Chapter 4 #3
“A Coke, please.”
“Coming right up.”
The man with the Guinness turns to face us and laughs. “It’s on the house; no need to stick with Coke.”
“I don’t drink,” I say, hating that my voice has gone so quiet again. I was doing fine with Luca just now. I was normal.
“Oh, how about in happy circumstances?” The man laughs again, and I can already tell that I don’t like him.
I take a deep breath to still my rising anger.
I should be used to these sorts of remarks after having spent a few years in the industry, and I should have a few snappy quips handy.
But they get me every damned time. “That’s a classic one for women in the gaming industry.
The ladies at our studio are all in their thirties, and they go down like flies when they drink.
No prize for guessing who gets stuck doing all the work. ”
Yep, and that’s exactly why I don’t like leaving our little studio in Notting Hill.
The next few days are going to be wonderful, because obviously this lad’s views are about as old as the building we’re in.
I bite my tongue so I don’t say what I’m thinking; I don’t want to start a fight so soon.
There would be no point anyway. The sad golden rule to observe as a woman in a male-dominated field is that the tossers who bang out these kinds of lines always shrug them off as jokes, and you end up being the person who’s “too sensitive.”
I exhale shakily and turn away from him without another word. I’ve had enough experience with stupid one-liners and bullying to be above it. Still, an icky feeling settles on my skin that I’d love to get rid of.
“Hey,” Luca says, loud enough to drown out our conversation, if you can call it that—not to the man, but to the waiter who’s just grabbed our glasses from a shelf.
“I think I’ll have a Coke instead too. There seems to be something weird in the Guinness.
” He looks from the waiter to the bloke in the video game T-shirt.
“A touch of the dark ages maybe, with a hint of misogyny sprinkled on top.”
While Luca’s eyes narrow, mine grow as big as saucers, or at least that’s what it feels like. The man, on the other hand, nearly chokes on his stout and then clears his throat. “I was just joking,” he mutters, visibly embarrassed.
Called it, I think grimly.
“If your game’s as clever as your humor, I stand a good chance of winning,” Luca responds, and I’m not sure whether to admire him for his quick wit or worry that he’s just gone a bit too far.
After all, we’ll be spending a lot of time with these people, and the industry is small enough that you cross paths with folks more than once.
In any case, the man in the video game T-shirt turns his back on us with a grumble.
“Your Coke, madam,” the waiter tells me, and I catch a glimpse of his smirk as he hands me and then Luca our drinks.
“Thank you,” I say before turning back to Luca. “You too, but you shouldn’t have.” I don’t want Luca to see me as someone who needs protection. I’ve been through far worse than unsavory blokes in bars.
“It wasn’t for you.” Luca shrugs, and the anger in the pit of my stomach turns into something that feels a lot like disappointment.
But I didn’t want him to protect me, after all.
I take a sip of cold, sparkling Coke and decide that I’m in dire need of sleep.
The last few days’ overtime have probably caused some serious brain damage.
“I hate those kinds of men; they poison the entire industry. I hear what my female colleagues have to deal with at conferences often enough. And unfortunately, I also hear what people hurl back at them when they defend themselves. So yes, I had to.”
I nod, because what else can I do? He’s right.
If someone had stood up for me during my teens, who knows—maybe I wouldn’t be scared to speak in full sentences or show my arms now.
“I think I’ll grab something from the buffet and go up to my room,” I say, because although I shouldn’t care about any of this, I no longer feel like getting to know the others.
And what good would it do? Wouldn’t getting to know the competition just make me more nervous?
I hastily knock back the rest of my Coke, but I can see Luca’s skepticism in his eyes.
“They’re not all like him. I bet the others can’t wait to meet you.”
I shrug. “There’s still time for that tomorrow. I should prepare some more.”
“All right then, see you tomorrow. I’ll stay a little bit longer.” He glances around the room again. “I’m still waiting for my number one competitor . . . Can’t hurt to check her out beforehand.”
I stop myself from asking who he sees as such a threat to his prize, because obviously that person and their game would be my biggest threat as well. But unlike Luca, my motto is “Close your eyes and hope for the best.”
I put the empty glass down on the counter, thank the waiter again, and wave at Luca. “See you tomorrow.”
“Sleep well,” he replies. While I wolf down a few canapés and set off, I curse myself for fleeing so soon. Nataly would have made loads of new contacts on an evening like this, but I’m already exhausted. And I should be focusing on the competition to better prepare myself, just like Luca’s doing.
Fortunately, Louise doesn’t question why I’m back at the reception desk already and leads the way upstairs with a friendly smile.
I hastily decline her offer to call someone to carry my suitcase.
Nat may have thrown in heaps of clothing, but it only weighs a few pounds, and I already feel weird being escorted around.
“Your room is on the first floor; it’s not far, luckily.
The ground floor only has two rooms, which are usually reserved for our guests in wheelchairs.
As I’m sure you’ll have noted, old houses like this one aren’t built in the most accessible way, which is why everything will be taking place on the ground floor tomorrow.
However, our fitness studio is on the first floor as well, should you want to use it. ”
“Got it,” I say, knowing full well that I won’t be setting foot in there.
“Well, here we are.” She stops in front of a brown door with floral carvings on it. Here, too, the dark-red rug runs the length of the hallway. Louise hands me a key card and grins at my surprised expression.
“Mr. Crow did consider keeping the old keys, but he’s settled on the more modern option.”
I hold the card up to the sensor, which flashes green.
The door unlocks with a soft click, and I push it open, sticking the card into a slot to the right of the door.
Just like in a hotel, the lamps come on.
I can hear the fiasco before I see it, because my sneakers make a wet, squelching sound as I step onto the carpet.
“Isn’t it lovel—oh, bollocks.” Louise’s voice nearly breaks like mine did earlier.
Elsa wasn’t far off with her comment about the Titanic, because the room is flooded.