Texting My Secret CEO (Texting The CEO #6)

Chapter 1

DAKOTA

I roll my eyes and shake my head slowly, giving myself time to think of a response.

This comes with the territory of being a gamer girl—basically, any woman online who dares to even look at a video game—and especially a streamer. A big part of my success is how I handle the creeps in my audience.

One option?

Ban the creep outright. Bye-bye, pervert, have fun in the land of the ignored and the restricted. Or I can let him watch, but limit his ability to send messages. But then that makes me think of some weirdo in a dark alleyway somewhere, watching, leering.

“Okay, I’ve considered it,” I say, tapping my chin.

In the bottom left corner of the screen, as an overlay so that I can still see Empire’s Fall’s inventory menu, the stream chat is going nuts. I’ve cultivated a respectful audience… mostly.

A lot of them are posting gravestone emojis, meaning … this guy is getting banned fast. Others are defending me, my usual viewers. One writes:

BellaNova_78: Bro, relax. She’s wearing a hoodie and talking about gearing up for a raid. This isn’t a porn site.

“The proper answer would involve me violently puking into a bucket,” I say, voice cold, but I quickly turn my voice bright again. “But we’ll settle for a simple no, okay, sweetie? Thanks for the donation, but you’re getting the ban guillotine if you send something like that again.”

In the private chat bar above the main chat—a tab only I can see—Mara, my best friend, messages me.

Mara_Bells: Nicely handled.

I grin, my gaze flitting to the photo stuck to the corner of my computer screen. Noah, grinning, beaming, egging me on, with one arm wrapped around me and another around Mara.

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like the control this gave me.

To put it arrogantly—I’m the queen of my stream.

Sure, I might wear sexy outfits sometimes, low-cut tops, booty shorts now and then.

But that’s because I want to. I enjoy the chaos it creates in my audience.

The attention, always safely behind the screen.

Go to hell, Dad.

Mostly, though, I focus on the game. One game. Empire’s Fall.

Another paid message flashes on the screen.

RyderRyder: Dakky, have you farmed all the crests at Emerald Cove yet?

I shake my head. “I’m avoiding that place like the plague,” I say, navigating my character across an icy tundra on the back of my trusty mount, a bear called Paw. “The grind is grinding my brain cells into powder and blowing them away on the wind, chat, I swear. It’s driving me crazy.”

The chat fills up.

RogueStar: LOL.

Johnwhiteassnow: You’ve got a way with words.

GhostTalker: Dakky is ON one.

The hardest part about streaming is being on all the time, actually, but not in the way this viewer means.

He’s British, I know from past messages, and on one means I’m in a mood.

I’ve got five thousand people currently watching, but I’ve put the effort into learning a little about my regulars. Enough to create a genuine rapport.

After two hours of dungeons, I decide it’s time for this stream’s viral moment.

Before I started playing Empire on stream, I never thought of myself as sexy.

Not ugly, either. My self-image was always just sort of…

there. And although there are creeps online, I’ve got to be honest. Sometimes, it helps being a woman with a thick ass and more than a few viewers who would kill to go on a date with me.

Is it fair to call them simps? Am I taking advantage? Or am I just playing the game, like every other streamer on this site?

“Okay, guys, just need to head out for a few minutes,” I tell them. “Try not to go insane with boredom.”

As I stand, my shirt rides down slightly. Just a little. Enough to show a flash of my pink bra before I ‘realize’ what’s happening and adjust it. Adjusting it involves a lot of extra movement, shifting up and down.

The chat lights up. Ogling eyes. A few people commenting that I’m doing it on purpose. Lots of hearts and sweating emojis.

I leave, use the bathroom, then act all innocent when I return.

“Okay, what have I missed?” I ask.

IronCrusher777: You know what you did!

I beam at the camera, looking at the woman in the top right of the screen. Me, but a different version of how I feel offline. My hair, a dark mass of wild curls, framing a face beaming with confidence. Big eyes and a big, loud, not-scared-to-speak-her-mind mouth.

My top is lacy, my cleavage suggestive without being overly in your face.

Mara writes to me privately.

Mara_bells: That was a hook, line, and sinker move. Good job.

I grin, then go back to playing innocent.

“People, please, stop asking about Emerald Cove,” I say as I take my avatar to the bank and store my materials from my run in the wintry tundra-filled wasteland.

NightBolt: IF YOU DON’T DO THE COVE, YOU CAN’T RAID MAGLUSORTH!

I chuckle as the message comes through. “Thanks for the twenty dollars, Sumo Sam. And yeah, you’re right. But the thing is, a lot of us play this game for the sandbox aspect. For the freedom aspect, really.”

The chat:

Cherrymist: Auntie is getting philosophical again…

DarkFurry: She’s so hot when she talks like this.

Foxxy_Foe: Don’t simp, bro.

I like when my regular subscribers call me auntie. It’s like they’re distancing me from any of the online games. The low-cut shirts. The viral moments.

“The Cove is the opposite of freedom. So, until Jackson Cross fixes his game, I’ll be sticking to old content. Even if it means I progress slower and…some of you, sniffle sniffle, abandon me.”

I pout at the screen with an overly sad face.

It’s a little mean, this character I do, especially when I go cross-eyed on purpose.

It’s a parody of a certain kind of streamer, one who relies solely on gooners, on simps, on incels, whatever word one uses.

I flirt with that side of things, use it occasionally to my advantage, but I’m terrified of making it my whole brand.

My personality has to shine too. Or I might as well just do OnlyFans. Not that I’d ever judge anyone for that. It’s just not my thing.

AbyssBliss: Maybe you need a private meeting with Halcyon!

As I absentmindedly guide my flying mount through the skies of the city’s residential district, I chuckle.

“I don’t think the big shots at Halcyon would like what I have to say about this latest expansion.

Don’t get me wrong, folks. I love this game.

I’m attached to this game. For life. But they messed up. Bad.”

One of my longtime subscribers pops in.

HAVOCnight: You’re big enough to get a meeting, Dakky.

Others agree.

SavageQueen99: You could do it.

BowieB: Put them in their places.

SkyBite: They need gamers, not businessmen!

I smile, enjoying their encouragement, until a private moderator message flashes up on the screen. A moderator is someone who monitors my chat and makes sure no one does anything hateful, gross, or otherwise against community standards.

WatchTower: Guessing this is a ban?

My chat moderator asks, with a message attached.

HOTbrAD: You stupid slut, think you’re so clever and hot, I would pour boiling water down your throat and laugh in your fat face as you choked to death.

I quickly type back

DakkyDuck: How did you guess?

WatchTower: Guessing that’s sarcasm?

DakkyDuck: Right-O

I don’t know whether to laugh or scream.

I’ve built a small empire playing Empire’s Fall, but the significance of this video game’s name is not lost on me. My empire could fall just as easily as the one in the game. All it’d take is the weirdos winning. The negative messages outweighing the good.

Then, I might just end it all.

I glance at the photo again. Me, Noah, and Mara. And remember the promise I made.