Page 119 of The Nanny and the Nerd
Jerome peered out at the ocean as if the vast expanse of water could do a damned thing to help. “An incorrect command was input and—”
Rowen’s blood turned to ice. “How much did we lose?” he bit out. The wrong command could wipe the servers clean. And with the incorrect stroke of a key, every line of code, each audio track, and every edit they’d made could disappear. He watched his assistant closely. The man’s ashen expression gave away the answer.
What next? What now?
Focus on one thing, Rowen.
He exhaled a slow breath, trying to cope.
He regulated his breathing. On the outside, his appearance was as subdued as a sheet of ice. On the inside, he was trapped under that impenetrable slab, drowning, gasping for air, digging his nails into the frozen surface, desperate for control.
“I don’t understand?” Penelope murmured.
He stared at her, his lifeline, his salvation.
He could hear her speak the words.
I love you, Rowen Gale.
He’d never expected to build a life with anyone. But there she was. Worry and concern welled in her eyes. Yet, he was sinking. The dark, icy waters swallowed him whole as her voice faded into the background.
“How much did we lose?” he repeated.
“We lost the entire E3 demo. Everything is gone,” Jerome answered as if his mouth were crammed with razor blades.
“I need to be clear about this, Jerome. The final files, including the demo our beta testers have been playing, are gone. The version with the edits no longer exists.” The words shot from his mouth in rapid-fire succession. There was no time to pussyfoot around it. He needed the information.
Jerome stared at his phone. “Yes, the guys are combing through everything, searching for a hidden driver or a laptop with the final demo saved to its hard drive. But as of right now, they’re coming up empty-handed.”
Rowen crossed his arms as a thick tightness settled in his chest. “Does Bones Gaming know? Word travels fast. It only takes one person with loose lips.”
“As far as we know, only the senior development team has this information,” Jerome answered.
Penelope pressed her hand to her heart. “How could this have happened? I don’t understand. How could everything be gone?” she mused, which amped up the chaos churning inside him.
“I don’t have the time to explain this to you, Penelope,” he said, his voice a low rasp.
“Penelope,” she whispered. He’d caught it, too. She searched his eyes, looking for the man she loved. But he was gone. Or maybe he never existed. A pipe dream. An illusion. “I want to help, Rowen,” she continued, her words laced with heart-wrenching bewilderment.
“You’re a writer, Penelope,” he said, again using her full name. He had to separate himself from the naive version of Rowen Gale. The Rowen Gale who was pretending he could be more. The sucker who’d believed he could be the man Penelope and Phoebe deserved.
He couldn’t. This moment made the possibility of that crystal clear.
He steadied himself. “You’ve added scenes, reworked sequences, and changed some dialogue. A bunch of pretty words won’t save the demo. In fact, had we not made your changes and stayed the course with the original version, this wouldn’t have happened. I wouldn’t have had anyone in there reconfiguring the system.”
She took a step back. “Are you saying this is my fault—that the changes I suggested made this happen?”
He looked away, unable to take the pain shining in her eyes. “I’m saying that I ran a much tighter ship before you arrived. There was order and systems in place. Then you showed up with your barrage of sticky notes, and it went off the rails.”
“You don’t mean that. We made AI-77 better. And we did it together,” she answered, voice trembling. “I know you, Rowen. I know your heart. You—”
A phone pinged, cutting off Penelope’s shaky reply. He turned to Jerome. Jesus! He’d almost forgotten the man was there.
“What is it now, Jerome?” he asked.
“Just an update—they haven’t found anything,” the man answered. “What do you want to do, Rowen?”
What did he want? He wanted to go back in time and take back the control he’d surrendered.
