Chapter 4
JACKSON
For two nights in a row, I boot up the website on a guest account—meaning she doesn’t know I’m watching—and lose myself in Dakota’s stream. It’s a stressful couple of days with back-to-back meetings, merchandising, and shareholder bull and, apparently, anything except working on the actual game.
Her message plays on repeat in my head. Not just as I’m watching her stream, but all day long. If she was going to fall for a viewer… she’d fall for me. Part of watching is to convince myself I’m not that interested.
But hell—just look at her. This evening, she’s wearing a T-shirt with a picture of her Empire’s Fall character on it. I can just about see the outline of her bra. She framed her eyes in dark makeup, and her hair is styled in soft waves.
She’s gorgeous, no doubt there. Maybe not what people would call conventionally attractive. But looking at her with her big, brown big eyes, bright smile, and her curvy, flawless figure. I’m convinced the conventions need to be torn down.
Outwardly, Dakota is confident. There aren’t any obvious signs, ever, that any of the messages or interactions make her uncomfortable. She’s poised and always ready. But there are little moments. Tightening of her features. A half-roll of her eyes before she catches herself.
I’m fighting the urge to message her again. I’m the CEO and the creator. How would it look? Even if I wanted to make a move on her, would it be fair? She might just get with me because of who I am.
For now, I just watch her. It’s easier this way. I lost my cool last time. She was right to call me triggered. She criticized my creative decisions with surgical precision. The worst part? I couldn’t refute a single word.
“Guys,” she says, with a playful huff that sounds annoyed to me.
“For the thousandth time, no, I don’t have a boyfriend.
” A pause. “Why not?” She shrugs. “I don’t know.
Why do I need one, huh? I’ve got my own place and a career.
” Another pause as she reads the chat. “But don’t you get lonely at night?
Okay, calm down. This is your daily reminder to go touch grass, my guy. ”
I chuckle, but there’s a dark edge to it. She handles it well, always, every time a man says something like that. But it still annoys me more than it should.
“If she gets lonely at night,” I growl under my breath, “she doesn’t need you, you bastard.”
I should laugh at myself. Getting angry at these guys for gaping at her online when that’s exactly what I’m doing. But there’s something interesting about her. Special. Something that keeps me coming back.
On the third night, I use my Creator account again, meaning she’ll be able to see I’m watching… if she bothers to look. She’d have to notice me in the midst of the seven thousand people currently watching.
Tonight, she’s in Emerald Cove, which makes me smile at first. Perhaps she’s finally going to give it a chance. Ten minutes later, the smile is gone. She’s an excellent player, dodging and parrying at the right times, able to handle large groups of enemies, all with different attacks.
As she’s in the middle of one particularly intense fight, somebody pays to send a message.
Bigman49: I love the way she purses those pretty lips when she uses smite.
No joke. I start to shake. Not a lot. Not like a comic book character who’s going to explode. But not unlike that either. Both my hands curl into tight fists, my vision clouding. Instantly, I wish I were there to slap some sense into whoever sent that message.
And the fucked-up part? Yeah, she does have a pretty way of pouting when she’s concentrating. But he doesn’t need to reduce her whole fucking stream down to that. It’s even more insulting because he only donated one dollar, the minimum amount required to send a paid message.
Fuck it.
I donate a thousand bucks with the message.
TheRealCreator: To the boy who wrote the previous message: get off the goddamn internet.
Dakota’s eyes go saucer-wide when she sees the amount I’ve donated, then widen again when she sees the message.
I lean forward. Just another fan in her legion of viewers. Obsessed with every tiny change in her expression.
“Thank you, Creator,” she says, looking directly at the camera. Smile fixed in place…her eyes creasing at the edges, a subtle narrowing like I noticed the first time. The corner of her lip twitches as though she knows, without confirmation, that I noticed it.
“Okay, everyone,” she says a moment later. “This has been a great stream, as per. I’d like to say a special thank you to all my regular viewers, and especially for the donations and subscribers! Don’t fall, folks, and you can build yourself an empire!”
When she logs off, I sit back with a sigh. I didn’t know I’d caught her at the tail-end of the stream.
When her message comes through, my mood changes. Instantly. It doesn’t make sense. She’s like a drug. This stranger. This flawless, beautiful woman.
Calm the fuck down, I chastise.
DakkyDuck: Please tell me a way I can send this money back.
I smirk at her message. I don’t know anything about her except what I can see on her stream, but somehow, I think… of course. She wants to send the money back. She doesn’t want to profit that much from a single donation.
TheRealCreator: That’s not going to happen, beautiful.
DakkyDuck: I don’t want to take advantage of a vulnerable person.
TheRealCreator: What makes you think I’m a vulnerable person, Dakota?
DakkyDuck: You’re donating what must be a large proportion of your income to a streamer you don’t know. Don’t get me wrong. I love being rewarded for my work. But this is just silly.
TheRealCreator: If it makes you feel any better, I’m richer than any one person deserves to be. Honestly, Dakota, the money’s better off in your hands than mine.
DakkyDuck: Did you rob a bank or something?
TheRealCreator: Or something.
DakkyDuck: Now I’m even MORE curious!
I chuckle.
TheRealCreator: You deserve that donation just for putting up with so many freaks.
DakkyDuck: Some are freaks, sure. But some are just nice people who don’t have the social skills to phrase their compliments very well. It’s not fair to lump them in altogether.
TheRealCreator: You’re more understanding than me.
DakkyDuck: You don’t need a lot of patience with your job?
TheRealCreator: Are you fishing, Dakota? Trying to find out more about the viewer you can imagine falling for?
DakkyDuck: I told you, that wasn’t about you!
TheRealCreator: Then you better tell me who this lucky man is so I can find him.
DakkyDuck: Oh yeah? And do what, huh?
TheRealCreator: Explain to him calmly and logically that he needs to back the fuck off.
DakkyDuck: LOL. That sort of thing could get you blocked. And yes, I was fishing, actually. So, take the bait.
I grin. She’s keeping me in line, talking about bans, despite the fact I just donated a thousand dollars to her. That says a lot about her character. Many streamers would say whatever they think I want to hear after that.
TheRealCreator: My job requires patience. But it’s a lofty goal I don’t always reach. Or ever, honestly. At the start of my career, impatience was my superpower. I had to get things done—yesterday. Now? It’s meetings, boardrooms, and conference calls. The spirit is gone.
I regret the message the moment it’s sent. I shouldn’t even be watching her streams, let alone speaking with her, let alone hinting at who I am. I can just see the headline now…
Power Imbalance: His Empire Fell When He Fell for the Streamer.
Or something more vicious. Something about me being a desperate forty-two-year-old man who couldn’t keep his hands out of the cookie jar.
DakkyDuck: Would you care to get more specific?
TheRealCreator: I can’t. Which isn’t fair, Dakota. You’ve got every right to tell me to go to hell.
DakkyDuck: You work for Halcyon. I know that for a fact.
I grind my teeth.
TheRealCreator: Is that so, you beautiful detective?
DakkyDuck: You don’t want me to know who you are, but you’re happy to call me beautiful? Does that seem fair?
TheRealCreator: You want to see a picture of me, eh?
DakkyDuck: It only seems fair.
I swallow. Knowing this might be the end. I might be reading this wrong.
What if she doesn’t find this thrilling and exciting, but instead thinks I’m the king of the creeps?
TheRealCreator: I can’t show you my face. But I can show you something that proves I’m real. Give me a phrase, random, anything you can think of.
DakkyDuck: Please don’t send me an unsolicited dick pic.
TheRealCreator: I’m keeping it above the waist, beautiful.
DakkyDuck:
Her message sends a jolt of heat through me. She’s responding, then. She feels it too somehow.
DakkyDuck: Okay, NOW I’m interested, stranger. Uh, my phrase? How about today’s date, with a drawing of two people shaking hands written underneath it?
TheRealCreator: What if I can’t draw?
DakkyDuck: Something tells me you CAN draw.
TheRealCreator: What’s that supposed to mean?
DakkyDuck: If you’re allowed to be mysterious. Then so am I!
She’s right. I grab a sheet of paper from the desk drawer and quickly write the date, then sketch out the image beneath it. Once that’s done, I stride into the bathroom, tear off my shirt, and hold the paper in front of my face as I take a picture.
Excitement courses through me. A thrill I haven’t felt since the early days of coding my game. I know this could backfire. Big time. CEO sends inappropriate photo to streamer… Another headline. But—fuck it. Don’t I get to live too?
I send the photo, then sit at my desk, wishing I’d brought one of my tennis balls home.