Page 128 of The Nanny and the Nerd
Twenty-Seven
Rowen
Rowen reachedinto his pocket and felt the cool bumps of the delicate seashell as he surveyed the lines of code on his screen. Despite knowing he should get rid of the memento, he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t let go. He couldn’t have Penelope, but he needed something to ease the pain. This tiny shell, this delicate ocean treasure, captured the moment he’d believed that he could be a better man—a man worthy of Penelope Fennimore. He swallowed hard, recalling his harsh words, remembering the exact second when the glimmer of hope in her eyes withered away like a dying flame.
Had the last seven days without her been easy?
Hell no!
Did he want to see her?
For Christ’s sake, YES!
But he couldn’t. He wasn’t strong enough. She’d demolished the walls around his heart, tore them down with her orange blossom scent and sweet smiles.
But he couldn’t have her. The AI-77 disaster proved that.
It was either love or success, and it had to be success. The clawing voice in the back of his head wouldn’t let him have it any other way.
It always won. The ghosts of his past made sure of that. But that didn’t mean the choice was easy.
He was a goddamned wreck.
Usually, he could tune out distractions—out of sight, out of mind. But that had not proved to be the case. No, this pain cut deeper because Penelope loved him. He could picture her face, bathed in the muted moonlight. Golden wisps of hair danced in the breeze as she gazed into his eyes and opened her heart.
And he’d said nothing. Nothing!
It had to be better that way, though, right?
Better for her to deem him a steaming pile of nerdy dog shit than to tell her how he felt. It didn’t matter how much he loved her or how much his heart ached to hold her. His fear of failure overrode the impulse. And he’d almost slipped. Sitting on Delores and Auguste’s porch, watching Penelope simply glow with happiness, he’d thought he could bask in her light. He dreamed she had enough goodness for the both of them, that her radiance could quiet the gnawing voices in his head. But he’d been fooling himself. His only companion was his relenting quest for total control.
Yet he couldn’t stop thinking about her.
Barely a minute would pass before he’d look up from his computer screens, hoping to catch a glimpse of her at the storyboard or steal a glance as she worked with the narrative developers. He closed his eyes, picturing the scene. She’d gotten better at incorporating tech into her process, but she always had her tote with her. Crammed with slips of multi-colored paper, he longed to see her recycling bin of a bag. He yearned to pluck a wayward hot pink sticky note from the ground.
He shook his head, clearing the Penelope Fennimore haze. Jesus! He didn’t have time to mope around like a heartsick teenager!
There was so damned much to do. One hundred sixty-eight hours ago, he’d thought he’d had it made. Sun-drenched, lovestruck, and blinded by bliss, he hadn’t seen this catastrophe coming. He should have had a hard copy saved on a local drive. That had been his fatal error, and there was no one to blame but himself. His name was on the building, and despite some poor kid entering the wrong command, the responsibility fell on his shoulders.
He’d gotten sloppy.
He’d relinquished too much control.
He’d forgotten who he truly was—and that sorry bastard needed to get his shit together.
He had to give one hundred percent—no, one hundred and ten percent at work. The final files were gone, but not everything was lost. For the past week, his team had been working nonstop, sifting through the mountain of old AI-77 files, salvaging what they could. But it was like trying to recreate the Mona Lisa with a paint by numbers kit. The blueprint was there, but without Penelope’s edits, tweaks, and shine. Without her touches, AI-77 was just another shoot-’em-up quest game—a game that was sure to stand in the shadow of whatever Bones Gaming had to debut at the E3 Gaming Expo next week. Exhausted, he took off his glasses and rubbed his bleary eyes as a soft tap on his door caught his attention.
“Come in,” he called, making sure his muted mask was in place.
Jerome opened the door with a bag in one hand and his phone tucked beneath his arm as Phoebe charged into his office.
“I’m bored, Uncle, Row! When are we going to the park?”
“In a little bit. I’m working.” He pointed to the opposite side of his office. “Check out the virtual reality headset. You can play with that before we go.”
Phoebe’s shoulders slumped as she crossed the room at a glacial pace.
“I found her wandering around the first floor,” Jerome said, then belted out a yawn. “Sorry, boss.”
