The game continued for another two hours, by which time Andorra was still sitting happily in the middle of the pack and enjoying herself very much. Nevis had been president briefly, but ended up third. At the end of the night, when Savannah had reached the magical eleven points which made her the winner, Andorra felt she not only had conquered the game but also made some friends.
“If the person who comes first is the president, and the person who comes last is the asshole, why is it called Scumbags and Warlords?” she asked.
“Who the hell knows. Maybe because it came from China originally. But that’s the name of the game. The titles of president and so on seem to vary among groups of players. Some people say rich man, boss, worker, and so on, down to poor man, bum.”
“Thank you for spending today with me. I’ve really enjoyed it,” Andorra said as they reached Nevis’s apartment.
“I have, too. I’m glad you’re here,” replied Nevis.
* * * *
Between Andorra and supporting Kingston, Raleigh’s own work had been neglected lately. Although he was actually a mathematician, his job was halfway between that and an accountant. He crunched the numbers to see whether their plans were viable or not. So while Kingston had the final say on whatever the pack chose to do, and the accountants had to do the costings, his job was all about finding out if it was logical to continue pursuing ideas. Plans in a given direction might become economically viable in a few years’ time and it could be worthwhile getting some frameworks in place now so they could jump on the opportunity later when it opened up.
He smiled to himself as he tapped away at his keyboard. Talking about his job was usually a good way to send his listeners to sleep. Kingston had even joked about hiring Raleigh out as a cure for insomnia. Well, too bad. He found his job quite fascinating, and answers weren’t always clear-cut and foreseeable. Sometimes the damndest, craziest things really worked. Like, for example, a woman deciding to walk up a mountain and turning out to be their mate.
Raleigh couldn’t get Andorra out of his head. They’d checked her out upside and down, inside and out, and she was what she said she was. He wanted to tell her about them being werewolf shape-shifters. Dammit they owed her that much at least.
He worked all through lunch, munching a burger at his desk and dripping ketchup on his keyboard to his great annoyance. But by six he was all caught up on work again, and free to do what he had been wanting to do all day—go talk to Kingston and convince him to tell Andorra who they really were so they could put the relationship on an honest footing and find out if she really was their mate.
Knowing Kingston would neither have stopped for a meal, nor thought to order anything, Raleigh first headed downstairs to the kiosk and picked up a pizza and a couple of bottles of beer. He knocked on the door and as soon as Kingston opened it, said, “Shit, man. The pizza’s almost cold. It takes too long to climb all these stairs. When are you installing the elevator?”
“We’re wolves. We need the exercise.”
It was one of his standard responses to Raleigh’s regular complaints. But they really ought to install an elevator. It was stupid to have to carry furniture and food up and down the stairs all the time.
Kingston grabbed a roll of paper towel, two plates, and two glasses, then sat at the table. “What kind of pizza is it?”
“Since I was buying I got my favorite. Cheese, sausage, and tomato over a butter crust base.”
“Deep dish is pie, not pizza,” grumbled Kingston. But Raleigh noticed it didn’t stop him from filling his mouth with a huge bite. He took time to breathe in the delicious scent before biting into his own slice. Ah, bliss.
Kingston took a second mouthful of pizza then got up and walked across the living room to his computer and came back with a map and a couple of sharpies. He turned the map to face Raleigh and said, “I’m thinking of establishing new branches here and here. What do you think?”
Raleigh looked at the circles Kingston had drawn on the map. Both towns were at crossroads of major interstate highways heading north-south and east-west. It was inevitable there’d be transportation needs in both directions, although not necessarily from each town. “Are any logistics companies based there already?” he asked.
They talked pack business for another hour, Kingston picking up the last crumbs of pizza from the box, and Raleigh sipping his beer thoughtfully. Finally he said, “Both places are ideal to investigate. Have you sent Bronx there?”
“Not yet. He’s still working through the list we already gave him. I’ll add these two tomorrow.”