Picked(19)

“What do you want, Cassie?”

“Stop calling me that. What do you mean? I want to go home. That’s what I want.”

“Why? What are you going to do when you get there?”

“Things. None of your business.” I pouted.

“What would you do if you could do anything you wanted?”

“I don’t know. What’s it to you?”

“You don’t know because you’ve never been given a choice. Tell him you don’t want to do this. At least go back to filing and answering the phones.”

“No way. I hated that. I hate that dingy, dark office.”

“Exactly my point. This isn’t you. You’re too much like your mom to be a hard-ass.”

“What do you know about my mother? You don’t know anything,” I accused, raising my voice. He didn’t. He had no right.

“I know more than you know, Small Fry,” Matt assured me, starting his car. Thank god.

I quietly contemplated what Matt was saying. What was he saying? He knows more than I know as in, he knows more about it than me, or was he simply saying he knows what everyone else knew? Glancing to his hand, Matt turned on the radio and gave me a warm smile. Damnit. I didn’t have time to investigate Matt. I had to investigate Becker Cole. Matt could wait.





Chapter 6





Thanks to spending the entire day with Matt, my house wasn’t going to get cleaned—again. I had to get logged into Picked. Becker Cole was right there. Right where I could see and talk to him. I needed to make sure I didn’t ruin it. The fine print. Where the hell was the fine print?

“Good evening,” I heard Becker’s voice come through the speakers.

Shit. I had to pretend not to know. Let him think I was just some curious player who accidently made it to the nonexistent level.

“I tried to read the fine print. I can’t find it,” I confessed. It wasn’t in my account, it wasn’t on the home page, and when I typed it in the search, there was nothing.

“Yeah, I disabled it. I decided it wasn’t going to apply to you.”

“Why? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. Get dressed. I’m taking you out.”

“For real or for fake?” I asked the silly question.

Becker inconspicuously laughed. “For fake, for now, anyway. You might not fit my criteria.”

“Criteria for what?” I asked, wondering if he was seeking me out for his next wife. I chuckled at the thought of sharing a man with three women. No female in their right mind could do that, not that I knew much about love, but I knew enough. That wasn’t something most women would overlook. I wouldn’t.

“Never mind. Get dressed. Wear something sexy—white maybe. I’m thinking white will bring out the green in your eyes.

“Yeah, okay,” I said.

This guy was coo-coo for Cocoa Puffs. He didn’t reply. He vanished when I opened the closet door in my extravagant suite. I laughed. One white dress dangled from a gold hanger. He was going to make sure I wore white. I spent more time getting ready in the game than I did in real life. I chose the only hairstyle option I had, or Becker chose it I should say. My brown locks were piled on top of my head with soft dangling curls around my face.

I would have never worn a dress like that. It showed more cleavage than my self-conscious would ever allow. I looked hot. I looked damn hot for a cartoon.

“Do you always take this long to get ready?”

“Hey, you can’t come in my bathroom. What if I would have been naked,” I accused, seeing the oh-so-handsome Becker Cole standing before me in a dark suit, not quite black, charcoal gray, maybe. He was taller than my character by at least a head.

“I could see that anytime I wanted. I created the game. Remember? I could strip you right here in front of me if I wanted to. Can we go now? I’m starving.”

“Yeah, okay,” I reluctantly agreed, following him out and down the hall. It wasn’t dark with creepy music anymore. The white walls looked brand new with modern paintings of exotic places, mountains, rainforests, oceans, and city views. They were beautiful.

“Wow, I love this, Beer Guy,” I said, stopping at one of the paintings. It was dark, almost creepy like an enchanted forest.

“Stop calling me Beer Guy. My name’s Becker.”

And there it was. Set in stone. I knew it.

“That painting is from Costa Rica. The rock is flat and smooth as silk. The water just drops off. It’s breathtaking.”

“You’ve been there?”

“Only virtually. I plan on visiting there some day.”

“Is your entire life virtual?” I asked, moving along with him.