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When he slid into the seat opposite me, my heart thudded in my back.

“The phone,” he went on, sensing speech was beyond my capabilities. “Looks like it’s permanently attached to your hand. That’s a millennial thing, yeah?”

It took me a moment to realize his insult was, in fact, the second one he’d levelled.

And I didn’t even know him.

Ugh.
I knew that mouth was too good to be true.

“You know, I’m actually meeting someone,” I said in the best Together Payton voice I could muster. Ignoring him—and his sexy, sarcastic mouth—I glanced toward the hostess area.
My lunch meeting better not see me here with this guy…

“I know.”

My gaze snapped back to my companion, who rubbed a thumb across his full lower lip. The movement hijacked my attention faster than an Amazing Race marathon.

He caught me looking and smiled, smug and a little feral.

“Max Donovan. Nice to meet you.”

Chapter 2

Let it out

Hold up.
This
was my lunch meeting?

Instead of flinching under my surprised gaze, he raised the eyebrow with the barbell. The move was undoubtedly code for,
Are you going to stop being a fucking weirdo anytime soon
?

I scrambled to regroup. “My apologies for the confusion. It’s been a…strange day. What can Alliance Financial do for you?” I took a sip of water, praying it would reset my brain.

“Money.” Donovan leaned in, and the bright light from outside glinted off the barbell when he turned his head. My body tightened. I vowed to have a talk with it later about bad choices.

I pulled out my notepad. “What kind of loan are we talking about?”

“Twenty million.” 

“What?” Heads turned from the nearest tables at the disbelief in my voice. My companion smirked. “I mean—I’m sorry. I’m not sure I heard you right.”
Get it together, Payton.

“It’s a two. With seven zeros,” he added helpfully, holding up his middle and index fingers.

I blinked.

“Maybe
you’re
in the wrong place. I thought you were from a bank—” He glanced at a scribbled Post-it note he pulled out of his pocket. “Patty Blake.”

“Payton,” I corrected.

A lazy smile split his face, leaving a dimple deep enough to collect rain water. “Right.”

My spidey sense was all kinds of tingling. Aside from his attitude, something was seriously wrong. No one walked into a lunch meeting with me asking for that kind of money. That, coupled with the fact that he was the only guy there not wearing a suit, added up to something very strange…

Avery’s snide comments doubting my ability to bring in enough business came back to me.

He’s playing a prank
. Avery had set me up and enlisted whatever college friend he’d convinced to dupe me as punishment for my promotion.

The realization hit me as hard as the door had.

It made perfect sense. Sick, twisted sense.

Let it out.

Instead I swallowed, gripping tighter at my self-control despite the steam heating between my ears. “What would you like twenty million dollars for?” Professional Payton inquired in a discreet voice.

He barked out a half-laugh that was too loud for the cafe. “I’m not sharing anything without a non-disclosure agreement.”

I couldn’t stop the words that slipped out. “And what exactly do you have that needs legal protection, Mr. Donovan, the state champion chili recipe?”

Donovan leaned toward me, a spark deep in his eyes. “It’s the beans,” he whispered.

“What?”

“Chili. It’s all about the beans. Listen, Patty—”

“
Payton.”
My fingernails dug into my palm under the table.

“—I called Alliance because I need a loan. Not some college co-ed on a break between classes.”

If I’d ever wondered how many assholes it took to crack me? Now I knew for sure.

Because whether it was the morning, or running into the door, or the insults, my control snapped like an elastic yanked past its breaking point.

“I might be wearing a skirt,
Mr
. Donovan,” I bit out, “but I am perfectly qualified to approve loans. And believe me when I say there is no way I’m going to extend one to you for something we don’t know anything about. So if you’re not ready to play show and tell, you are wasting your time and mine.” I shoved back from the table. 

Donovan lifted his chin, eyes amused on mine. “Wait a sec. Lunch is on you, right?”

I turned and stomped for the exit.

“Do you need me to get the door?” he called after me.

By the time I got back to the office, my blood pressure had leveled off and my stomach was regretting the dramatic exit. I grabbed a bag of pretzels and a slushy from the cafeteria.

“Thanks, Hot Martin.” He’d bestowed the nickname on himself and we all went along with it. The short, stocky kid who worked here during the days while he wrote poetry at night wasn’t going to be gracing the cover of
Men’s Fitness
anytime soon, but he was sweet.

“Can you take this to Charlie?” Martin’s beefy hands passed me a chocolate chip cookie.

“Sure thing.”

“Tell her I worship her like the rain worships the trees?” His puppy eyes glassed over.

“Will do.”

“Her smile is the rainbow I want to last forever. Her eyes are the rarest gems I’d never sell. Her ass—”

“You got it.” I covertly stashed my pretzels and the cookie in my purse.

Associates probably didn’t hoard carbs, but I was new and there was bound to be a learning curve. Especially after the day I’d had.

I stepped into the elevator alone, taking the opportunity to look critically in the mirror. Sure enough, a nice bump was starting to rise from my forehead.

On top of that, there was a giant run in my stockings. It looked like some ninja had sliced me from ankle to hip.

All this, and it’s barely twelve-thirty.

I grabbed Charlie at her cubicle and pulled her into my office. “You won’t believe what happened,” I said when I’d shut the door behind us.

“Uhhh…Hot Martin gave me a cookie?”

“It’s like you’re psychic.” She took the cookie I passed her before I collapsed into the chair behind my desk. “He says your ass is a diamond he wants to worship in the rain. Or something like that.”

“Huh. Haven’t got that one before.” Charlie broke the cookie in half, handed me one, and ate her piece in two bites. “They refilled the watermelon slushy machine?”

I nodded, taking a long sip of my drink. “Yeah.”

“No one drinks that but you, Payton. It’s disgusting.”

“Watermelon is the ideal fruit. Like candy and nature made the perfect baby.”

“There is nothing natural in that cup.”

“Well, it’s cheaper than therapy. Anyway, that’s not why we need to talk.” I shot her a guilty look. “I might have…let it out.”

Her eyes shone. “Why wasn’t I there to see it? And—oh my God—what happened to your face?”

I caught her finger mid-air before she could poke at my forehead. “My lunch meeting was a setup. You should’ve seen this guy, Charlie. He was a punk. The money he asked for would be my whole year’s business. Someone’s screwing with me. Probably Avery.”

Charlie frowned, tapping her finger against perfectly glossed lips. “As much as I blame him for everything from circus carnies to climate change…this is about your M. Donovan?”

“Yeah. He said his name was Max and… Why are you looking at me like that?”

Charlie disappeared, returning a moment later to drop an open magazine on my desk. “Max Donovan.”

I looked at the picture, confused. “That’s George Clooney.”

“No. Here.” She pointed to a column next to it, with no photo. “I was doing some research after you left--”

“
People
?”

“Research,” she agreed emphatically. “And here’s what I found.”

Enigmatic game developer Max Donovan shattered expectations and records two years ago with his indie hit, Oasis. Titan Games, the studio he founded, is reported to be working on the follow-up to be released in the next year. Donovan, not known for his warmth with the media, declined comment. The only hint we have is a statement issued by Titan’s chief legal counsel Riley McKay: “Stay hungry, sportsfans.”

My brain was moving as fast as my high school boyfriend after a plate of pot brownies. “So wait. You’re telling me that the kid I met an hour ago…he’s legit?”

“He might be a punk. But he’s Straight-Outta-Compton.”

“Hold that thought,” I said numbly as the phone on my desk rang. “Hi Jamie.” 

Unlike Armand, the other senior director in our group had always been kind to me. Jamie started looking out for me a couple of years ago when I’d helped his team get through a really busy period by working a ton of extra overtime and helping talk the newest staff members through it. He’d been the one to put me up for this promotion.

“Payton.” Jamie’s voice warmed the line and I could picture his easy smile on the other end. “Thanks for taking my lunch with Max Donovan. Did you get the file information with the invitation? I know the new system is a mess, but Jane assured me it would work.”

“Right.”

Dear technology,

              Screw you.

                            Love, Payton

“Great. I know there wasn’t much info, but he called me out of the blue last week.” My stomach dropped like an elevator free-falling. “Max is unconventional but I figured you’d hit it off. He’s a perfect fit with Alliance’s new focus on technology.”

“Of course,” I managed.

“So, did you charm him like you always do? I got the sense it would be at least a seven-figure deal.”

Try eight figures. All of which are now evaporating like smoke.

“I, ah, need to follow up with him. We had an interesting conversation. About beans.”

“Beans? I won’t ask.” Jamie chuckled. “Listen, I know you have aspirations in this new role. I don’t need to tell you that landing a client like Max Donovan would be the best possible start. That’s why I sent him to you.”

I rubbed my temples, wincing when I hit a spot too close to the swelling on my forehead. “Of course. Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

I hung up before letting loose a groan worthy of a linebacker getting thrown to the turf. Donovan was an ass. But I’d been unprofessional, letting Avery and Armand get to me. Now I’d blown my first big assignment on my first day.

“Your meeting couldn’t have been that bad,” Charlie piped up from across my desk. “I’ve seen you. Your letting it out is probably my best behavior.”

“I wish it was.” I replayed my exchange with Donovan in my mind.

Charlie’s expression was wistful. “Next time wait for an audience, OK?” Her head tilted. “Do you think someone caught it on their phone? Maybe I can find it on YouTube.”

“I don’t think it’s on YouTube, Charlie.”

But I knew one thing: I would not be letting it out again.

Ever.

Charlie reached to take my half of her cookie, which was untouched on my desk, and popped it into her mouth. “So what’re you going to do now?” she asked once it was gone.

I glanced at the picture of my mom again, determination taking the place of shame.  I needed this deal.

“I have no idea,” I admitted.

Chapter 3

Is that a Magic 8 Ball?

Max Donovan’s client file, when I finally got it from Jamie’s assistant, didn’t help much.

First: he made video games.

Second: he was working on a new one and needed money.

Third and most importantly: he had an address. The problem was that it didn’t look like a work address.

Desperate times
.

I deferred my only afternoon meeting, then raced out the door. Charlie leapt up from her cubicle with the reflexes of a ninja as I passed.

“Hey! I’m making the reservation for Thursday. Please tell me you’re coming for drinks this week.”

I winced.

“Payton…” Her expression darkened. “Don’t you remember what happens Thursdays? As in Throwdown Thursday at Tilt? In case you can’t remember, it’s—”

“I know, I know!”

Charlie, the unofficial social director at work, rounded up the twenty- and thirty-something Alliance staff for Thursday drinks at an upscale place down the street. The invitation was always for a couple of hours, but nearly everyone stayed longer. Thursday drinks inevitably led to Friday hangovers. And between Thursday drinks and Friday hangovers were any number of indiscretions, both public and private, that led to averted gazes, awkward run-ins, and
are these your panties?
moments at work.

I hadn’t gone in a few weeks, and Charlie was starting to get testy.

“I should really go to Pilates…” I tried lamely.

“Your Pilates membership expired. It came through your email.”

Dammit.

“OK. I’ll try. But first, I need to get this Donovan thing fixed.”

“Fine. But listen to me, Payton. I know that I’m your best friend and you’re totally grateful to have me. But…you might want to think about getting out more. I’ll always be there for you, but I want to make sure you’re looked after. You know, when I’m married to Liam Hemsworth and we have four kids and an alpaca farm in Belize.”

I smiled at her good intentions. “Understood. Thanks, Charlie.”

I crossed town in my Prius, just beating rush hour traffic.

Donovan’s address turned out to be a sleek mid-rise apartment building, new compared to the brownstones that peppered Boston. The concierge desk inside the front doors sheltered the biggest man I’ve ever seen. Panic rose up until I caught sight of the little TV next to the surveillance screens.

“Hey, is that
Anchorman
? I love that movie. Will Ferrell kills me.” I flashed a smile. “I’m Payton Blake, here to see Mr. Donovan. I’m from his bank. He’s expecting me.”

Shit. Why did I say he was expecting me? I’m going to get kicked out. Or maybe killed.

The man reached for the phone, murmuring inaudibly into it. After a long moment, he grunted something as he hung up. “You can go up.”

My gaze flicked to his nametag. “Thanks, Ronnie.”

I shifted anxiously in the elevator. When it opened into a long hall with just two doors, I wondered if I’d gotten the address wrong. But sure enough, 1101 was the first door.

I knocked. “Mr. Donovan?”

I turned the door handle, surprised when it gave.

Who the hell leaves their door unlocked, even in a controlled building?

The foyer was black marble and looked more like a spaceship than someone’s home. A giant mirror reflected me back at myself.

“Mr. Donovan?” I called again.

A hall went down one side and a kitchen was straight ahead. I took off my shoes and started through the kitchen full of professional-grade appliances that looked like they’d never produced so much as a slice of toast. Just past the breakfast bar at one end, the space opened up into a living room that was three times the size of mine.

The ceiling was recessed in a square with accent lighting along the inside edge. A sunken area with a giant white leather sectional couch was centered in front of a slate fireplace. Over the fireplace was a theatre-sized TV.

Holy shit. I should’ve gone into gaming.

Two doors off the living room caught my attention. I crossed to the open one and peered inside, holding my breath.

Most powerful guys had their desks facing the door. Max Donovan’s looked over the skyline. Floor-to-ceiling windows revealed a stunning view of the Charles. Three giant monitors, each with black displays and white letters on them, sat between Donovan and the glass.

“Mr. Donovan, your concierge buzzed me up.” I hesitated. “Did you know your front door was open?”

The guy from the restaurant swivelled to face me, leaning back in his chair. Hard eyes made me want to shift but I shoved down the impulse.

Donovan looked more intimidating here than in Geraldo’s. Despite the hardwood and high ceilings, he was relaxed. This was his turf, and he was waiting for me to make the first move.

Probably so he could ambush me.

Silence stretched between us. “Your home is…amazing,” I said finally. My voice practically echoed in the room.

“It works. I need to be close to Titan’s developers.” One sock-clad foot tapped the floor.

“Your staff work under the floorboards?”

A dark eyebrow rose. “They’re on ten.”

“Of course.” I shook off the embarrassment and started the words I’d rehearsed in the car. “Listen, I think we got off to a rocky start. It was an honest mistake. It must happen to you sometimes.”

You know. Because you’re an asshole
.

When Donovan spoke, his tone had a new edge. “Usually it’s old guys with Rolexes who judge me for how I look. I didn’t expect it from you.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t expect it from you either.” A flicker of awareness crossed his face. “If you’d cared to ask, you’d have found out Alliance sent me because I’m qualified, and I’m most definitely not a college co-ed.”

He shifted in his chair. “Fine. Congratulations on being smarter than you look. But I hope you didn’t come all the way down here to educate me.”

In anyone else’s office I’d have been offended not to be offered a seat, but here, there wasn’t anywhere to sit anyway. The only furniture besides his desk and a chair was a built-in bookcase that ran the length of one wall and a pool table off to the side.

I indulged in a brief fantasy of taking the pool cue from the rack on the wall and stabbing him with it.

“Mr. Donovan, I want—no, actually I need—your business. What can I do to get it?”

“I’m don’t want your money.” The defiant angle of his chin told me what I was already figuring out: the guy had a chip on his shoulder the size of the iceberg in
Titanic
.

I’d learned more about him from the internet once I had his full name. Max Donovan had exploded onto the gaming scene with his debut release. Oasis was a medieval game about a band of lost underdogs trying to find their way to a new home, but it had been praised for its graphics, storytelling, and gameplay.

Whatever that meant.

What I did understand was that it had grossed fifty million dollars in the last two years. Even if its creator was called “cold” and “distant” in the same breath as “genius” and “visionary.”

The thing was, if he’d come knocking on our door for a loan, he had to need us.

Maybe not as much as we needed him, but he didn’t know that.

“Mr. Donovan,
Tech Magazine
called you a prodigy. The future of gaming. But Oasis came out two years ago. That was then and this is now. As an entrepreneur, every project is new. It carries the promise of reward but also risk. We can get you the support and funding to move forward.”

Donovan steepled his fingers together and reclined in his chair, the t-shirt following the long, hard lines of his chest and shoulders. It should’ve been hard not to be distracted by the window porn—nothing but sky and water and trees and land peppered with roofs—but I found myself watching him instead.

“What’s your favorite game?” he asked finally.

“Chess.” I knew I’d answered wrong almost the second I’d said it. “Oh! You mean video game. Pac-Man?”

The low groan sounded like it was ripped from him. His head fell back, eyes to the ceiling like he couldn’t bear to look at me any longer. “Tell me you’re joking.”

Despite his words, the smallest flicker of hope lit in my gut. I took another step into the room, the hardwood cool under my bare feet.

“I may not be a video game expert, but that’s your job. I know financing inside and out because that’s mine.”

Donovan eyed me guardedly before reaching to lift a black globe off his desk.

“Is that…”
Jesus.
“Is that a Magic 8 ball?”

“Yep.” He shook it lazily a couple of times before flipping it.

He makes his decisions with a Magic 8 ball?

Or maybe this was just a performance for my benefit.

I shifted on my feet while he pondered whatever mystical juju the ball put forward, the ball resting lightly in his fingers. The muscles in his forearms flexed lightly, and I knew he had to lift something besides video game controllers.

Not that I cared.

Donovan’s gaze finally flicked up to mine, shots of caramel glinting from somewhere deep inside. “I’m sending you something. Do that. Then we’ll talk.”

He turned back to his monitors like I’d never been there.