Page 20 of The Revenge Game
Shit. Why is Justin here? He’s supposed to be in a meeting with his clients from Strikers Sports right now.
My heart lodges somewhere in my throat as my fight-or-flight instincts kick in. Even after all these years, having Justin this close makes me feel like that scared kid again.
He scans the room, his eyes slightly wild with desperation.
When his gaze meets mine, his shoulders drop, relief washing over his face.
He takes a step toward me. “Drew, right?”
“Um…yeah.”
“Thank god you’re here. I really need your help.”
I grip the armrests of my chair as he comes close to me. My face feels frozen in what I hope passes for a helpful-IT-guy expression while the rest of my body thrums like I’ve mainlined one of Xander’s energy drinks.
“What’s the problem?” I manage to keep my voice neutral.
He leans forward, bracing one hand on my desk, his usual grace replaced by barely contained panic.
“I’m supposed to be in a meeting with really important clients. But they called to say they’re stuck in traffic, so I practiced my pitch one last time, and my PowerPoint keeps corrupting.”
Damn. Justin wasn’t supposed to discover my handiwork until he was in the middle of his presentation.
“Can you show me what’s happening?” Really, I should get acting awards for how I manage to keep my expression concerned yet professionally detached.
Justin opens his laptop and clicks to start his presentation. “It starts off fine…” He advances through his introduction slides. “But when I get to the product specifications?—”
The screen flickers, and instead of product details, up pops:Recent searches: Why do my toes look like baby carrots?
Justin makes a strangled noise. “That’s not— I didn’t—” He frantically clicks again, only to haveHow many times can you wear jeans before they walk away by themselves?appear where his market analysis should be.
“So, it’s just displaying your recent search history results?” I ask.
“I swear these aren’t my searches,” he says, his face flushing asIs it weird to have full conversations with my refrigerator?pops up next.
I manage to keep my features schooled in helpful-IT-guy mode while simultaneously suppressing the urge to let out an evil genius laugh.
“Do you mind if I take a look?” I ask.
“Sure.” He pushes his laptop toward me and then starts pacing behind me.
I put a serious frown on my face as I scroll through his presentation, causing a whole lot more search histories to populate the slides.
Why do British people say ‘bloody’ so much?
Why does my belly button smell like that?
Can you get addicted to hand sanitizer smell?
“Don’t worry, I don’t think it’s possible to become addicted to a smell,” I say in my kindest voice.
“I don’t get it. I’ve never searched for these things.” Justin’s voice is full of bewilderment.
“If it helps, I talk to my microwave all the time,” I say.
Justin glances at his watch. “Oh shit, they’re going to be here in ten minutes. These are important clients, and Roger’s trusting me to give the presentation. I don’t want to let him down.”
He claws his hand through his hair as the sound of his ragged breathing fills the office. Suddenly, I’m reminded of myself in high school, hiding in the computer lab during lunch, trying to control my own panic attacks.
