At Any Price(49)
*You tell Magnus, “A Fire Mage? Really? No wonder you have magic hands.”
*Magnus tells you, “At your service.”
*You tell Magnus, “It begs the question…what are *you* doing up so late? Working still?”
*Magnus tells you, “Turn on your headset.”
*You tell Magnus, “It doesn’t work right. Makes the game lag when I’m on voice.”
*Magnus tells you, “How are you playing on that ancient rig of yours?”
*You tell Magnus, “Don’t insult my Franken-puter, the trusty little box that could.”
*Magnus tells you, “Get some sleep or you are going to be exhausted tomorrow. I want you well rested.”
A thrill of anticipation sliced through me. Tomorrow would finally be the night.
*You tell Magnus, “Bossy. I was just about to log off. Enough lag for tonight.”
*Magnus tells you, “I’ll pick you up at 11 sharp.”
I lay down with a nice, dry study book to lull me to sleep, trying hard to get my mind off of all that would happen the next day. It took an hour, but it finally worked.
Chapter Eight
Adam appeared at my door at exactly eleven a.m. Somehow I knew he’d be the type to be ultra-prompt, despite his tardiness at our first meeting. He wore khakis, white deck shoes and a casual button-down, short-sleeved shirt. And, of course, those same sexy designer shades.
He had his ubiquitous cell phone in one hand and a cardboard box under his arm. I jerked open the door. “I’ll be right out. Wait here.” I said, leaving the door ajar to grab my backpack from my room.
When I got back, he was standing in the middle of my living room, opening up the box. Of course.
“Dude, what are you doing? The place is a mess. I told you to wait outside.”
“Is it?” he said, sounding preoccupied. “I hadn’t noticed.”
I swatted his hard arm with the back of my hand, stunned that it felt like smacking my knuckles against a rock. “Very funny. What the heck are you doing?”
“Your rig is a piece of shit.”
“Thank you,” I answered acerbically.
“I had this lying around. Figured you could use a loaner.”
He pulled out a sleek new laptop that immediately made my heart palpitate with toy-lust. It was ultrathin, made from a matte dark metal.
“What…? What do you mean ‘loaner’?”
He spoke slowly, as if to a toddler. “I mean that I lend it to you and you use it for a while and then you give it back to me when you no longer need it.”
I made a face at him. As if I’d give that luscious thing back. Like, ever. He’d just opened it up and booted it. It was already loaded with everything. The palpitations turned into out-and-out fluttering. My God. It was a work of art. It was a gamer’s rig, fully tricked out with all the essentials and a seventeen-inch high-definition screen that was as clear as looking through a window.
“This looks just like the notebook you were using in Holland.”
“It’s close. Not quite as mighty. It’s my backup but I never use it.”
Nevertheless, I noticed there was no log-in for him. He’d already reconfigured everything for me, even created an account. “What password did you set?”
He shrugged. “Magnus rules. You can change it later, if you must.”
I smirked. “Oh, I think I must.”
The machine was gorgeous, and easily came with a several-thousand-dollar price tag. I knew I should refuse it. After all, if we were never going to see each other again after tonight, how would I even return it to him?
So I asked him. “How would I get this back to you?”
He paused and I couldn’t tell whether he had no answer for the question, didn’t wish to answer the question or hadn’t even heard the question. His fingers were flying over the sleek backlit keyboard.
I was just about to repeat myself when he said, without looking at me, “Just give it to Bowman. He can bring it down to the complex. I promised him a tour, anyway.”
Shit, a tour of Draco Multimedia headquarters? Lucky bastard. “That asshole didn’t even tell me,” I grumped.
He glanced at me. “You can have one, too.”
Our gazes held and my heart pounded. That couldn’t be possible. If tonight we were going to—then I shouldn’t go anywhere near his workplace after that.
I swallowed. He must have known what I was thinking. I think he was waiting for me to say something, maybe expecting me to back out of tonight. I straightened. I wasn’t going to back out. I couldn’t. So I just shook my head.
He looked away, features clouded, but I couldn’t tell whether he was troubled or just preoccupied. I was starting to feel both—troubled about our inevitable farewell after this evening and preoccupied with how everything would go, finally, tonight.