Chapter 2
Ethan
Three months later
The gym on the executive floor of the Acercraft Group building is dark and completely empty at 10:30 p.m. As a creature of habit, I work until almost midnight on most days, although my workload in the last few weeks has dramatically increased since my partner, Jordan, dropped his hours.
Acercraft is a product of a collaboration between my friends, Jordan Farrington, Mike Waldrow, and me. We teamed up a little over five years ago, and now, the online gaming platform is already worth tens of billions.
We’d connected on a virtual conference, and upon realizing how well our goals aligned, we started creating video games using our unique platform and game engine. The games went viral and consistently outdid big names in the market within the first year of the company’s launch.
The most surprising part was the even higher demand for the platform and game engine by developers and companies. The profits skyrocketed, and we quickly scaled up our company and operations, focusing more on providing and maintaining the online gaming platform for others to create their video games.
Jordan oversees systems and security, Mike sales and marketing, and I look after product engineering. Although we have a few other partners in key management positions, the three of us have more or less retained our original roles.
Since Jordan started stepping away from his duties, Mike and I have had to step in.
Actually, Mike has done more bitching than stepping in, but hey, systems security isn’t his strong suit. Besides, putting in long, grueling hours isn’t really Mike’s thing. Give him quick and intense activities, and like a sprinter, he’ll shine.
I, on the other hand, am the marathon runner, pulling long days and all-nighters fueled by nothing but caffeine and perfectionism. Having had another one of those days today, I wanted to work out my cramped muscles.
I don’t bother with lights, and I still unerringly locate the treadmill on the far side of the room. My vision isn’t the best either way, but it’s significantly better in the dark.
Hemeralopia, it’s called. I call it a fucking pain in the neck.
My doctors have been after me to get stem cell transplant, even going as far as to confer with a team of ophthalmologists in Germany, reputedly the best in the world.
The answer, as ever, remains a firm no.
Suffering through a botched surgery and anesthesia awareness at the age of sixteen thoroughly messed me up in the head, especially with situations where I have no control.
Like under a doctor’s knife.
So, I’m stuck with either staying in the dark or wearing these darned light-filtering lenses when I can’t avoid bright light.
Which makes nosy and mouthy little women like Bonnie Russo have an opinion. I huff. Remembering the ‘Harvard’ comment still pisses me off, even after three months.
If she’s annoyed by the color of my glasses, she’ll likely flip when she finds out she will have to get used to being in the dark around me. Not to mention—
Hold your horses. There’s nothing to get used to. She might be friends with Sabrina, who is like a sister to me, but Bonnie is never going to be part of my life or social circle, not if I have anything to say about it.
I doubt she would mind, considering she all but dumped her champagne on my head.
I find it hard to believe that soft-spoken Sabrina and smart-mouthed Bonnie are friends.
Bonnie’s name had come up a few times in conversation over the past year, and I’d imagined a nice woman with a shy, sweet disposition. Certainly not a prickly, smirking, smartass hacker with an Irish accent and biker chick vibes.
The moment she walked into the rehearsal dinner, strutting into the hall like a queen, not even knowing who she was, I was gripped by a sudden desire to talk to her, to know her.
Which is the opposite of who I am.
I hardly socialize or look to expand my social circle beyond my tight-knit family and friends, and I don’t date.
Because relationships are messy.
I like to keep my affairs tightly controlled, predictable, and mess-free. Not only does my sanity depend on it, but also because unraveling is not something I can afford to do, given the sort of clients I work with off the radar.
It turned out I needn’t have bothered trying to get to know her since she seemed to dislike me on sight, and it had proven an impossible feat to get through to her with the snarkiness that she wore like armor.
After the awkward introduction which left Bonnie storming off, Sabrina said she thought my comment about Harvard was a low blow because Bonnie was actually a high school dropout.
Twice. And she also dropped out of college.
Now, that floored me. Just how unconventional can one little, sweet-looking woman be?
And with all her big talk about getting laid, I know for a fact that she ended up sleeping alone through the whole trip, including that first night she spent in Brooke’s room.
I wonder why she’d rather have me believe she’d hooked up with a random guy.
Putting my hands on her at that wedding reception felt like I'd been plugged into a live socket. Her body talked to me in a way she would never allow her mouth to.
I’d heard her soft pants and the moan she tried to suppress, and I’d relished her unexpected reaction to my touch.
Until she became terrified.
Of what?
Me?
But then, she'd opened her sassy mouth, and my hesitation had evaporated in a cloud of annoyance.
We met again last week at my friend Xavier's and her friend Brooke’s wedding. Their wedding was a small affair, unlike Alex’s big Cancun ceremony. No bridesmaids or groomsmen and, thankfully, no bouquets or garters.
Actually, ‘met’ isn’t the right word since Bonnie barely looked my way and didn’t say a word to me throughout.
Which was just as well. As beautiful as she is, that tongue of hers can slice a man to ribbons.
Unless he’s wearing armor, too.
She’d attended with some guy I assumed she must be dating, going by his attentiveness to her and the adoration in his eyes.
Well, good luck to him. Some men like them prickly. Like succulent, enticing… cacti.
I doubt there were any feelings on Bonnie’s part for her date. She seemed bored with him and more interested in chatting with her friends.
Why that made me inordinately pleased is not something I care to explore.
Something else I don’t want to reflect on is how much I think about her, considering she’s the polar opposite of the women I’m usually attracted to.
I’ve never had any inclination to question my taste in women. Much to my brother Grant’s irritation, I can’t help my preference for tall, easy-going, curvy blondes.
These days however, all I seem to be able to think about is that sassy mouth with perfect pillowy lips, eyes the color of dark chocolate, and those silky smooth thighs.
But most of the time, my mind is busy trying to work out the contradiction that is Bonnie Russo.
I shake off thoughts of her, annoyed at myself for losing myself in them again, and run faster, enjoying the smooth glide of the treadmill.
I deliberately shift my thoughts to mentally ticking off all the hundred million things that still need doing to get Dreadlite, our latest product, ready for launch.
I continue for another half hour until the treadmill screen lights up with an incoming call. It’s Jordan. I connect the call to my wireless earbuds.
“Hey, man,” I huff, slowing into a jog.
“Ethan, still at the office? I called your home phone, and you didn’t pick up.”
I usually leave my personal phone at home. “Yeah, I’m just about finishing.”
“Hey, you’re working too late, man. Since Grant left for Vegas, you hardly go home on time anymore.”
Grant is my baby brother, and Jordan is right. I love him to pieces and would do anything for him.
Before he left for Vegas, he lived on my estate. If Grant was at home right now, there’s no way I’d still be here at this time. Because the little shit always found a reason to drag me back. I stopped bothering to work late when he was around.
My dad also lives on my estate, but we can go days without seeing each other because of my work hours. He lives with Ingrid, his girlfriend of five years and the first woman he’s had a long-term relationship with since my mother walked out on us twenty-two years ago.
I was eight, Grant only four.
No, it’s not just Grant’s absence that’s making me work late. For all his concerns, Jordan is the main reason my workload is becoming unmanageable.
“I know, it’s just crunch time on Dreadlite. It’ll pass.” I say.
“How are we doing with our deadlines, anyway?”
Great that you ask. “Things are looking tidy from my end. That question is for you and Mike.”
“I know. I’m moving at a slug’s pace man. It’s been horrendous with the morning sickness. Sabrina is something else now; she’s…so fucking—“ he pauses, and I hear a voice in the background. ”—sweet. And lovely.”
“Sabrina just entered the room, didn’t she?”
“You bet.” It’s Ethan, I hear him say. “She says hi.”
“Say hi back. So, what’s next week looking like? Mike’s checked in already, and he’ll finish the negotiation this Friday.”
“Yeah, next week is impossible. I have to be in Seattle for a meeting.”
A grunt of frustration is my only response. I can’t understand how or why he juggles his time between two companies.
Jordan doubles as the CEO of his family business, Apex Energy, something he’d sworn never to do when we started Acercraft. But with Sabrina coming back into his life, he had no choice but to stage a hostile takeover of the business in order to protect Sabrina from his powerful, scheming father.
What Jordan refuses to acknowledge is that he can’t function effectively in both roles.
As if that weren’t enough on his plate, Jordan also happens to be a very talented artist, and he frequently creates art for Sabrina’s gallery.
Mike, Jordan, and I started Acercraft, but we don’t have to stick to the three-managing partner model.
I’m silent for a bit.
“You know, the Three Musketeers don’t have to—“ I begin.
“Don’t fucking say it, dweeb.”
“You’re like an ostrich, Jordan. Burying your head in the sand doesn’t change the cold, hard facts. You’re slipping. Massively.”
He sighs. “I know. I’m just caught between the two—“
“You’ve always had a problem knowing when to let go.”
“It’s a Farrington thing, I’m afraid. But I’m sorting something out, okay? It’s just that we work so well together. It’s crazy how freaking efficient things are here at Acercraft. Apex Energy is like riding a hundred-year-old mammoth, while Acercraft is a sleek, new Ferrari. It’s a bit depressing to let go of.”
“Acercraft is your breath of fresh air.”
“Exactly.”
He wants to be here, but he’s duty-bound to Apex Energy.
“Well, pal, if we don’t do something, and soon, you’ll be dragging us into your prehistoric age. Even your assistant looks like he’s fading away, juggling two workloads.”
“Do something like what, Ethan?” he asks, but he already knows what I’ll say.
“Let’s hire someone, train them, and delegate directly to them. Actually, we might need two people. Or five, given that you’ll be a father in the next few months.”
“What are we looking for? A replacement?”
It’s at the tip of my tongue to say yes, but it’ll just spook him more.
“Not a replacement per se, like we could ever find anyone to replace you man. Let’s get a few assistants, not entry-level, mind you. They should have enough experience to function at the level of an associate, possibly even higher,” I respond.
At Acercraft, employees enter either as interns or staff trainee level, then after some time get promoted into associates and then on to junior partners.
Senior partners handle launching and negotiations, and the managing partners oversee everything else.
“Fine, I’ll tell Saj to put the word out to our recruiting agents.”
“Great. Let’s start interviewing in a few weeks, shall we? In the meantime, your report is still due. We can’t delay more than two weeks on this, Jordan.”
“Yes, boss,” he shoots back.
I scoff and click off the screen, picking up my pace again on the treadmill.