Page 60 of The Nanny and the Nerd
“I am. Now read it. Or would you prefer I email it to you so you could read it off a computer screen?” She hadn’t planned on being a sassy bitch—okay, she had—only not for improving the man’s video game.
Rowen huffed. “Everything can’t fall on AI-77,” he parroted back, then met her gaze. “Why not?” he asked, with genuine curiosity lacing the question, as his demeanor shifted from aloof to interested.
She dialed back the sassy bitch. “Because that’s not what makes a story work.” She gestured to the board. “Right now, each scene reads like a laundry list of tasks to complete. Kill the Robo-dragon, cross the sea of lava, evade the cyber archers, blah, blah, blah. It’s all on AI-77. Then he grabs the princess, and they move on to the next challenge. But what if he didn’t have to do it alone?”
“Multi-player might be the way to go, boss,” Boomer called from a nearby workstation. She caught the man’s eye, and he gave her a covert thumbs-up. Excitement sparked in her chest. Despite her total lack of video game knowledge, it appeared her suggestions couldn’t be completely off base—especially if one of the developers liked it.
“More characters would add a rich, new dimension to the story and to the game,” she added, primarily for emphasis because she was winging the hell out of this conversation.
Rowen didn’t respond, but he also didn’t glare or growl or tell her to mind her own damn business. She took the opening and kept going. “I’d also suggest you make Princess Amelia an integral part of the game and the narrative. She doesn’t have to be a helpless half-dressed maiden. She could play a part in the quest and be an equal to AI-77.”
“That would definitely increase engagement with women,” Goose added.
Rowen glanced over at the developers, then back to the board.
Was he considering it?
She observed as he crossed his arms and stared at her notes. The wheels in his head were turning. She wasn’t sure if they’d crank out an answer that would get her banned from entering the Gale Gaming building or if he saw merit in her ideas.
She twisted a lock of hair around her finger and waited as Rowen methodically read note after sticky note. Nervously, she shifted her stance as the boob sweat returned. She might not have added to her work-in-progress, but she’d written. She’d penned more in the last few hours than she had in the last few months—a feat in itself. But this was different. As she watched Rowen devour every word she’d written, she felt naked—exposed. She’d never shared her work with anyone when it was as raw and as untouched as this. But the ideas had poured out of her. Still, it wasn’t her place to suggest anything. And as much as she thought she was helping, AI-77 wasn’t hers to change.
And there it was—the doubt and dread that had brought on her writer’s block that had haunted her these past few months. She could rack up her silly, unwanted crack at tweaking the AI-77 narrative to, as good old Thomas Edison would say, being one of her ten thousand attempts to succeed that haven’t worked.
“I can take down my notes. It was a mistake to interfere,” she said, reaching for a cluster of hot pink papers when, for the second time today, he touched her. Entwining his fingers with hers, he caught her hand before it made contact with the board.
“Leave them. Don’t touch a thing,” he rasped.
If she were firing on all cylinders, she’d remove her hand from his grip, but she didn’t. “Are you sure?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper.
He gestured with his chin toward a slip of paper she’d pulled from her tote and taped to the board. “This arrow might have pierced my heart, but you’re the one who’s stolen it. That’s from your story, Penelope.”
“It fits better with yours,” she answered, searching his eyes for a sign—anything that would reveal what was going on between them when their phones pinged at the same time. The piercing alarm brought her back. She broke away, then reached into her tote to silence the beeping.
“That’s my alarm. I set it, so I’ll know when to leave to pick up—”
“Phoebe,” he finished.
“That’s right,” she answered, unable to hide her surprise.
He stared at the flip phone. “You’re not using the phone I gave you?”
“My old phone works just fine,” she answered, holding his gaze. “Did you set an alarm for Phoebe, too?”
He touched one of the notes tacked to the board. “I set an alarm because I know, that in twenty-six minutes, I’ll see her. I’ll see both of you.”
What?
“I don’t understand, Rowen.”
He scrubbed his hands down his jawline. “There’s a security camera at the gate. I can monitor it from my phone. That’s where I’ve seen you both this week. Yesterday, you two were singing when you passed through.”
“We were,” she answered, blown away that he’d kept tabs on them. She’d written the man off as an aloof workaholic, an absent guardian going through the motions. Could she have been wrong? Catching a glimpse of them was a strangely sweet gesture—emphasis on the strangely but still awkwardly charming.
“That’s not creepy, is it?” he asked with a crease to his brow.
She chewed her lip. It was a pretty creepy admission—like showing up outside a bar and standing there like a wayward sentinel. But the earnestness in his eyes cut through the super-stalker factor unless…
She gasped. “There aren’t any other cameras hidden around the house that you’ve been monitoring, are there?”
