Chapter 6
The following morning, before I make my way downstairs for breakfast, I have to actively beg my forehead to quit scowling.
This will be fine, I promise it when its muscles won’t relax. We’ll figure it out.
But I’m not so sure. My room is cold—and stays cold, no matter how much I dial up the heat.
I spent all night tossing and turning, my thoughts a jittery jumble of resentment, disappointment, anger, and the heavy, disconsolate fear that my chance at working on the Limerence IP is becoming slimmer by the minute.
Because what John said was true: If it comes down to us vs.
Nephilim, StarPlay will choose the more well-rounded option.
And that’s not us.
Can we talk? I texted Mike around three a.m. Alone. Lead Designer to CEO.
His reply came first thing this morning. Of course. After breakfast? Are you going to be skiing?
Nope, I value the integrity of my skull bones.
What a coincidence, so do I. Let’s chat then.
I sit on the bed, dejected, and hear Jesse move about his room. The wood creaks, his steps vibrate through the wall, and he feels oddly…close. Solid and present and real.
I hate him. Him, and his plan, and the disconcerted face he made when I touched him, like I’m an intruder in his life. I hate being around him, and I want to stab him with an emery board. Clearly, he’s terrible both for my self-respect and my criminal record.
The first thing I notice when I make my way inside the dining room is that last night’s place card trial has been discontinued. Nephilim and FlyButter are split with a surgical precision that reminds me of boys and girls in an eighth-grade sex education class.
I dispassionately grab a blueberry muffin and a cup of hot chocolate, then take a seat next to Shannon, who sports the joyous but tired expression of someone who’s been having illegal amounts of clandestine sex.
A few seats to the right, I spot Jesse eating a small plate of eggs.
He shovels food in his mouth with ruthless efficiency, not quite taking part in the conversations floating around him.
The glasses are back, and I notice the silliest details, like how perfectly they sit on his nose, or the way the stems disappear into the small curls at his temples.
“You okay?” Shannon asks me.
“Yeah. I just…”
Do I tell her? About what I overheard last night?
No. No, I don’t. Because if FlyButter people find out, they’ll take it as the perfect excuse to openly declare war on Nephilim. And even though an argument could be made that the Nephilim team fully deserves to have their cars keyed—or, let’s be honest, burned—I woke up with a single conviction.
I want to work on Limerence 3. I want to put my spin on that game.
I want to hear about kids playing it with their dads.
I want to be able to think about how much mine would have enjoyed doing the same with me.
And since I can’t imagine any scenario in which open warfare between the two studios will lead to me being involved in its design, I…
My train of thought stumbles, then halts as I watch Jesse down what’s left of his orange juice and stand. Other men might require some throat clearing to get a room’s attention, but not this guy. Everyone instantly falls silent, looking up at the dark expression that seems to match the way I feel.
“I’m going to cut to the chase,” he says, arms crossed on his chest like a nightclub bouncer.
He sounds…I don’t know. Angry? Scary? No trace of the affable calm he usually displays when he talks to…
well, to people who are not me. I shudder at his tone, and when I look around, most people seem just as alarmed.
“I have no authority over anyone at FlyButter. But I am the lead designer at Nephilim, and as you all know, I oversaw the Limerence 3 project proposal. What I am about to say is exclusively for my team, but I’ll do this once, publicly, so that everyone in this lodge understands where I stand.”
Most insecure public speakers—and I know this because I am one—tend to find a safe audience member and let their gaze settle on them.
Not Jesse, though. His eyes meet everyone’s in the most inescapable way, as though daring us to drift off, or push back.
When it’s clear that no one would be foolish enough to do that, his cold, cold stare lands on John.
“I’ve had this conversation with a couple of you already, in private. But I’m not sure who was reached by the bullshit that came to my attention yesterday, so let me make something very clear.”
A pause. No one seems to breathe.
“This retreat is not a waste of time. Its purpose is not to annoy FlyButter into pulling back from the project, and if that’s the impression under which you came here, you are invited to return home and leave the project.
I acknowledge that there have been issues between our studios in the past, but the goal is to move past them.
If you’re not willing to do that, you know where the door is. ”
He waits before continuing, as if to give people the opportunity to leave. I wonder if he understands that we’re all paralyzed by…by him.
“Here is what some of you don’t seem to grasp: Both FlyButter and Nephilim are midsized indie studios.
Neither team has the capabilities to undertake a project the size of Limerence 3 and meet StarPlay’s vision alone.
There are larger studios who are ready to swoop in if we fuck this up, so let me make it clear: This is not an us-or-them situation.
It’s an us-and-them, or someone else altogether.
And let me disclose something personal: I want to work on this game.
And if I catch any of you doing anything that stands between me and what I want, I will address it. Swiftly.”
I shudder at the threat in his tone, and as I do, my view of Jesse Andrews and his role in this industry reorients. I always respected his work, but after what happened a year ago I couldn’t help seeing him as something of an enemy. And yet, right now he’s my ally—my strongest one, perhaps.
Maybe that’s why, in a spur-of-the-moment decision that shocks even me, I stand. “As the lead designer of FlyButter,” I say, letting my tone absorb the same uncompromising hardness that I use when my niece tries to cheat at Uno, “everything Jesse said goes for me, too.”
I notice Mila’s slightly befuddled look. Ethan’s eyebrows shoot up. Kai’s scowl seems slightly betrayed, but I don’t care. They don’t love Limerence as much as I do.
“And I’ll go further,” I continue. “The goal is not just being assigned to the project and pocketing the funds. The goal is to make the best possible version of this game, and we can only do it together. If there are legitimate interpersonal issues between members of the two teams, please come to me and I’ll help deal with them.
But if I hear anyone making snide remarks, being needlessly antagonistic, or generally creating a hostile work environment…
” I trail off, because…what? What will I do?
It’s not like I have the power to fire people without Mike’s approval—
“You will be fired,” Mike says, standing abruptly.
I’m so relieved, I could kiss him. Even though this whole thing is taking a turn for the “Oh Captain! My Captain!” very quickly.
“Let it be clear,” he continues, “that I stand behind everything that was said. If you’re not a team player, there’s no point in having you on the team.”
A brief moment of silence follows, in which every gaze drifts toward Otto.
He is, after all, CEO of Nephilim. We need him to back us up, and he seems to be aware.
Because he stands with a resigned sigh, faces his people, and says, “If you fuck this up for me—If I catch any of you provoking fights, bickering, or being generally annoying, you’re not just fired, you’re blacklisted.
I have shit to do. Do not waste my time. As usual, what Jesse says, goes.”
Mike stares at Otto like he’s a knight in shining armor who took off a helmet to sensually shake his luscious ginger hair. It’s a minute before he can tear his eyes away. “Right.” He clears his throat. “So…Does anyone have anything they’d like to say about this matter?”
Silence.
“John?” Jesse interjects. Still cross-armed. Still hardass. “Any comments?”
“No,” John croaks.
I study the way every single head across the teams shakes energetically, as though we’ve never been in anything but agreement, as though the idea of scattering pushpins in each other’s beds never occurred to any of us.
For the first time since I got here, the smile stretching my lips is heartfelt, and I think to myself, Now we’re cooking.