Chapter 13
DAKOTA
The woman is… sublime. She looks almost exactly like my elf avatar in Empire’s Fall, except that she’s got lovely copper skin. She wears an Indian-coded dress, with a sari flavor, and gorgeously applied makeup. I feel about two feet tall as she approaches.
I attempt to chastise myself. I’m not some shrinking wallflower. But it’s hard to feel irresistible next to a woman as stunning as this.
“One of my biggest shareholders,” Jack says out of the corner of his mouth, sounding pissed. “Crystal Sagar. Brace yourself.”
“They keep the lights on,” I murmur.
He nods with a sigh. “True.”
“Jackson, darling,” the woman says in an upper class British accent. “What a lovely little shindig you’re having here. And how clever of me, hmm, to find my own way after you failed to send an invite?”
Jackson takes her hand and shakes it briefly. I can tell he wants to snatch his hand away. But she holds it firmly.
I want to scream, You’re ruining our moment, bitch. Is that fair? No. Do I give a fuck? Nope.
“Where’s my hug, hmm?”
“I like to keep things professional,” Jack says.
“Even with silly old me?”
She pulls him into an embrace, spreading her hands over his back. I bite the inside of my cheek while keeping a smile firmly planted on my face. All my big talk about not getting attached—poof, gone.
“This is Dakota Vale,” Jack says, stepping back so we’re standing side by side. Like a couple. “She’s one of our biggest stream?—”
“So, darling, what’s the scoop on all this overtime?”
I can feel Jackson seething beside me. I know the history about his company. He only went public when it was a choice between that or losing half his workforce after one of Empire’s Fall’s expansions underperformed. He saved his company, sure, but he never wanted to be a puppet.
“We need to address the player disappointment,” he says tightly.
“They’re disappointed,” she says, nodding. “But they’re still playing, aren’t they? More importantly, they’re still paying.”
“Excuse me, but that’s very shortsighted,” I butt in.
Crystal looks at me in disgust, as though a pig has somehow produced speech.
I straighten my spine. I want to shrink.
It’s easier to be confident behind a camera lens than a sneering millionaire.
But when I see Jack looking at me approvingly out of the corner of my eye, I’ve got all the support I need.
“Shortsighted, you say?”
“Yes,” I reply, nodding. “While it’s true that hardcore players—players who, like me, will probably never quit the game—are still logging in, casual players are avoiding the Emerald Cove entirely.
A flagship zone, with all its enemies, completely wasted, with nothing to fill the void.
Sooner or later, the player numbers will start dropping. ”
“Then we’ll go the way of our Japanese developers-in-arms,” she says, shrugging.
“If only the board were structured like that,” Jack says, a low growl in his voice. “The deal remains the same, however. I get final say on all US micro transactions.”
“It’s gross that even in Japan people have to pay for stuff, anyway,” I add. “Paying to change your horse’s color? That’s just insane. In the US version, you must learn husbandry, collect the materials for the dye, and?—”
“You really play this,” Crystal cuts in, looking me up and down. “How old are you?”
I’m dangerously close to snapping. I know that would be bad for Jack. It would invite questions, like, why is this streamer so confident snapping at a shareholder in front of the CEO?
“What does my age have to do with me playing this game?” I ask tightly.
“Our demographic ranges from children to pensioners,” Jack says, his voice just as tight. “I’m sure, as a valued shareholder, you wouldn’t want to insult someone who has not only been a loyal player for many years but also encourages others to play. Would you, Ms. Sagar?”
“How many times must I tell you, call me Crystal?”
“One more, it seems,” Jack grunts.
She tsks, spins on her expensive heels, then walks away.
“Was that a good idea?” I ask.
Jack looks down at me with an almost boyish grin. It feels crazily natural being in person with him. I thought his celebrity might be too massive, a block wedged between us. Or that we might be awkward without a screen separating us.
But no. It feels right.
“Probably not,” he says. “But I’ll be damned if I stand here while she disrespects you.”
I smile and raise my hand. I almost touch him when I see a photographer walk by.
“You’d better circulate,” I say.
He sighs. “You’re right.”
“Keep your phone on,” I tell him. “So, I can torture you.”
He smirks. “Why do I like the sound of that?”
I watch him go, wondering if anybody senses the chemistry between us. The moment he leaves me, he seems grumpier and standoffish. It’s like every muscular inch is roaring at him to come back to me.
I circulate around the booths, saying hello to a couple streamers I’ve spoken to online. We take some selfies and a short video for our fans. Being a streamer gives me a good excuse to be on my phone constantly.
I look across the room. Jack is surrounded by men in suits.
I think about what Mara said. This is, at a bare minimum, my chance to have some fun. Letting the champagne flow around me and my confidence bubble up, I send a text.
Dakota: It’s so difficult standing here, pretending I’m not melting for you, pretending I don’t want you to drag me to our Cove and do all the things you said you’d do in the game.
I was so hot when I looked down and saw you were hard for me.
I wanted to grab your big dick right then.
And I wanted you to touch me, to feel how wet I am for you already.
I feel dangerous as I send it. An illicit thrill runs through me as Jack checks his phone. His whole body goes stiff, like he’s about to burst out of his expensive suit.
He looks up and finds me. His jaw tight as he shoots off a reply.
Jack: If you carry on, I’ll forget I’m supposed to be Mr. CEO and find some private place for us.
Dakota: Promises, promises…
Jack: Two can play at this game.
I laugh.
Dakota: Come at me, Mr. Cross.
I go to another booth, showing a preview of the underwater dungeon. A fellow streamer, GalaticGob—or Stuart, if we want to get governmental about it—curses and almost slams the keyboard. A man wearing a Halcyon t-shirt quickly rushes forward. “Easy there, buddy…”
“What’s up?” I ask.
Stuart waves a hand at the screen. “These solo dungeons are a joke. There’s no way to kite the secondary boss and tank the main boss, but you have to kite it, otherwise the boss aggros it anyway.”
“Can we get that in non-nerd speak?” Somebody says from the crowd, slurring their words.
“You have to keep moving,” I say. “So that the secondary boss can’t hit you. That’s what kiting means. If you ignore him, the main boss will get too close, and he’ll attack you anyway. That’s aggro. The problem is that the main boss has AoE—area of effect—attacks that you have to avoid too.”
The slurring guest looks disgusted. I know all this, which is a joke. Why come to an event like this if you don’t enjoy the game?
My phone vibrates in my pocket. I take it out and check it. Almost drop my champagne flute, which is nearly empty anyway.
Jack: Any second now, you’ll feel me walk up behind you. My solid dick slipping between the folds of your perfect ass. You’ll feel how badly I want to spill inside of you, or on those juicy tits, or fill up that perfect, kissable mouth.
I almost start panting. I have to put down my champagne flute and grab some water instead.
Dakota: Are you trying to kill me?
I send the message, then look around. He’s talking with two men, but he finds a moment to look at me and shoot off a wink.
I feel special, seen in a way that even my streams can’t accomplish.
I’m about to text back when I hear someone say, “Let Dakky try!”
I turn to find Stuart and two other streamers grinning at me. The Halcyon employee gestures to the computer setup.
“Remember, folks,” I say, snapping into streamer mode. It’s difficult with my underwear sticky and the lust pumping through my veins. But hey, I’m a pro. “I don’t usually have two glasses of champagne before hitting the dungeons!”
That gets a chuckle. I sit in the chair, then choose my character. For the test, they’ve given access to all high-level classes. I usually play as a spell-weaving healer, but I’ll have to be a tank for this, so I can take all the damage the bosses dish out.
I change some of the key bindings, then rotate my head and shake my arms out, feeling the faint flutter of adrenaline I still get when I start a solo dungeon.
“Who’s ready to see me die in two seconds flat?” I say self-deprecatingly, with a laugh.
I walk through the cave passage toward the glowing dungeon entrance. There are empty sections in the cave wall, showing the rushing water and sea creatures beyond.
“Nobody record this!” I joke. “I’ve got a reputation to uphold.”
More laughter. It’s just like being on stream.
Except I’m praying that Jack makes good on his promise. Finds me, holds me, kisses me, and fucks me. I’m feeling fun and reckless and like, somehow, this gamer is going to make it out of the dungeon called life in one piece.