Page 2 of Playing Games with My Billionaire

I frowned hard at his statement; he should have known better. I was popularly known for my originality. “Mr. Fun and Games.” That’s what the media called me. The idea of having to buy ideas from others didn't sit well with me. I created and designed my games. Period. I spent time working on them, which was what made it all the more satisfying when I got good reviews.

I had the money to buy ideas from people, certainly, irrespective of how many zeros they wanted.

I shook my head. “It’s the principle of the thing. You know that.”

My first game had gone viral, selling worldwide, and it was still downloaded tens of thousands of times a month. The joy and personal satisfaction I got from making my first game app pushed me to dedicate myself to making more fun games from my own original ideas. I had over a dozen games out there, all popular and selling like hotcakes, making us—me—wealthy even in our sleep.

The meeting soon concluded after I snapped at Mark. I was in a foul mood. They had no clear idea of what it meant to be creative. All they cared about was the profit.

And fair enough. Someone’s got to follow the money. They’re all good people. Let them be concerned. That’s their job.

Eric followed me into my office. I knew he had something else on his mind. "Your creative block is bad, huh?" he asked, concern written all over his face.

"It's just so hard to focus. My mind is tired … or something.”

He shot back. "If your routine has killed your spark, change your routine. Your environment. Your activities. You should try taking a break—find somewhere quiet, somewhere simple. It could spark something," Eric said.

Eric was as much a friend as a business partner, so he had the freedom to talk to me more bluntly than others. He never held back, and if I was on a path that he thought seemed wrong, he told me without mincing words. I trusted him. He ran the business well.

"I don't know, man, I don't think now is such a good time to be going on trips," I protested.

"It's not a vacation since you are focused on your creativity. And you won't be going anywhere fancy and crowded."

"You almost sound like you've got a place in mind." I raised a brow at him.

"I might." He smiled.

Chapter 2

Lindsey Gibson

Mondaymorningswerethebusiest. There was always something to do.

It was early, but hey, that's Mondays. I got up, showered, and dressed. I sighed deeply, thinking of how long the day would be.

I heard the counter bell go off downstairs.

And so it begins.

The customer bell was on the reception counter, so I assumed someone wanted to check out. Some would think that my bell was old-fashioned, but I, for one, loved the sound of it. Theding!sound made me think of the money I was about to make.

I went downstairs to attend to business. Two of my guests that had stayed over for the weekend were checking out. The man, Mr. Johnson, was a player. Every weekend without fail, he would bring a different girl from the city to spend time with him. I had lost count of the number of girls I had seen him with when it entered double digits. I never said anything to any of the ladies.

Not like it was my place to do so. Professional innkeeper to the end!

"Thank you for staying at the King’s Oak Lodge. We hope to see you again soon," I said after Mr. Johnson had signed out. I always said “w,” when in fact it was just “me.”

The lady next to him smiled warmly at me, and I smiled back. She was tall, beautiful, and lovely. In all honesty, the women he brought always looked like they were models. I couldn't understand how he attracted such women. Mr. Johnson was a short man, with a pretty substantial pot belly leading the way as he walked. He looked like a politician of old. He had a receding hairline and looked like he was in his early fifties. I was certain he was married, hence his reason for bringing them to my out-of-the-way lodge.

He shot me a look for being friendly with his partner. I wasn't sure why he did that, but I knew I would be seeing him again that weekend. I wasn't against it, as it meant money for me. As soon as they left, I went to the room they stayed in to see to cleaning it, and then on to my other Monday chores.

Guess today may not be all that bad.

The lodge had been my parents’ dream. They had moved to this town from the big city, both quitting their jobs. They had wanted to cater to travelers, and those seeking to be away from their everyday lives. They always prided themselves in the King's Oak Lodge being a home away from home.

For a long time, I never understood the joy on my mother's face when she got a compliment from a satisfied guest until I took up the business. And as a young girl, I also never fully appreciated why my parents would have me learn various tasks involved in operating the Lodge, but I soon found joy in it.

When I was a kid, I always thought the city had so much more to offer and wanted to go there. I hated being stuck in this tiny town.

---