“You could say that about everyone in Cerium, including us,” I laugh. The incidence of quirky characters in this game studio, from the boss down, is high. I don’t know if it’s typical of the industry because I’ve never worked for another studio. But here, it’s definitely true.
Rob’s departure leaves space for Steve. Unlike Rob, who keeps his head down, careful to avoid inadvertent eye contact as he exits, Steve ambles into the break room, stopping at random tables, a word here, a joke there, a fist bump or two. Steve is a producer. Producers bring everything together — creative, technical and business — to make a successful product. Which really means they bringeveryonetogether.
Instead of moving on when they get to us, Steve pulls out the empty chair and drops into it with the casual ease of someone who is confident of their welcome everywhere. As they sit, Ginny winks at me. The others return Steve’s greeting with a warmth Rob could only envy. Everyone regards them as a nice person, not averse to bribing support staff with a packet of chocolate fingers when they want something expedited. It probably makes them the most popular individual in the company. After Anders.
But as Steve slides a tray of sushi and a bottle of kombucha onto the table, I wrap up my lunch debris and stand up. Noticing my departure, they look up.
“Have a great time tonight,” they say.
Eyebrows furrow around the table and all heads turn to me. “What’s happening tonight?” Ginny asks.
This is why I hate to lie. Lies breed. One little lie leads to more and more.
Steve blithely answers for me. “Cora’s going to a birthday dinner with a good friend.”
“Who?” Ginny demands, scepticism painting her tone. Over the course of our three-year acquaintance, she’s aware of most of my friends by reputation.
“No-one you know. See you later.” I rush my farewell and hurry out of the room, even as I hear Steve being interrogated.
My phone vibrates. A quick glance at the screen shows a text from Ginny.Is it a date?Are you FINALLY going on a date?
I’m careful not to open the message or in any way indicate I’ve seen it. Plausible deniability.
My curtailed lunch break isn’t just due to Steve. There is a critical business meeting this afternoon and I want to make sure everything is set up and ready for the heads of studio, publishing and marketing, production and technology.
With arms full, I let myself into the meeting room. After depositing bottles of fizzy and still water on the table, I lay out glasses. Platters of doughnuts are strategically positioned next to flasks of tea and coffee on the side. I make sure the tech is working before standing back to give everything a last visual check. I’ve long since learned to trust my intuition. If something feels off, it usually is.
Marnie is the head of studio, which incorporates art, audio, design, and narrative. She is the first to arrive. At fifty, she’s the oldest person in the company. She asks about my day as she takes her seat. The others file in, each with a greeting, a nod or a smile. Anders arrives, talking into his phone, but he casts a grateful smile in my direction. Last comes Piotr, Ginny’s boss and lover, the head of publishing and marketing, and trailing in his wake is Scarlett.
“Cora, good to see you,” Piotr smiles and moves past me to grab a doughnut and make himself a tea.
“Coffee,” Scarlett says to me as she enters. “Black, no sugar.”
I’m a little surprised by the curt instruction but I limit my reaction to a quirk of an eyebrow. I pick up a cup and fill it. Just as I put the drink in front of her, Anders ends his call and attention shifts to him.
“Thank you, Cora,” he says as I shut the room door and take a seat at my laptop. He always says it. But this time, his words act as a trigger, and a tendril of warmth sneaks down my spine, spreading through my body. It’s an odd reaction on my side. Maybe it's the contrast between his words and Scarlett’s behaviour. I drop my gaze to my computer in case the heat is showing in my face. This is not the place to appear affected.
“You all know why we’re here,” Anders starts. “Wehaveto finalise our go live. No more delays. We have to hit whichever date we decide in this meeting.”
Yes, we do. Because we’re running out of money.
“We’re ready,” says Scarlett, tossing back her glossy nut-brown locks. She looks around the room, challenge in her gaze. The implication is clear. It’s their fault.
Her words are like telling a mafia family there’s a mole. Consensus disappears.
Marnie, who shepherds her flock of artistic geniuses like a mother hen, bristles. “We all know you’d happily sell dogshit. But we won’t make dogshit.”
Ahmed, head of production, leans forward. “We wanted cinematic. But cinematic increases complexity by orders of magnitude. If you wanted a pixelated plumber chasing princesses, you should have said. I’d give you that tomorrow. But good luck selling it in today’s market.”
“And good luck selling a game that falls over every two seconds,” spits Ramesh, the head of technology. All of them are openly angry. There are mutters from all corners. They’re already working under pressure; they don’t need these playground-level games of one-upmanship.
Then Anders steps in. He stands to get their attention, and the room quiets immediately. That’s his effect. His black-clad form crosses the room, his hand falling reassuringly on the shoulder of his head of tech.
“Ram,” he says. “I won’t release a buggy game.” His eyes lift across the table. “And we all knew this game had to be cinematic. That decision was made ages ago.” His gaze sweeps along. “I’m sure Scarlett appreciates the issues.”
I doubt that but I keep silent.
“Of course,” Scarlett says as she beams up at him. But Anders misses it as he’s already turned back to face Ramesh and Ahmed.
