Chapter 23
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Andi
Turns out cutting and sewing large swaths of dark-green fabric is more therapeutic than I thought. I’ve been devoting an hour or so every night after work to creating my cosplay, and my office is beginning to resemble the inside of my mom’s trailer. Beyond the bits of frayed cloth on every horizontal surface, there are straight pins sticking out from the carpet, threatening to deal at least one hit point of piercing damage and some lasting trauma to the unwary traveler.
My goal is to have a passable Link cosplay by the end of the week so I can get back to my real job. His usual outfit, a green tunic with white breeches and a jaunty hat, is less complicated than most but still involved enough that Philo won’t be able to accuse me of phoning it in. Between the pieces I’m cobbling together and the plastic sword Dom keeps by his desk, I should look festive enough to satisfy my promise to the Heartrender masses.
I finish the top first and check myself out in the glass window of my office. An Asian version of the world-famous Hyrulean hero stares back at me. The collar’s a bit crooked, but the overall effect is there. Satisfied, I’m crossing my arms to peel it off when I sense someone watching me.
Wheeling around, I swallow back the fear clogging my throat. The Heartrender office is safe, right? No one can get in without an ID, which is why I sleep here so many nights, but what if someone could? What if someone did ?
My heart falls back down into my chest. It’s only Philo, leaning against the doorjamb with one ankle crossed in front of the other.
“Sorry,” she says, swaying onto her heels. “I knocked, but you didn’t … Did I scare you? I didn’t mean to.”
“It’s fine.” I smile, even though my hands are balled up around the hem of my cosplay. I force my fingers to relax before Philo notices. “You’re here late.”
Shrugging, Philo crosses over to my armchair and flops into it. It lets out a whine of discontent, and I wince.
“Careful,” I admonish. “She’s an old lady.”
Philo rolls her eyes. “You look good.” A lazy grin lifts the corners of her mouth. “Can’t wait to see you at IAX. You know Gabe and I are gonna be sending photos of you in a little green hat over the company-wide Slack channel, right?”
I chuck a spool of thread at her. “You’re the worst. Why are you here, bothering me, instead of at home with your cats and that guy you’ve been seeing? What’s his name again? Stu? Stud?”
“Stan,” Philo corrects, lobbing the thread back at me. I catch it one handed. “We broke up.”
“Oh. Sorry, Phi, that sucks.”
“It’s fine. Turns out he wants a woman who’ll be waiting for him at home with a dinner plate and a Johnnie Walker Blue on the rocks.” Sticking out her tongue, Philo gestures around us. The motion-sensor lights on the main floor are all off, making it feel like we’re atop a lighthouse at night. “Maybe that’s why I’m here at eight on a weeknight. Out of spite.”
“That doesn’t sound like you.” Pulling the Link tunic over my head, I look around for my flannel button-down.
“You don’t know me.” Philo plucks my shirt loose from under her butt and whips it out toward me. “Maybe I’ll start crashing the office on the weekends, like you and Gabe.”
And Cat. I wonder if she’ll be in again this Saturday. Somehow I’ve gone from zero to seeing her every day of the workweek plus on Friday nights and Saturday afternoons. We probably spend more time together than she does with Sal.
I guess I’m frowning, since Philo amends, “Don’t worry, I’m just joking. I’m not gonna crowd you two.”
“Oh!” I shake my head. “There’s nothing going on between us. I barely talk to her.”
“Her?” A wrinkle appears between Philo’s eyebrows. “Did Gabe get new pronouns when I wasn’t looking?”
Shoot. I want to kick myself. “Sorry.” I force a laugh. “I mean him. Gabe. I barely talk to him. We don’t even come in at the same time.”
“Really?” Philo’s voice tilts upward at the end. As much as I’m relieved she’s not giving me a harder time for my slip of the tongue, I’m curious what’s got her sounding so hopeful.
She doesn’t give me a chance to ask. Clearing her throat, she lurches out of my chair. “Hey, by the way, did you see the news about Jan?”
The announcement arrived in our inboxes earlier today, subject line: “Eschler Appointed Elevation Art’s first ever Creative-in-Residence.” I opened the email, skimmed it, then deleted it. Not out of jealousy but disappointment. Men like Jan never get what’s coming to them. They take and they take and they take until they’ve devoured the universe. And, in the rare instance they’re denied what they want, they mete out a revenge so brutal no one would dare cross them again.
Turning, I busy myself with putting away my work-in-progress cosplay. “I saw it.”
“You doin’ okay?”
“I’m fine, thanks. I don’t even know what ‘creative-in-residence’ means.” Facing Philo, I shrug. “Which means I wouldn’t want Jan’s job in a million years. I’d rather make than manage. As long as he doesn’t interfere with what we’re doing here, what do I care?”
Clapping me on the shoulder, Philo nods. “Good. Speaking of interference, Brett’s been bugging me about getting another update from you. He seems really keen on what you have Cat working on.”
I sigh. “Why is he always on my case? Why doesn’t he ask for updates from Dom ever, or Gabe?”
“My guess? He doesn’t understand that stuff, and he’s a dude who hates being around other dudes who know more than him,” Philo answers. “I think Gabe scared him off for good last time with his in-depth review of the foliage shader.”
“Foliage shading is too complicated,” I grumble, “but everyone thinks they understand story.”
“Get it together, Andz.” Philo snaps her fingers in my face, making me blink. “I know Cat’s been hunkered down in front of her laptop every day, so what’s the delay?”
I crane around her, but she blocks my way, solid as a level-ninety-nine boss. Folding my arms, I look down at the floor and mumble, “I told Cat I’d write Dane’s romance.”
“You what now?”
Ignoring her, I collapse into my newly vacant armchair. Philo’s the only person (at Heartrender, anyway) who knows what really happened with Aftermath : how I was originally hired to write Connor White’s romantic arc and ended up failing spectacularly.
“Why would you do that, Andz? You hate writing that stuff!”
“I do not,” I say, not because I think she’ll believe me but because I wish it were true.
“You literally called it, and I quote, ‘a load of Lucky Charms unicorn crap.’ You hate it so much you asked me to hire Cat so you wouldn’t have to ‘waste time and resources on useless drivel.’ ”
“I asked you to hire a temp, not Cat,” I explode, launching to my feet. “You know how impossible she is to work with? Every day she has a new question for me or someone on my team. ‘How might a just Sentinel respond to this? What might a corrupt Sentinel say to that?’ Between babysitting her and everything else, it’s no wonder I can’t get Dane written.”
I’m stretching the truth to its elastic limit. Based on the way Philo’s jaw is ticking, she knows it. I’m not about to back down, though. Clenching my own jaw, I extend an arm, inviting her to leave.
“I’m on a deadline to fix this story and give Brett what he wants, Phi, so if you don’t mind …”
Philo purses her lips. I think she’s about to call me out, but she doesn’t, just marches toward the open door. At the last second, she turns and smiles at me like she feels sorry for me.
“We’re a team, Andz,” she says quietly. “That includes me and Gabe and Dom, but that also includes Cat now too. If …” She falters, then carries on. “If you need help from any of us, just say the word. Like you said, we don’t have much time left.”
With a shrug like she’s done all she can here, she leaves. I hear her zipper up her bag, then watch her make her way across the D-pad to the elevator bank. One by one, the lights flicker on as she passes. When she’s gone, they flicker off again, long minutes later.
My office is a mess, but I hurl myself behind my desk and bring up Dane x Sentinel. The blank page is so blinding I close my eyes. Philo’s right, I know. There are only a handful of weeks left, and between IAX and everything else, I’m running out of time faster than I can say shitballs.
There’s nothing for it. As much as I hate it, if I’m going to get this done, I’m going to need help. Compass Hollow is too important for me to let my own ego get in the way.
My stomach churns, but I open a new email and write, “Dear Cat.”