If I sit down, I doubt I will be able to eat or breathe. But at least my legs look good. Plus, I can’t wait to see how long it takes Jamie to get this thing off me. Exiting the bathroom inside my office, I step into the open room, surprised to find my father, sitting behind my desk.
“Daddy,” I say, my voice filled with shock. I also feel subconscious about my dad seeing me in this dress, decked out like a Barbie doll, looking nothing like myself. “What are you doing here?”
He runs a hand through his shaggy dark and brushes it off his forehead. “Murph told me you were getting ready for a date. I thought I’d stop by and see you off.”
Shaking my head, I laugh. “I’m going on a date, not prom.”
“Well, I missed both of your proms because of the playoffs. I can’t even remember the last time I met a guy you were dating. It’s my parental duty to make sure you’re not hanging out with losers.”
“You should know me well enough by now, Daddy. I avoid athletes. I stay far, far away from them.”
He gets up from the chair and walks around to the other side of the desk to stand in front of me. “Because of Colin? Not all professional athletes are like that jerk. Take me for example,” he says, with a kind smile.
My dad married my mom after his third year in the NHL. This business is full of rumors, and if they are true, my dad has never strayed outside his marriage. But most of the men I have encountered are not like my dad. He must be a rare breed in the sports world. Because I went into my first few relationships with players, thinking they were all like him, only to find out he’s one of the good guys.
That’s why I was immediately drawn to Jamie. I could see the good in him. The more we get to know each other I can tell he has a lot of my dad in him, which is always a good thing.
I reach for my purse and sling it over my shoulder. “Colin was an idiot and so were the rest of them. Jamie is different. He’s a video game designer.”
He cocks a curious eyebrow at me. “As in he plays video games for a living?”
I shrug, hoping he doesn’t prod too much. “Yes and no. He’s a software engineer and super smart. Jamie is the guy who comes up with the technology for the games and figures out how to make it work.”
“Sounds interesting enough. I’m sure it pays well.” He pulls me into a bear hug and squeezes the life out of me as if this dress wasn’t already cutting off enough of my circulation. “Have a good time. Make smart choices.”
“Daddy,” I say, smacking him in the arm. “I’m not a child anymore. You don’t have to treat me like one.”
“You’ll always be my little girl, even when you’re my age. This Jamie had better take good care of my princess. That’s all I care about.”
“You will like Jamie. I can’t wait for you to meet him. You might even know him already.”
“Is that so?” He gives me a concerned look.
“You know Coach, Alex Parker’s fiancé?”
He nods. “Yeah, of course. But what does she have to do with this guy you’re seeing?”
“Jamie is her best friend.”
Scratching the dark stubble along his jaw, he mulls it over. “I think I met him once or twice. If he’s a friend of Coach, I’m sure he’s okay. And if he’s not, I know where to find Coach.” He says the last part with an evil grin.
“I have to get going if I want to make it to the restaurant on time, which means you need to leave.”
“So bossy. I see you don’t need me anymore now that you’re all grown up.”
I roll my eyes at him. “I’m twenty-five years old. I think it’s safe to say that I am grown. You just don’t like the idea of me dating anyone. At any age.”
He shakes his head. “Nope, I will never get used to it.”
My dad escorts me out of the office, waiting next to me as I lock the door. He plants a kiss on my cheek and wishes me luck before he disappears down the long hallway and out of sight. Now that I’m alone, the nerves make a reappearance. The halls are quiet with the Flyers and Sixers out of the playoffs. And we don’t have another concert for a few more days.
Tonight is our first real date. I still can’t believe it. How can I be in love with a man who has never taken me on a proper date? Not that it matters. Jamie could take me to Dunkin’ Donuts for coffee, and I would be happy with that.
Love. I’m in love with Jameson O’Connor. I smile at the thought as I exit the building, excited to tell him how I feel after dinner. I hope he feels the same about me.
Lit with bright lights and a red sign placed over the entrance, I can’t miss Luciano’s. I pull up out front of the Italian restaurant, allegedly owned by the Philly Mafia, with a few minutes to spare. A short man wearing a red-and-black valet jacket opens my door and helps me out of my car. We exchange my key for a ticket, just managing to hand him a tip, before another man, middle-aged with short dark hair, holds open a massive oak door, greeting me.
I step inside, and the scents of garlic and herbs assault my senses. It smells so amazing my mouth waters. I can practically taste the food on my tongue.
From the outside, I hadn’t thought the restaurant was this big. But it’s deceptively large with a second floor that overlooks an open kitchen you can see into from every angle. The walls are made of brick, the floors a dark shade of bamboo that shines in the dim light. In the far corner, I notice a wine bar made of casks, set up for tastings. The place is simple yet elegant, providing the feel of Italy.
Behind the host desk, a young woman with long dark hair waves at me. “Welcome to Luciano’s. Do you have a reservation?”
“Yes, it should be under Jameson O’Connor. Is he here yet?” Scanning the room, I don’t see Jamie anywhere in sight. Not that I had expected him to show up on time. But a girl can hope.
“No, he hasn’t arrived, but I can take you to your table, so you can order a drink and make yourself comfortable.”
“Okay,” I say, wondering if I should wait until Jamie shows. He should be here any minute.
Lifting two menus, she steps out from the desk and escorts me through the dining area and up the stairs to a private booth. It’s tucked so far back in the corner that I doubt anyone could see up here. Perfect. After days apart, we can use all the privacy we can get. I doubt I will be able to keep my hands off Jamie, and in this dress, I assume it will be the same for him.
I slide into an oversize semicircular booth lit by candlelight. The hostess unfolds a cloth napkin on my lap and pours me a glass of wine with a smile, promising to send Jamie up when he arrives, before exiting.
Taking a sip of red wine, I glance at the menu. Served family style, except for a few healthier items that offer smaller portions, the meals require Jamie and me to share. He eats pretty much anything, so this should be easy.
The waitress returns as I finish my glass. Jamie is not with her, which causes my heart to sink into my stomach.
“Are you eating alone tonight?” She gives me a forced smile, but I can tell by the look in her eyes that she feels sorry for me.
I hadn’t realized how much time had passed since the hostess seated me until I check my cell phone. No missed calls from Jamie. No text messages. What the fuck?
Peeking up at the waitress, I hold up my index finger. “Can you give me a minute? He should be on his way if he’s not here already.”
“Sure thing. I’ll come back to check on you.”
Once she walks away, I send Jamie a text, assuming I will get a quicker response. No answer. Another five minutes pass and still nothing. I punch the keys to dial Jamie, only to get his voicemail on the first ring. I leave him a message to ask if he’s on his way and to let him know that I am waiting for him. Like an asshole.
Jamie has been late before, a no-show even, but he always calls to let me know. He wouldn’t stand me up for our first dinner date. I want to believe that Jamie is not like the others and that he didn’t put something else before me or get cold feet. He had asked me to move in with him for Christ’s sake.
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br /> At least thirty minutes pass before the waitress comes back with a pen and pad in hand. “I’m sorry, but you have to order something, or we can’t hold the table much longer.”
“Um…okay.” Eyeing up the first thing I see on the menu, I order the lasagna, which I assume will be the size of a dinner plate. Jamie had better show up in time to eat it with me.
She scribbles down my order, before setting a basket of bread in the center of the table along with a plate of olive oil and Italian spices. Then, she disappears into the back of the restaurant, leaving me alone once again with my thoughts.
Tearing off a piece of Italian bread, I dip it into the oil and stuff the doughy goodness in my mouth. My mood turns to shit the longer I wait, making me want to eat until I puke. If Jamie doesn’t get his ass here, this will officially be the worst date of my life. I have never been stood up before—not even by some of the meathead jerks I’d dated in the past.
A few more of my calls go straight to voicemail before the food arrives. After sitting alone, about to eat a family style meal by myself, I have hit a new low. Jamie is over an hour late. Tears well up in my bottom lids as I cut a piece of lasagna and put it on my plate. I have lost my appetite.
Looking over at Jamie’s empty seat and the untouched wine glass sets me over the edge. I dab my eyes with the napkin on my lap, trying my best not to break down and cry like a baby. My heart hurts from the pain of Jamie’s betrayal.
What could be more important than me?
As if it wasn’t bad enough that Jamie had cancelled plans on at least ten occasions. While I understood his reasons for rescheduling, it doesn’t make this situation hurt any less.
I feel like an idiot for investing so much of my time in a man who continuously cancels on me. A man who has established a pattern of standing me up from the beginning. Jamie wants to be a good guy, or so it seems, but maybe he’s no different from the rest. I can’t help but think of the saying, Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. It’s applicable at the moment. Jamie has turned me into an idiot. Apparently, I have been the fool from the start.
Chapter 14
Jameson
“Dude, what are you doing? You totally fucked us.” Ben announces with his hand raised in the air. The light on the gaming controller clutched between his fingers is lit, about to run out of power if he doesn’t plug it in to charge. “Everything is ruined.”
“I didn’t fuck us,” I say, defending myself. “Nothing is ruined. I only made a few modifications to the platform.”
With two days left until our final delivery to the TGS executives, everything is riding on me to get the modules working properly. But I’m still having trouble with some of the more advanced artificial intelligence. I’d made a dozen games similar to this one with some hassle, because nothing is easy when it comes to programming. But this game is giving me a whole other level of problems I hadn’t anticipated when we signed the deal with this client.
Most developers have at least one year, if not more, to execute a concept similar to what our client had asked of us. I was given a few months. I managed to hack together enough of a working platform to show the client. That is, until TGS had called Mr. Conway and requested us to expand the platform to run on mobile devices. I designed it specifically for gaming consoles, posing a major issue for my team.
Last night, as I was about to leave after a fifteen-hour day, Mr. Conway reamed me out in his office. TGS had called, yet again, to expand not only to mobile with in-app purchases but also to a computer game, which required a complete overhaul of the code I had already compiled. But nothing is impossible. Of course, I said I could do it, given enough time. He said I had three days. It was not a negotiation.
Ben plops down on the couch in my office, knocking a box of gadgets onto the floor. He glances down at the mess with a quick shrug, pretending as if it’s not there. I pick up the box and flash a disapproving look in his direction. Ben is such a slob that it’s a surprise he’s able to keep himself organized enough to serve as my right hand man.
While he’s a brilliant coder, his thought process is all over the place. Ben jumps from one thing to the next, same as he’s doing right now. We tested three different versions for mobile and gaming consoles, only to have him find something else he wants to change after we get it to where we need for the meeting.
Ben throws the controller in his hand onto the coffee table, the plastic hitting the wood with a loud thud. He lifts my cell phone, tapping a few buttons on it before I can see the app displayed on the massive flat screen on the wall in the corner of the room.
“Look at this shit,” Ben says, his fingers working faster than before. “If you switch from single to multi-player, the memory usage goes through the roof. You could never use this game on your phone or computer without maxing out your load.”
“Just try it one more time. We have too much riding on this. We only need to fake it long enough to convince the big shots that the game is worth the money. And it is worth it. Or at least it will be by the delivery date.”
“I doubt that.” Ben’s demeanor lacks any confidence that we can pull this off for our client. “The tech is too complicated. They’re asking for a miracle, and I don’t believe in them.”
“That’s what patches are for,” I tell him with a smirk on my lips. “There’s no way it will be perfect the first time around, but it will be at some point. They can release a patch to fix the issues and pretend it’s an upgrade. Companies do it all the time and make boat loads of money from it.” Nodding at my phone, still nestled in his hand, I say, “Now, give it one more try before we call it quits for the night.”
“Oh, right. You have a date.” Ben turns his head toward the screen, sticking his finger in his mouth to make fun of me. He’s your typical nerdy programmer.
We rigged the display so we could view the app on the TV, all while playing it on the phone. It makes it easier to spot the flaws. But it’s also more fun to see it up on the big screen.
Ben makes it to the end of the first level victorious. He’s midway through the third by the time he shouts, “Ouch!” Shaking out his hand, he moves the phone into the other and cries out in pain once more.
“What are you bitching about now?” I sit next to him on the couch, laughing as he switches the phone from each hand like a game of Hot Potato.
“I tried to tell you the damn processor can’t handle this game on mobile.” He sets the phone on the table to rub his hands together. “I think your phone is fried.”
“It just needs a minute to reset.” I almost believe that before I see tiny sparks fly up from the keys.
Ben rolls his eyes at me. “Trust me. That’s not enough. I don’t know why you won’t listen to me. We need to make a few adjustments before we can decrease our load.”
My finger burns when I graze the side of the case in an attempt to pick up the phone. “What the hell? How is it overheating?”
“I tried to tell you. Maybe you should listen, boss man. It’s no better on the computer. I hit seventy-five percent of my CPU usage when I tested it on my laptop earlier. I had to do a complete system reboot.”
Confused, I dig my elbows into my thighs, using them for support, as I cup my face in my hands, staring at the TV in search of an answer. This is the problem with deadlines. Something stupid always gets in the way. And that small issue always manages to hold up the timeline for the project.
The TV screen flashes, drawing my attention to the pixelated images on the screen. “I can’t believe this is happening.”
“I tried to tell you,” Ben says again, almost as if he’s satisfied that he was right instead of worrying about the fact we may be out of a job come Monday.
I stare in horror, as I watch the game along with my cell phone turn into a useless piece of tech. My phone is now overheating to the point it only blinks intermittently and is too hot to touch. It’s hard not to have a complete meltdown in front of Ben. My phone can be replaced, but the game…
“What are we going to do?” Ben has his hand over his mouth, his eyes wide in shock. “All this work and for what? We’ll barely make it through the live console demo, let alone a decent beta version of the app.”
Minutes pass in silence, possibly even an hour before I pull myself together. My hair appears as though an animal has taken up residence from me tugging at the strands for so long. Once my phone completely shuts off, unable to turn back on, I wait for the heat to stop radiating from it before I clutch it in my hand.
“Hey, what time is it?”
Ben glances at the Apple Watch on his wrist. “After nine o’clock.”
“Shit!” I yell, coming to a standing. “How did I…how could I?”
“Weren’t you supposed to have a date tonight?”
“Yeah, over an hour ago. Regan is going to hate me.”
“Just call her. I’m sure she will understand.” Ben reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone, handing it to me.
“I don’t know her number. It was on my phone.”
He points at my laptop on the table in front of us. “You can access it from your last backup.”
“Good thinking,” I mutter, wondering why I hadn’t thought of that. Stress, I suppose. I can only take so much in one day.
“And you’re supposed to be the genius,” he says, laughing. “One-seventy IQ my ass.”
After I find Regan’s number in my contacts, I use Ben’s phone to call her. It rings a few times before going to voicemail. I repeat the same ritual twice more. Either she hates my guts, or she won’t pick up because she doesn’t recognize the number. I redial her again, leaving a message about how sorry I am and that I will make it up to her.
I keep saying the same thing repeatedly. Regan must be tired of my excuses. I would never intentionally leave her waiting for me at a restaurant. I am not that guy. But, now, I have become that guy without meaning to do it. And it’s our three-month anniversary. Fuck.
Finally giving up on contacting Regan, I decide to Google the number for Luciano’s. A woman answers after two rings. I ask about Regan, hoping she’s still there so I can head over to apologize in person. She makes me hold to the sounds of Italian opera music. After a long pause, the woman informs me Regan had eaten alone and left ten minutes ago.
Jameson (Face-Off Series Book 4) Page 13