Billionaire on the Loose

by Jessica Clare

  “Yeah, so on Saturday there’s a friend coming over and I want you to come hang out. He’s new to town and needs someone to show him around.”

  Taylor groaned. “Can’t someone that’s good with, you know, people do that? I’m only good with video games.” The boss’s shield dropped and she typed CHARGE in all caps. Her guild surged forward, and the fight was on again.

  “Well, that’s the thing. Greer’s in Vegas right now, Audrey’s baby is due any moment, Edie’s out of town at some sort of convention with Magnus, Chelsea has a roller derby bout, and Bron’s got charity shit. You’re the only bridesmaid I have left. I realize Gollum doesn’t like to leave his cave and all, but can you abandon your precious for like, two hours and come hang with my guest? Please?”

  “I have a raid,” she said automatically.

  “You said you would be able to squeeze me in if I gave you advance notice! This is advance notice!”

  She was right, darn it. Taylor sighed even as the boss went down and gold showered her screen. Success.

  Sigmund: We did it, sweetie!

  Yikes, sweetie? Taylor recoiled from the keyboard. Sweetie? “You know what, G? On second thought, I’ll be there.”

  “Yay! You won’t regret it! My place at two, okay?”

  “I’ll be there. Bye, Gretchen!” She clicked off and another call started to roll in. Even as she picked up the new call, she typed a message to Sigmund.

  HaveANiceTay: I need to go out on Saturday. Can you run the raid?

  Sigmund: Well now my weekend is ruined. I was hoping to spend it with you.

  Taylor gritted her teeth. A day away would be just what the doctor ordered for both of them.

  ***

  Even though it made her anxious to leave her computer for the afternoon, Taylor went to Gretchen’s house on Saturday, just as she’d promised. She’d given herself a pep talk all morning: Going out for the day would be good, the guild would be just fine without her, and she could use a few hours out of her tiny apartment.

  Honestly, she just wanted to get away from Sigmund and his smothering messages he kept sending her all week. If she was spending a few hours away from the computer, he constantly buzzed her cell phone, because he’d managed to look up her phone number. If she logged on to Facebook, he sent her messages there. And of course, in-game, he was constantly pinging her with little notes about how pretty she was, and how much he liked her, and did she think they could spend some time together?

  In-game, of course. Sigmund never once suggested they meet in person, or talk on the phone, or sent her his personal information. Not that she was interested, of course. But maybe if she could have had a real phone conversation she could have gently let him down. Not that she was good at that sort of thing, either. But it was getting to the point that she had to try something. Anything.

  Her phone pinged in the taxi all the way to Buchanan Manor.

  Sigmund: So I think I’m going to tank in the raid today. You cool with that?

  Sigmund: I hate that we’re raiding without you. It’s not the same.

  Sigmund: 20 on the raid ok? Or should we go 25 people and really murder things? Let me know.

  Sigmund: You’re not mad at me, are you? Tay?

  Sigmund: Oh, god. I don’t think I could stand it if you were mad at me. Please say you’re not ignoring me, Taylor.

  Sigmund: My world is over if you’re not in it.

  Her stomach knotted horribly, and she reached for her bottle of Xanax again. He was stressing her out. These stupid games were supposed to be a fun time-suck, not a duty that felt ten times more stressful than her job. Yesterday she’d called in “sick” to work because Sigmund had wanted to raid the Fire Boss of Driza. He’d gone in with a motley group, they’d wiped out at the bottom of the dungeon, and then he’d spent all day freaking out. She’d had to talk him down off the ledge several times and she hadn’t been able to concentrate on her job. It was the third time she’d called in this month, and she knew her boss wasn’t happy.

  But she didn’t know what else to do. With a frown, she picked up her phone and finally answered him.

  HaveANiceTay: I’m here, but you know I’m going to be away for most of the afternoon, Sig. You can’t keep messaging me. I won’t be able to answer! I’m not mad, just busy.

  Sigmund: Okay. Whew.

  Sigmund: Kisses.

  Sigmund: Just kidding.

  Sigmund: Sort of.

  Sigh. He sent all kinds of mixed messages; if he wasn’t declaring love for her from afar, he was threatening to hurt himself or demanding she spend time in the game with him. He was a mess, and even Taylor’s normally sunny outlook on life was getting bogged down by his neediness.

  But if he needed a friend and was so on the edge, she couldn’t not be there for him, could she? That seemed horribly selfish.

  Sigmund: This raid isn’t fun without you.

  So much for I’m busy and can’t talk, don’t message me. She quickly sent him a text telling him she was away and then flicked her phone to silent. He’d just have to do without her for a few hours. She closed her eyes and leaned back against the car seat.

  The rest of the ride to Buchanan Manor was peaceful, and Taylor’s mood was recovered by the time she paid the cab driver and got out. She just wouldn’t check her phone for the rest of the afternoon. Peace and quiet the hard way. She was supposed to be on call for work, but no one ever rang the tech hotline on weekends anyhow.

  Buchanan Manor was huge and imposing, sort of like a big haunted mansion from an old-school video game. The interior was pretty modern compared to the outside, and that was disappointing for a nerd like Taylor, but it happened. Decent Wi-Fi despite being out in the country, too, so that was a plus. Taylor secured her backpack on her back and trotted up to the door, tucking her phone in the back pocket of her jeans. She buzzed the doorbell, and then buzzed it several more times to the tune of “Shave and a Haircut.”

  “That must be Taylor,” Gretchen bellowed from the other side of the door. Taylor heard feet slapping against the marble tile and then the door swung open. A disheveled Gretchen appeared, an apron on her front, her hair pulled into a wild, messy knot. “Dude, you only have to ring once, you know.”

  “I know,” Taylor said, stepping inside. “Where’s your butler?”

  “Family emergency. I told him to take the weekend off. It’s not like we can’t answer the damn door ourselves, you know?” She closed it behind them and then pointed down a side hall. “I’ve got scones in the oven, so come hang out in the kitchen for a few, okay?”

  “Scones? How very British of us, guv’ner!”

  “Oh, god, Tay, that was the worst accent I’ve ever heard.”

  “I’m doing Billie Piper from Doctor Who.”

  “You’re yelling.” Gretchen winced. “I don’t think Billie whoever screamed at the Doctor all day long. Increasing your volume doesn’t make you more British, nerd.”

  “Cheerio and chop chop!”

  “For the love of god, stop it.”

  Taylor giggled and flung her arms around Gretchen. Man, it was good to see her. To have an interaction that didn’t involve Excelsior lately. “Since you asked nicely, I’ll stop.”

  Gretchen just shook her head, put an arm around Taylor’s waist, and led her down one of the many long halls of the manor. “So tell me what you’re up to.”

  “Oh, just more tech support stuff. Nothing exciting.”

  “Did you take that promotion they offered you?”

  Taylor winced. “No, I turned it down.”

  “Oh, Tay! Why?” Gretchen pulled away and opened the swinging kitchen door, revealing a charming, large kitchen with checkered tile and a hanging pot rack. It looked like something straight out of a Martha Stewart baking sim.

  “Well . . .” Taylor sat down on one of the stools and put her elbows
on the ingredient-strewn table. A bowl of batter went flying and Taylor grabbed at it, only to knock over a pepper mill and a bottle of olive oil. “Oh, god!”

  “Tay!” Gretchen bellowed, grabbing items as they rolled off the counter. “I forgot what a disaster you are. Don’t touch anything!”

  Chagrined, Taylor crossed her arms over her chest and ignored that one of her sleeves now had scone batter on the cuff. “Sorry.”

  Gretchen just gave her an exasperated look. “Seriously. How is it that you’re such a klutz after all this time?”

  “Magic?” Taylor kept her smile bright. She just didn’t pay attention sometimes, and her friends knew it. She was easily distracted.

  Gretchen shook her head and swiped spilled batter into a bowl, then tossed the entire thing in the sink. “More like a voodoo curse. Don’t change the subject, though. How come you didn’t take the promotion? I know you’re always tight on money.”

  She shrugged. What could she say? That guild stuff—and Sigmund’s neediness—was keeping her from being able to put in the extra hours a week that a supervisory position would require? That it meant working in the office instead of at home and she’d be unable to play much, which would make Sigmund spiral out of control? That she’d called in a lot in the last few months and they’d stopped asking her if she was interested in a promotion and started asking if she needed to talk to a counselor? “Just . . . didn’t feel like the right time.”

  “I swear, it’s because you’re addicted to that game, isn’t it?” Gretchen put her hands on her hips, and for a moment she looked an awful lot like Taylor’s mom. “Do we need to host an intervention, Tay?”

  “No, I’m fine.” It really wasn’t Taylor’s choice to play all the time. If it were up to her, she’d put her accounts on vacation for a few months and take some well-needed days away. But every time she tried, the Sigmund thing got ugly, and her guilt got worse. So she lied, “I’m actually cutting back. It’s just been hectic at work lately.”

  “I hear you,” Gretchen said sympathetically. She slipped her hands into a pair of oven mitts. “The housing market’s been crazy lately and Hunter’s business has been booming. He doesn’t sell direct himself of course, but all of his offices are scurrying to keep up and that means extra work for my poor sweetheart.” She pointed one of her mitts at Taylor. “Can you zest that lemon for me while I pull out the scones and somehow manage not to hurt yourself?”

  “Sure.” As Gretchen turned away, Taylor picked up the lemon, accidentally dropped it on the floor, and then slid out of her chair to grab it. As she retrieved the lemon and got up, she banged her head on the underside of the counter. With a wince, she returned to her seat, rubbing her scalp. Dang. “I’m not sure you should trust me with sharp objects.”

  “Use the grater, dummy.” Gretchen pulled a pan of triangle-shaped creations out of the oven, and the room filled with the scent of lemon cake. “If you hurt yourself with that, though, I’m not responsible.”

  Taylor picked up the box grater gingerly and then began to rub the lemon on one side of it. “So, how’s the wedding stuff going?”

  “Terrible. Greer’s my planner and she abandoned me to go stay with her dad for a few weeks in Vegas. I’m like, this is a crucial time, Greer! I have to pick out cakes and everything!” Gretchen shook her head. “Tragic.”

  “Oh, right. Her father’s getting married, isn’t he?” Taylor wrinkled her nose. Greer was a sweet, demure type, but her dad was . . . well, he was old and skanky. She didn’t hold it against Greer, though. Girl didn’t have much to do with her family or her dad’s business.

  “To triplets,” Gretchen affirmed. She set the pan down and gave Taylor a shifty look. “Speaking of love and stuff . . . you seeing anyone?”

  “God, no.” Just the thought made her want to vomit. Sigmund would freak majorly if she even had a whiff of a guy online, and she barely left her apartment long enough to meet anyone as it was.

  Gretchen seemed surprised by Taylor’s reaction. “Do you not want to date?”

  “It’s . . . complicated.” As in, There’s this guy online that threatens to hurt himself if I so much as walk away from the computer and I don’t know what to do.

  “Well . . . the friend I want you to show around the city? He’s new to the States.” Her eyes gleamed. “And he’s damn hot, girl, so put on your lipstick.”

  “My lipstick?” Taylor dropped her lemon again.

  Gretchen swooped to retrieve the fallen fruit, and then took the grater from Taylor’s hands. “Yes, your lipstick. Put on some makeup, fix your hair, and get your best flirt game on. He’s a real catch and I think you’ll like him.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “He’s from Bellissime.”

  “That weird little country that that Griffin guy is from?” She’d met Maylee, who was real nice, but a bit of a rube, and was surprised to find that her fiancé was a starchy aristocrat from overseas.

  “Same one! Now, can we get rid of the Hello Kitty backpack?” Gretchen beamed at her.

  Taylor clutched the straps of her backpack and shook her head. “I like my backpack.”

  “So do all the eight-year-olds that own one. And that scarf. We need to ditch the scarf. It’s summer.”

  “It’s the fourth Doctor’s scarf!”

  “Which is why we need to ditch it. I don’t want you flying your freak flag until he sees how cute you are.” She pinched Taylor’s cheek and then gave a tug on the scarf.

  Taylor’s hands went to her beloved scarf. She was a nerd and she was totally fine with it. Lots of hot guys liked nerds. So she hadn’t met any yet, but that didn’t mean they didn’t exist. “I thought I was just hanging around with the guy for a few hours and showing him how to find the subway and stuff. Is this a date?”

  “Not really? But trust me when I say that he is smoking-hot gorgeous and you can bounce quarters off of his sporty ass, so you want to look hot, okay?”

  “Um, okay.” Taylor mentally pictured flicking quarters at a hot guy’s bubble butt, then shook her head to clear the image. “Here’s the thing, though. I’m not usually the type of girl those guys go for, so I’ll probably be better off being his guide—”

  “Makeup,” Gretchen bellowed. “Did you or did you not bring some?”

  “I keep some in my backpack.” She winced at Gretchen’s bossy tone. “Is he coming here soon?”

  Gretchen turned and checked the clock on the wall. “Should be here any moment now. You need to hustle.”

  Eek. She was going to be spending the afternoon with a super-hot guy? Instead of vague excitement, she just felt dread. If Sigmund found out, he was going to flip. God, why did she even care if Sigmund found out? That was how messed up she was. Ugh. She slid off the barstool. “You got a bathroom I can borrow to freshen up?”

  “Go down the hall to the right. Just don’t use the first bathroom on the left because the door sticks. Use the second one on the left.”

  The hall had more than one bathroom? Jeez. “Right, left, right.”

  “Right, left, left,” Gretchen corrected, and wiped her hands with a towel. As she did, the doorbell rang, a sonorous chime echoing through the kitchen. Her eyes lit up. “Oh, that’ll be him! Scoot!”

  “Scooting,” Taylor said, and headed out into the hall even as Gretchen moved in the opposite direction. All right. Find a bathroom, slap on some mascara so she didn’t look tired, and show a hot guy around the city. She could do this. It might even be fun. She knew she wouldn’t be his type, but that was fine. Truth be told, she went for hot scholars herself, like the one guy in Criminal Minds or Joseph Gordon-Levitt. A big buff guy was probably a himbo, and that was so not her bag.

  But she’d put makeup on to please Gretchen. She desperately wanted everyone around her to be happy, and Taylor had long been a project of Gretchen’s devious matchmaking mind. They usually ended in total failure, but that didn’t stop Gret
chen from trying.

  The hallway Gretchen had pointed her to was seemingly endless, with a line of shut doors. Good lord. How many rooms did this place have again? She pulled her phone out of her pocket to Google it, curious, and then stopped before she could unlock her screen. She shouldn’t look; if Sigmund was texting her, she’d get all anxious and freaked out again.

  But surely it couldn’t hurt to peek, could it? Just to see how the raid was doing? And if she saw nothing from him, well, that’d be the best thing ever, wouldn’t it? She’d be able to enjoy her afternoon in peace.

  And because she sucked at waiting and patience and things like that, Taylor swiped right to unlock her screen and looked at her phone.

  A dozen messages crawled over her screen and Taylor’s heart sank. She walked forward slowly, reading the messages.

  Sigmund: Raid’s about to start.

  Sigmund: Daphine and LittleJohn didn’t show up. We’re missing a tank and a healer. This is ridiculous.

  Sigmund: I can’t believe these assholes didn’t show. It’s because you’re not here!

  Sigmund: They must hate me.

  Sigmund: Why does everyone hate me?

  Sigmund: Everyone but you.

  Sigmund: I try so hard, Taylor, I really do.

  Sigmund: I wish you were here right now. I hate it when you leave.

  Sigmund: I just want to log off and crawl into a hole.

  Sigmund: Or just log off of life entirely.

  Oh, god. Should she answer? Ignore him? She’d told him she wouldn’t be available and yet he was still texting her like crazy. What should she do? Send him a cheerful note to pick up his mood? But then she was enabling him, wasn’t she?

  Distracted, Taylor walked into the bathroom and slapped the door shut behind her. She took a step forward—

  —And nearly choked herself. Her scarf was stuck in the door. Damn it. She turned and gave it a hard yank. Still stuck. With a sigh of frustration, she put her phone down on the bathroom counter and opened the door.

  Or . . . she tried to.

  The doorknob moved, but the door itself wouldn’t budge. Her scarf hung in the doorjamb, stuck fast, and the door itself didn’t seem to want to move. Uh-oh. Had Gretchen said the bathroom on the left or the bathroom on the right?