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Eight
I’d spent the last three years spinning my wheels and never getting traction. With work. With relationships.
And in less than forty-eight hours, everything was ramping up like someone had quadrupled the number of threads on the system that was my life.
It wasn’t possible to move too far away from Graham in my apartment, but Oz and I did step out of ear reach.
“Last night was about getting you back on your feet,” Oz said softly. “What he’s proposing—will it help?”
I shrugged. “It’s the only idea I have. It’s also a really good idea. I also want you there—I want your input.” The longer I thought about it, the more this entire thing felt reasonable.
“Do it. You and I have time.”
“I hope so.”
Oz tilted my head up with a finger under my chin and brushed his thumb over my lips. “Bring an overnight bag and come to my place after.”
“Okay.” Heat flooded me on a wave of happiness. I turned to Graham. “Let’s do it.”
We agreed on a place, and Oz told Graham we’d meet him there.
It’d be nice to take a shower, but mine was barely big enough for me. Oz and I finished dressing—which unfortunately meant he put his shirt on—and were on our way.
Oz kept his hand on my thigh when he wasn’t shifting gears.
I texted Violet with a promise to call later. Or tomorrow. I wasn’t sure yet. I checked my email, too, to make sure I didn’t have any requests for interviews waiting.
There were already two replies to the resumes I’d sent out yesterday. Both said We’re not interested at this time. They didn’t even offer to keep my resume on file. Rude.
Graham was waiting when we arrived. He’d grabbed us a booth in the far corner of the restaurant—one of those that was a single half-circle wrapped around a table.
Oz slid in next to Graham and pulled me to sit next to him, sandwiching Oz in the middle.
Graham didn’t look pleased as he put an extra foot between them.
We placed our orders, and Graham told the waitress to leave the coffee pot and expect that we’d need more. Was it bad that I liked that throwback to the old days, when we’d be in a random twenty-four-hour diner, talking code strategies until three in the morning and downing way too much caffeine?
“The basics.” Graham pulled a leather portfolio from the seat next to him and opened it on the table to a blank notebook page. “This isn’t just about getting Luna’s name out there; we have to be smart about the details. Nailing the SEO. Ensuring the right click throughs…” As he talked, he wrote out neat columns across the top of the page.
So. Many. Schoolgirl flashbacks.
“How is this different than every other person out there who does the same and never gets seen?” Oz asked.
I knew this one, and the answer was so simple it didn’t sound like a real reply. “Because we don’t do it the same as every other person out there.”
Oz raised an eyebrow and stared me down with amused disbelief.
Wowza that heated gaze made me squirm.
“It’s like playing Street Fighter 2.” Graham’s voice held an edge. “Everyone knows that Abel’s Infinite exists. The combo is programmed in. But it takes a whole new level of skill to hit the right buttons, under pressure, on purpose.”
“And you can hit the right buttons,” Oz said with disbelief.
Graham looked past him, to hold my gaze. “Every time.”
Was he flirting with me? With my date…boyfriend? Bodyguard? … sitting between us?
Oz coughed to clear his throat.
