidering every wardrobe choice.

“No,” Tristan said, because technically it was his first job
anywhere
where he didn’t have
intern
after his name.

Ravi shrugged like he didn’t quite believe Tristan. “You’re young,” he pronounced.

“I’m twenty-four.” Tristan tried to sit up straighter without accidentally tripping the chair’s desire to hurl him toward Ravi.

Or maybe that’s just you.

And he couldn’t be that much younger than Ravi, who looked to be in his midtwenties as well, maybe a couple of years older. But Ravi simply shook his head like he couldn’t fathom Tristan being old enough to drive, let alone work here. Tristan knew it was his face—pale skin, blue eyes, blond hair, and he looked like he never needed to shave, even if he totally did.

“Man, I needed this.” Ravi smiled as the receptionist came back in with two steaming cups. “I swear I’m still fighting a hangover from New Year’s.”

Tristan felt his eyes go wide, and he looked to the receptionist to see if she was equally horrified. But she laughed like Ravi was a man in one of those campaigns for expensive whiskey—the sort of guy people couldn’t wait to have a drink with, and the sort they’d let get away with all sorts of bad behavior because he was so interesting.

And hot.

Okay, that too, but hot and
stupid
because really, what kind of guy admitted to having a hangover on his first day at a new job? Not to mention, New Years was almost two weeks ago.

“Rex is on a call with the Austin office, but he should be right in.” The receptionist backed out of the room, eyes lingering on Ravi. And seriously, the guy wasn’t
that
hot, even if he did look as if he belonged on the cover of one of those romances Tristan’s old nanny used to sneak.

Liar.

Okay, maybe he was, but Tristan wasn’t supposed to be noticing such things
at work.
He forced himself to return to his highlighting.

“Hey, that’s a great idea.” Ravi dug out a bright green pen from his pants pocket that perfectly coordinated with his outfit. He opened his handbook, only he didn’t start underlining and taking notes in the margins like Tristan. No, he used the blank inside cover to sketch an entire intergalactic war, complete with exploding meteors and futuristic ships darting between planets. Tristan found himself hypnotized as the drawing unfolded over the course of their wait. Ravi’s pen flew over the page, first doing rough outlines of elements, then adding more and more detail. Unlike Tristan, who kept glancing up at the clock, Ravi seemed totally immersed in his drawing, but he would have to hide that art fast when—

“So sorry I was delayed. I’m Rex.” A short, portly man bustled into the room. Here was the dictator Tristan had been waiting for, complete with commanding voice and thinning black hair and...dragon slippers. Tristan glanced down a second time.

Yes, the man seriously was wearing plush fire-breathing dragons on his feet.

“Ooooh! What are you drawing?” Rex stepped around him to get a closer look at Ravi’s drawing. He picked up the manual, turning it one way then another. “Oh my God. This is fucking fabulous. Wait until Robert sees what you can do. And our fans are going to
love
your style. I can’t wait to get you on a podcast.”

Oh.
My.
God.
Indeed.

Tristan had woke up an hour early to iron, studied the manual like there would be a final exam on it, and this guy who was nursing a hangover while defacing the handbook got all the attention?
Stop being a whiny toddler.
Not their fault you’re still shocked they even picked you.

“Can’t wait.” Ravi beamed at Rex. Damn. The guy really did have a million-dollar smile. But still, Tristan clenched his fists. There was no fairness in the world.

“In fact, I think he’s in today. I want to show him. He’ll get a kick out of this.” Rex motioned for Ravi to follow him, turning back to Tristan at the last moment. “We’ll be back soon.”

Crap.
Mr. Cool Jeans got to meet Robert Christopher minutes after his arrival, because of course he did. No biggie. Wasn’t like the game founder was one of Tristan’s personal idols or like he had danced around his apartment when he got the job. Wasn’t Tristan’s pulse that was galloping at the thought of getting to work with the guy responsible for some of Tristan’s favorite games. And it wasn’t like Tristan was dying to gush about how the guy had practically saved Tristan’s life as a teen. That last bit was absolutely true—Robert Christopher’s games had been his salvation at a time he desperately needed it, and he’d never confess that fact.

Heck, there was so much he wasn’t sharing with his coworkers on this job that he’d had to make a list for himself, along with his list of how to conduct himself and be indispensable.

And now he could add a new item to the list:
Avoid Ravi Tandel at all costs.
He was simply too attractive, too confident, and too distracting.

His plan shouldn’t be too hard, right?

Chapter Two

Ravi suppressed a groan as he approached his desk. Captain America, AKA Tristan Jones, was at it again, stalking Ravi’s cube like he’d been waiting for him to return from lunch. Which he probably had, because Captain Perfect brought his lunch in a cute little plaid insulated bag and worked through every lunch hour like he was allergic to socializing. Also, Tristan undoubtedly spent the time dreaming up new “action items” for Ravi to address, because every freaking day since this project started three months ago he was there promptly at one o’clock with a list of questions.

Like seriously, a written list of questions, ones that could be just as easily emailed, but no, Tristan had to personally walk them over and stand there waiting for him. It was as if he didn’t trust Ravi to answer his email or respond to chat messages. And okay, he could be a bit lax in that department when he got deep into a design project, but
hello
, work. As in what he was supposed to be doing. It wasn’t his fault that when he got really sucked in to one of his drawings, the outside world faded away. And even so, despite all Tristan’s worries, Ravi still managed to address the action items and meet his deadlines.

“Hey, Tris, what’s up?” Ravi deliberately used the nickname to irritate Tristan, who was nothing if not formal. Hell, Ravi was surprised the dude didn’t have a double first name and hyphenated last name like some of the country club guys Ravi had gone to high school and college with. Ravi supposed Tristan was attractive in the same way as those guys—every blond hair on his head neatly tamed, and his wide shoulders and square jaw suggesting he’d be good at whatever he attempted in his life.

Including managing Ravi.

“I’m double-checking that the order went to the printing press on schedule. And I have questions—”

“Of course you do.” Ravi tried not to sound irritated, but failed miserably. They had been put on the same team for a top-secret project that would be unveiled at a huge gaming convention in Seattle. Really, it was a huge honor to be selected to work on the project after only a few months with the company. And the rest of the six-person combined marketing-and-graphics team were pretty cool, laid-back people who were content to let the new guys do the brunt of the work. But where Ravi saw creative freedom, Tristan saw a fiefdom ripe for seizing. And spreadsheeting. Ravi wasn’t entirely sure that was a verb, but if it was, Tristan was the master of it.

“Here’s my checklist of last-minute items—” Tristan held out a color-coded spreadsheet. His tone was efficient, but even though Tristan put the
P
in Professional behavior, he never seemed completely able to hide his frustration with Ravi’s methods of getting things done. “And these are the six items I need you to double-check. I made your items navy.”

“We need to introduce you to the rest of the color spectrum, man.” Ravi took the spreadsheet. Tristan saw the world in navy, tan, white and gray. Hardly worth the effort of color printing. Even the guy’s highlighters were a nice classic subdued yellow. No neon colors were slipping in on Tristan’s watch.

“Are you making fun of my tie again?” Tristan straightened his tie, which had tiny navy ties on it. A tie of ties. Ravi’s eyes wanted to cross.

“Nah,” Ravi lied. There were three types of dressers at the
Space Villager
headquarters offices: the majority who seriously didn’t give a crap and showed up in faded jeans and Think Geek T-shirts, the couple of people like Ravi and his friend Adrian who had an actual personal style, and Tristan, who owned an alarming amount of polyester and who seemed incapable of letting go of his starched shirts and ties even after Robert Christopher himself told Tristan it was okay to go casual.

“You’ll have this done by Friday?”

“Of course.” Ravi resisted the urge to roll his eyes. No matter what Tristan thought, Ravi
was
a professional—one who was putting in sixty hours a week easily on this project, and he hadn’t missed a deadline yet. But for Tristan, on time wasn’t good enough.

“Thank you.” Tristan’s eyes darted around Ravi’s cube. This was always the fun part of Tristan’s little visits. It was as if Tristan couldn’t decide on a safe spot to rest his eyes. Today, Tristan’s gaze landed on Ravi’s collection of rainbow-themed bobble heads dancing over the clipboard with the pledge sheet for the AIDS research fun run Ravi was doing in a few weeks.

“Want to sign up?” Ravi grabbed the clipboard. He knew what the answer was likely to be, but it never hurt to try. “You can run with me and my friends, or you can give me money. Some guys like Adrian are pledging based on my 10k time, but others are giving a flat amount.”

“I...uh...” Tristan turned several shades of purple. Typical. Anything remotely “gay” made Tristan twitchier than a Bible Belt preacher.

Ravi sighed and put the clipboard back. He’d about had it with Tristan’s subtle homophobia. He could handle the spreadsheets, but Tristan’s veneer of discomfort made these little visits about as much fun as a tooth extraction. “Whatever. It’ll be here. You need anything else?”

“No. Just
please
do your list. Double-check. Everything must be perfect before they load the truck on Friday.”

“Got it.” On Friday, the truck heading to the Seattle conference would be loaded, then there would be a big corporate party celebrating the end of this big push to get things ready. On Sunday, the two senior members of the team, a married couple who thought driving to Seattle would be “a kick,” would set out for next week’s conference. And then Ravi could relax, and with any luck, be rid of Tristan. Heck, he’d take whatever conceptual project Robert wanted to toss at him, as long as it meant a bit of breathing room from Captain Perfect and the Spreadsheets of Doom.

* * *

Tristan had spent all Thursday night dealing with a screw-up of Ravi’s. He wasn’t surprised Ravi had dropped the ball—he’d spent this whole project expecting some catastrophe, so when one finally materialized, he felt vaguely vindicated. But right this minute Friday afternoon, his bones ached, the kind of hurt-to-walk exhaustion that came after a night of barely two hours’ sleep. All Tristan really wanted to do was go home and sleep for the whole weekend, but he needed to make an appearance at this work party first.

Never miss a chance to impress
was high on his list of things to ensure his success, and this gathering with all the company bigwigs was a prime example. The whole team would be receiving accolades for finishing the project and getting it on the road to Seattle, and Tristan couldn’t miss that, even if his couch was a lot more appealing than the party room at this upscale fish place close to work.

He got to the restaurant late because he’d wanted to be one of the people personally supervising the loading of the truck with the exhibit. His heart did a weird dance in his chest as he finally found a parking spot—he hated being late more than almost anything. And when he entered the place, the wine and drinks were already flowing, people circulating and laughing.

As tired as he was, no way was he drinking. He got a soda from the bar and surveyed the room. Almost everyone was already in chummy little clumps of people who were friends both at and outside work. Tristan didn’t have any work friends like that and sucked at this sort of socializing. His parents would both scoff at the notion, but it was true. Despite growing up around cocktail parties and work functions, he was totally awful at small talk and networking. But that wasn’t going to stop him from trying.