Page 9 of Glitched Play

“No.”

Parker drops into the chair across from me. “Bro, at this point she either joined the CIA or murdered someone.”

“She didn’t murder anyone.”

“You’re defending her awful fast.”

Becoming even more defensive, I snap, “She cries during animal rescue videos.”

Parker blinks. “That tells you absolutely nothing.”

“Maybe she’s sick?”

"You're obsessed with her."

"Incorrect."

"Witt."

"Obsession implies irrationality."

Annika hides a smile behind her coffee cup, and it wouldn’t shock me if she hears the desperation in my voice.

My phone buzzes against the desk. Every muscle in my body locks.

Parker notices first. Annika notices second.

Dara quietly backs toward the door because she’s smarter than everyone else in this room.

The notification flashes across my computer screen. Every muscle in my body tightens, hoping it’s my online friend.

“You get weird every time one of your million devices goes off,” Parker says, pointing at me.

I ignore him and open the email.

FROM: HR — Synatrix Global Interactive

My brow furrows.

“That’s the face,” Parker says to Annika. “That’s his serial killer face.”

“Rude,” I mutter as I open the email.

Dara pauses near the door. “Oh. I forgot to tell you an applicant made it through your first three phases of the process.”

“What applicant?” Parker asks.

“The one for the new creative strategist position,” Dara explains.

That gets my full attention. Slowly, I scroll through the attached portfolio of marketing projections, retention strategies and integrations concepts for immersion of competitive gaming into the sport market.

No wasted language. No filler. No ego.

And she currently works for one of the big five tech companies as a software architect.

My pulse gives a strange, unexpected kick.

Because this⁠—