Steve chuckles as we pass the large floor to ceiling windows of the programmer’s pit, empty this late at night. It’s ten PM here and eleven AM in Beijing.
“That sounds like an excuse to spend more time with your online girlfriend.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “I’m pleading the fifth on that one.”
We walk into the conference room, the light automatically switching on. I take my place at the head of the table and Steve drops down next to me.
As we wait for the Chinese to call, Steve runs a hand over his head, watching me closely.
“What?” I ask.
He grins. “What? I didn’t say anything.”
“You didn’t have to.”
He rests his elbows on the long conference table. I could’ve ordered my assistant or one of the interns to stay here and make us some coffees for the call, but it’s only going to take ten minutes and it seems unfair to steal an evening from them for that.
But now I wish I had because Steve has that look on his face.
It’s the look he used to give me a lot in the early days of the company when we were both programmers in our late twenties wondering if we’d ever make our mark on the world – the look he gave me when he needed to deliver bad news, or offer advice he thought I might not like.
And it worked. We built an incredibly lucrative business together, with thousands of employees all over the world.
“I think you might like this princess girl in your game,” Steve says.
“Is this a therapy session?” I shoot back.
He’s hit way too close to the home with that comment, because like is an understatement. Ever since we started talking, I felt something, a spark inside of me compelling me to meet with her, to see who she really is.
I tried to fight it because I knew it would change how she saw me when we met. She thinks I’m Smolder, a weird little alien, not the CEO of the company who made the game.
When she finds out, will she become like so many other women I’ve encountered, fake laughing at all my jokes, giving me come-to-bed eyes after a few minutes of talking?
I like what we have, the anonymity of it, the way we’ve bonded without even knowing each other’s real names. But lately, the need has burned too brightly, blinding like the stars we plunder online.
It’s like there’s a voice inside of me, primal and demanding, telling me I have to find her, claim her, be with her.
Forever.
And how crazy is that?
Steve sighs after a long pause. “I only want the best for you, Max. I’ve heard how much fun you have with her. You never laugh like that, not with anyone. And when you talk about her – on those rare occasions – it’s like you’re talking about your girlfriend.”
I shift in my chair, resisting the urge to snap at him. It’s not Steve’s fault I’ve fallen for a woman I’ve never seen.
“But you need to be careful,” he goes on. “She could be anyone…”
“I know that,” I grunt.
“I just don’t want you to get hurt, man.”
His voice falters and he turns to the dark windows. I wonder if he’s thinking about Anna, his ex-wife. Steve and Anna tried to make it work for two years of marriage counseling, but Steve could never forgive his wife for cheating on him after a drunken holiday with her friends.
She confessed to it as soon as she returned home and they’d done their best. But I understood why my friend couldn’t let it go.
A man has to own his woman, completely, possess her, claim her. If anyone ever tried to touch Gen, I know I’d snap, and all six foot five of me would burn with bloodlust.
“I know,” I tell him, forcibly softening my voice.
Steve nods, and then reaches for his phone. He glances at it. “They’re going to be a few minutes late. Coffee?”
“Sure, thank you.”
He wanders to the other end of the room, still walking with a slight limp from the time he shattered his ankle. I was there that day seven years ago when he was jumping around like an idiot after we cracked the billion-dollar mark. He fell down the stairs and snapped it, and he’s never walked the same since.
“I asked her to meet with me.”
Steve has his back turned, facing the coffee machine. As it begins to whir he asks, “And what did she say?”
“She said no. She said she looks nothing like her avatar.”
“That’s the same for everyone.”
“She got really defensive about it. Well, maybe not defensive. More like she was self-conscious. She said I wouldn’t want to meet her if I knew what she looked like.”
Steve turns, staring across the lamplit room, chewing the inside of his cheek.
“Just say it.”
“She could be right,” Steve mutters. “You think you’ve got this pure romance, or whatever it is. You think it won’t matter. But looks do matter. No one can deny that. What if you meet and she’s not what you expect, and it ruins what you have online?”