CHAPTER ONE
Jack
My day was not going according to plan, and it was driving me crazy.
I sat at my state-of-the-art desk in my darkened office, still a little sweaty from my walk back to the office under the blazing summer sun.
I was in a bad mood. Well, most people would say I was always in a bad mood.
But this one was extra bad. I’d had to give up part of my workday to play in a charity golf tournament.
I hated that kind of shit. Not charities. I gave to charity all the time.
No, I hated golf. And having to do anything even remotely related to public relations.
Normally, my brother handled all of that for me.
But he was out of town with his wife. He hadn’t known that the Salazar family would have to move the dates of their annual charity golf tournament to avoid a summer storm.
Storms in the South were no joke, and West Bay, Georgia, had its fair share of tornadoes, severe thunderstorms, and even the occasional hurricane.
We hadn’t gotten a direct hit from a hurricane in more than two centuries since we were sheltered in a cove-like area above Savannah and below Hilton Head, South Carolina.
We often got the outer bands of storms that hit Florida or moved up the coast a little and hit North Carolina, but we rarely had to evacuate.
But this storm was scheduled to hit the next weekend, and there was a slight possibility of hurricane-force winds.
So, the Salazars had moved the golf tournament that my brother would have been back in time for if it had been played at its originally scheduled time.
Normally, I would have just bowed out of the tournament and sent a big check.
But that wouldn’t fly in this town. The Salazars ran West Bay, and everyone knew it.
They would’ve considered it a slight for me not to show up, especially since I was partnered with Nico, one of the Salazar sons.
He was trying to recruit my brothers and me to become members of his ultra-exclusive string of members-only nightclubs that were a highlight of downtown West Bay.
That was how I’d found myself doing two things I desperately hated this morning—playing golf and making small talk.
Just as I’d thought, Nico had spent the entire time trying to talk me into joining the clubs.
Most people feared Nico, who stood at least six feet, five inches tall, was muscular, covered in tattoos, and very intense.
I wasn’t scared, though. I was big myself.
I was maybe an inch shorter than him, just as muscular because I worked out all the time to help manage my anxiety and obsessive thoughts, and I wasn’t exactly known for being an easy-going guy.
In a contest over who was grumpier, more intense, or scarier, it would be a toss-up between the two of us.
Well, his tattoos might give him the edge.
But there was no way in hell I’d ever get any tattoos.
First off, it would hurt. I wasn’t a big fan of needles.
And second, the thought of all that ink living just under my skin creeped me out.
Still, I wasn’t intimidated or scared of Nico.
But my lord. The man would not quit talking about his damn clubs.
I’d finally agreed to a tour just to get him to shut the hell up.
But there was no way I would let him drive me back to the office at the end of the tournament.
I had taken an Uber to the golf course because I knew parking would be scarce, and the thought of that stressed me out.
I had been so desperate to get away from Nico Salazar that when he’d offered me a ride home, I’d opted to walk to the office instead.
A mile. In the hot Southern sun. In the middle of summer.
I hadn’t even paused to order another Uber.
I was so over the small talk, I had been desperate to escape.
He had looked at me like I was crazy when I started jogging down the busy street in front of the West Bay Downtown Country Club.
That was fine with me. Maybe he’d leave me alone about joining his goddamn club if he thought I was insane.
I doubted it, though. He liked having famous people join his club. And I was at least moderately famous.
I had published CaveSphere, one of the most successful video games of all time, when I was just twenty. I’d skipped several grades of school and ended up with college degrees in both computer science and graphic design at nineteen. I’d worked on CaveSphere since I’d been about twelve.
I’d been caught by surprise by the almost instant success of the game.
My entire family had pitched in to help me.
My two older brothers had quit their respective jobs and taken over the business side of things, thank goodness, and allowed me to just focus on game development.
My father handled social media. My older sister was in charge of public relations.
My mother managed human resources for Lancaster Games, which I’d had to start in order to handle the massive amounts of coding and design that went into each game.
Tallon, my best friend from school, was in charge of IT for the entire building, which stood proud and beautiful among a few other high rises that were beginning to dot the emerging skyline of downtown West Bay.
And, of course, my grandma Cynthia was my secretary.
That might have been the hardest job of all, but she of all people could handle my demands, which, by this time in my life, I knew were considered to be odd.
Grandma was my best friend in the world.
I think it was because she understood me.
She and I both had extremely high IQs. She’d balked when my parents had me evaluated for autism when I was young.
She’d insisted I was just highly intelligent, which came with its own challenges.
She would know. She’d been a literal rocket scientist with NASA before she’d retired to become my secretary after the success of CaveSphere.
It was a franchise now, with two sequels published to great fanfare and success.
My celebrity status as a young, successful video game designer had made everyone in town want to get to know me.
It was the reason Nico Salazar wanted me to join his club.
It would be a major coup for him and probably bring in even more members.
Not that he needed any. Word had it that his waiting list was a mile long, but he’d made it clear I would bypass that list completely.
That’s how much he wanted me as a member.
All the attention wouldn’t bother me quite so much if I was famous only for the success of my video games.
But that wasn’t the case. I was famous because of the video game’s success and the fact that I was insanely handsome.
I wasn’t conceited, just honest. My whole family was gorgeous.
But I was the best-looking one out of everybody.
I’d even been featured in People magazine’s “Most Beautiful People” edition.
Twice. I hated the attention. I’d even tried to tone down my attractiveness.
I wore glasses instead of contacts. I wore jeans and old, soft T-shirts most of the time.
I didn’t care where I got my hair cut. I often wore backwards baseball caps to cover my messy hair.
But it didn’t matter. In fact, a lot of women seemed to think those things made me hotter. I couldn’t win. I was just going to be someone people wanted to get to know, even though I was a grumpy, strange bastard.
I realized I was hungry. I should have stopped and gotten something on my way back from the tournament, but I’d been in such a foul mood. Plus, I hated to deviate from my schedule any more than I already had.
I’d had the same order from Dinardo’s Deli for the past ten years.
I ordered creamy tomato soup with cheddar croutons and a grilled cheese sandwich with a pack of crackers.
Every single day. And it always arrived at 11:30 on the dot.
The only thing that had changed over the years was the delivery person.
But I didn’t bother with the delivery people. That was one of Grandma’s many jobs.
Once, Old Man Dinardo, who was not old but was always referred to in that way, had dared to change the recipe for the cheddar croutons. Grandma had called and complained. He had immediately reverted to the former recipe, and peace had been restored in my life.
At least my lunch would be delivered, and the rest of my day could go back to a normal schedule. Then I could relax, and my mood would get better.
A ding from my computer indicated an important email had just landed in my inbox.
I frowned and turned to see what it was about.
My desk was a huge semicircle, with four monitors, a laptop, and two desktops on it.
The laptop and two of the monitors were for work.
The two desktops each had a single monitor and were for work on a different game I was developing.
I had a Razer Iskur V2 rolling chair I maneuvered between the different workstations.
I rolled over to the small area I had devoted to the business side of things and read the email.
“Fuck.” I ran a hand through my already messy hair. A guy in coding needed my help with something. The head of the coding department was on paternity leave, and that left me open to having to talk to some of my team members face to face, which was one of my least favorite things to do.
I stood up with a frustrated growl and stalked out of my cave, as everyone called it, and into the main lobby of the top floor of Lancaster Games.
It was referred to as the executive suite, and the only offices up here were mine, my family members’, and Tallon’s.
That made me feel more comfortable since I hated talking to people I didn’t know well.
“Why are you dressed like that?” Tallon asked. He was tossing a Rubik’s Cube up in the air and talking to Grandma.
I looked down at myself, just now realizing that I hadn’t changed out of my golf clothes.
I was wearing navy golf pants and a white, short-sleeved golf shirt.
I hadn’t even changed out of my golf shoes.
I wasn’t comfortable in these clothes. I’d bought all of this online and had it rush delivered when I’d realized I would have to take my brother’s place in the tournament.
“I had that fuc…” I glanced at Grandma, who cocked an eyebrow at me. “Um. I had that stupid golf tournament today and haven’t changed yet.”
Tallon’s mouth quirked up on one side. He was well aware of the dynamic between Grandma and me.
“Good save, Jack,” she said. “Cursing is for those with minuscule vocabularies,” she reminded me for about the millionth time.
“Yeah, I know, Grandma. But it sure does make me feel a little better.”
She gave me side-eye but said nothing else about it. “What brought you out of your cave?”
“They’re having an issue in coding on CaveSphere 4, and I have to go talk to…” I frowned. I’d already forgotten the guy’s name that I needed to go see. “What’s that guy’s name who works on sea creatures only?”
“Harold Perkins,” Grandma said.
“Right. I have to go see him.”
“You’d better hurry,” she said. “Your lunch should be here by the time you get back, and you don’t want your soup to get cold.”
No, I did not. I wavered between going now and waiting to talk to Harold Perkins until I’d eaten and changed clothes. I decided I’d rather get it over with.
“I’ll be quick.” That was an understatement. The less time I spent around people, the better.
Tallon snorted. “We know, Jack. You’ll show Perkins how to do whatever it is he needs help with and be back in five minutes.”
He was probably right.
“I’ll be right back,” I said unnecessarily, unused to leaving the top floor at this time of day, and headed to the wall of elevators just outside the doors of the executive suite. There were three, but I only used the middle one. It had been serviced most recently.
I stepped in and pressed the button for the twenty-seventh floor. The doors closed, and the elevator descended right past the floor I wanted. That’s when I noticed that the ‘L’ button was lit. I was headed for the lobby.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” I snarled and fruitlessly, stupidly pressed the number twenty-seven button a few times in the hopes I could get the elevator to change its mind.
I didn’t have any luck, of course.
I rode the rest of the way down with my arms crossed. I must have had a horrible look on my face, because when the doors opened, not one of my employees got on the elevator with me even though several were waiting.
The doors closed, and I saw my face reflected in the mirrored surface. Yep. I looked like a total asshole. Tallon called this my ‘resting bastard face’ look, and he wasn’t wrong.
Satisfied that no one would be riding back up with me, I looked up at the ceiling of the elevator. I don’t know why. It’s just something you do when you’re in an elevator and have nothing else to look at.
The elevator doors opened again, and I glanced out, surprised. I didn’t see anyone, but even if I had, I would have pressed the ‘close doors’ button. Then I looked around the elevator some more while I waited for the doors to close.
That’s how I missed the sight of the delivery girl from Dinardo’s Deli hurrying towards me.
How did she not see me? I’m not sure. But she didn’t.
The next thing I knew, I was knocked backwards by something hitting me squarely in the chest. Then I was covered in something piping hot and wet.
“Ow!” I looked down and saw red liquid everywhere. It looked almost like blood. But no one’s blood was that hot. “What the actual fuck is happening?”
“Oh my God… I’m so, so sorry.”
I looked down. Right into the greenest eyes I’d ever seen.
I stared into them, momentarily hypnotized by both their beauty and the kindness I saw in them.
I blinked. Then I looked further down and saw that the large container of tomato soup she’d been carrying was crushed, its contents all over me, the tiled elevator floor and…
oh my God, her shirt. Her thin T-shirt was saturated with tomato soup, making it virtually see-through.
I swallowed hard and stared. Her shirt clung to her, making the fact that she had the most perfect breasts I’d ever seen very obvious.
I reached out to steady her. At least, that’s what I told myself. I really just wanted to touch her.
Because something strange had happened to me when I looked at her.
It was like something clicked.
I wanted to get to know her better. In fact, I wanted to know everything about her.
Everything.