Her smile.
And her horror on display for the whole world to see on continuous loop.
This was icing on the damn cake, wasn’t it?
Rashae’s body went hot, then cold and downright frozen.
Pieces clicked into place.
“He totally used me.” She swallowed and stared out the window. “He gets me to sketch art. He knows people, copy artists, who will work dirt cheap. So, he gets me to do my thing, let’s me—oh my God, sleeping with me was in the plan all along, wasn’t it? This whole thing, what do you want to bet it was to create buzz? He said it was harder these days to sell a game. What better way to pitch a new game than start up a shit storm around it. Sex sells, and so do scandals, am I right? Oh my, God. Oh, my God. Get me to the airport. I want to go home.”
“Oh, God, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have sent that to you,” Miranda said, her phone muffled and distant. “It’s just...after you know...”
Yeah, one of the girls Miranda had mentored, her boyfriend had fucked her over—literally and figuratively—by stealing the phone app game she’d been working on and sold it right out from under her. The memory of that incident was all too fresh in Rashae’s mind.
“I am so sorry, Shae, you were right,” Sam whispered.
Rashae couldn’t blame her little sister. Declan had duped them all. They were both victims here. She jabbed the end call button and wrapped her rage around her to keep her from feeling her broken heart. It was her comfort, what was going to keep her going all the way to New York. And then...she’d get a lawyer and sue their asses. They weren’t going to steal from her.
Declan saw red.
The nerve of those two.
This—working with John and Ayan—was a mistake. A horrible one he was going to make right, and they would regret for the rest of their lives.
He changed his password on his newsletter service and his campaign manager account. These two con men wanted to try to pull one over on him? They’d picked the wrong guy. Declan came from a long line of con men, and these two weren’t good enough.
Now, with their access revoked to his audience, he went into the crowd funding site’s dashboard and put the game’s campaign on pause. They had a healthy ten percent of sixty grand raised within the first hour. Not too bad, but Declan wasn’t about to see this through. He wanted off this ride, and then he wanted to sink them.
John and Ayan wouldn’t take his calls?
Well, he’d make them call him. And the first thing they talked about wasn’t going to be putting the game back on. It was going to be that video.
Fucking hell.
Declan didn’t know how they’d done it, or who was behind it, but someone had his meeting footage. Or maybe one of the other men’s. He didn’t know—but by the end of the day he would.
He got up and put the kettle on, biding his time.
If he was really lucky, he could get the video pulled down and some answers before Rashae went to the airport. She still wasn’t speaking to him, and could he blame her? He’d lied and he hadn’t even tried to get her to understand. He’d thought they’d be able to have a calmer discussion, that she’d allow him to explain. But she hadn’t. She was pissed.
Looking back, he should have been honest with her from the beginning. He should have warned her when she went into the shower, told her he was jumping on the call, but he hadn’t been thinking clearly. If he could only go back, do it all differently.
The kettle whistled the same moment his phone rang.
At a glance, he could see Ayan’s contact.
Well, the fuck face was going to have to wait until Declan had tea.
He poured a cup, and dropped a tea bag into the mug. In the time it took to find a spoon, his phone rang again.
Declan jabbed the answer button, ready for a fight with someone.
“What?” he said.
“The campaign is down.” Ayan still didn’t show an ounce of emotion.
“Yup.”
“Why is it down?”
“It’s down until I say it’s not down. Now, where’s John?” Declan swirled his spoon in the tea, watching the water turn a dark, intense brown.
“I’m here,” John said.
“All right, so gang’s almost all ‘ere. Let’s chat about this video someone uploaded last night.” He couldn’t help the accent coming out stronger than normal. He was pissed. Furious. And someone was going to pay. He’d nail their dicks to the wall if he had to.
“What video?” John asked.
“Don’t you fuckin’ blow me like that, John. You know what video I’m talkin’ about.” Declan slammed the spoon on the counter.
“We didn’t do that,” Ayan said. He knew, he just didn’t want to take responsibility.
“The hell you didn’t.” Declan paced the length of the kitchen.
“Declan, we don’t record the meetings. You do. Now put the campaign back up before we lose momentum.”
“No.”
“We hired you to do your job. Now do it.”
Even if John and Ayan were telling the truth, and they hadn’t uploaded the video, they were still guilty of intellectual property theft. Or plagiarism. Or something else he didn’t want any part of.
“You went behind my back an’ took the art work Rashae created. You had some penny-a-page copy artist take her work—her original creations—an’ slapped them on your game. Then—without tellin’ me—you started a new campaign under my name and sent out a mailin’ to my newsletter. What in this picture sounds right to you, Ayan? John? This ain’t the way we do business.”
“What do you care, so long as you get paid?” Ayan sneered back.
“What do I care? Seriously? This is my reputation on the line. You’ve already dragged me—and Rashae—through shit on the forums. Now you want to saddle me with what’s goin’ to be a plagiarism lawsuit?”
“It isn’t plagiarism. We had someone we trusted inspired by her work.” John was as spineless as ever.
“It’s theft, and I want no part of this when she sues your lousy asses for everythin’ you’ve got.” Declan paced back to his tea and gulped it down. If John and Ayan didn’t see that what they were doing was wrong, then there was no getting through to them. “I quit, per the breach of contract clause in our agreement. Have a nice fuckin’ day, boys.”
He hung up and dropped the phone on the counter to keep from throwing it.
Being done with those two was a relief. But it wasn’t over. If Rashae didn’t sue them, she should. He needed to take the campaign down, communicate with the crowd sourcing platform so they were aware of the issues. Send out an apology and explanation to his newsletter. He should never—and would never again—issue his clients passwords. That was his second mistake, right after believing in those two money-grabbing con men.
They’d messed with the wrong man.
20.
R
ashae perched on the coffee table, bent forward and stuck her head between her legs.
Oh, God. It was spreading.
She’d hoped against hope that the naked gif would remain contained on the gaming forum. That there was some way it wouldn’t get out.
The best she could tell, there was one asshole troll guy that seemed to be everywhere, who had posted it on Reddit in a few sub-forums and now...it was spreading worse than the flu.
Her game group had seen it.
It’d been all over the forum.
Even her cosplay corner was talking about it, though she hadn’t been able to make herself look. It was hard to tell how her peers would take it. She was prepared for backstabbing and cattiness.
“Vworrrp Vworrrrp.”
Rashae yelped and jumped to her feet, glaring at the phone. Of course, she’d sat on it. That was how her day was going.
Miranda’s name gave her some comfort at least.
“Hello?” Rashae hated the way her voice wavered.
“Hey, it’s me and Tamara. We haven’t heard from you since yester
day.”
Rashae flopped on the couch, which had served as Sam’s bed until recently. It was nice to have it back, though right now she’d love a shoulder to cry on.
“How are you doing?” Tamara asked.
“I don’t know.” Rashae hugged a pillow to her chest and stared at the brick wall painted white across the studio floor. Her apartment was both a work and living space for her costuming business. Now that Sam wasn’t a permanent resident she could go back to leaving her racks out.
“So...I saw the stuff on the corner...” Tamara’s halted speech was enough to tell Rashae that the cosplayers were probably in catty form.
“Should I cancel the NYE appearance?” Rashae was on the fence. She’d agreed last year, before her father was made Secretary of State to host the annual New Year con kick off. Since his appointment, she’d actively avoided or turned down similar offers.
“What?”
“No!”
“Rashae, you can’t.” Miranda sounded downright panicked.
“I don’t know if I can get up there, knowing everyone has seen...that.” She pulled her knees up and squeezed the pillow tighter to her chest. The replay of that gif haunted her. She could see every splurge over the holidays in the way her stomach and thighs jiggled. There was no way she was going to eat her feelings. She needed to get on her elliptical and do some serious soul searching—not eat a pint of ice cream.
“I’m with Miranda on this one, Shae. Canceling...it means these dicks win.”
“They already won.” Rashae squeezed her eyes shut.
“No, they’ve made it clear to the entire world that they are a bunch of asses. You know you could sue them?” Tamara was a fighter. It was how she’d been raised, and why anyone with half a brain cell didn’t mess with her.
Rashae wasn’t strong like Tamara was. Oh, she talked a big game, but like everything else, it was just words. Rashae would rather board up her door and settle in for a nice pity party until the first of the year. Then, she’d open up shop and see where the chips had fallen.
It was defeatist.
She knew it.
And her broken heart didn’t care.
Declan had stolen from her, conned her, and in a way—that was worse than the gif that would haunt her forever. She’d been vulnerable with him. Honest. She’d thought she was falling for him. And the whole time, he’d been using her so some penny-rate artist could copy her stuff.
Fanboy.
As if.
“I don’t think she’s listening to us,” Miranda said.
“Yeah, pretty sure she tuned us out.”
“No, sorry, I’m here.” Rashae sighed.
“Have you talked to dude yet?” Tamara asked. They’d avoided saying Declan’s name since her tirade about him last night.
“No. He hasn’t called again.” Rashae rubbed her chest.
“You need an intellectual property lawyer.”
“That costs money. A lot of money.” That she didn’t have. Rashae had poured most of what she had in savings into building her theatrical costuming line of business. It would take time to pay off, but she was hoping it would happen in a big way.
“How much do you think it’d run?” Miranda asked.
“I’m not borrowing money from you.” Rashae clenched her teeth. Miranda had a big heart, but damn it, Rashae wanted to handle this on her own. Now more than ever she had to be self-sufficient.
“Okay, so you don’t want to talk about it, you don’t want to do anything about it.” Tamara sighed. “Want to hear more drama?”
Miranda groaned.
“Anything to distract me.” Rashae sat up and stared at the ceiling.
Declan’s sofa was more comfortable. She missed the smell of his fireplace, the cozy feel of his cottage.
The dirty, rotten liar.
“Kobe is a porn star,” Miranda blurted out.
“What? Piper’s Kobe?” Rashae yelped. “Does Piper know?”
“If she knew, do you think she’d be with him?” Tamara’s tone grew serious.
“How long have you known?” Rashae stood and paced the studio.
This was bad.
Piper had episodes from time to time. Emotional low points that called for an all-hands-on-deck situation.
“They haven’t slept together,” Tamara said.
“Okay. That’s good. When are you—we—telling her?” Rashae remembered the last dark period all too well. Piper had gone off the deep end over a misunderstanding. She’d over-reacted. What the hell would she do now?
“Tamara and I have been trying to decide how to tell her. I was showing the girls at work our pictures from L.A. and they got really quiet when they saw Kobe.”
“Girls? Um, Crystal and Andrea?” Rashae squinted. That was their names, right?
“Yes.” Miranda sighed. “Turns out, they have quite the knowledge, when it comes to parody porn. The things I didn’t want to know about my employees...”
“He’s in the Star Trek parody porn I saw a few weeks ago,” Tamara said. “I didn’t realize it was him until I went back and looked at the credits because they didn’t show his face but for a second.”
“You’ve... You’ve seen him in porn?” Rashae closed her eyes.
“Hey, it wasn’t like I went looking for him!” Tamara huffed. “Miranda told me what the girls said, I looked him up, and he’s like...he’s a big name in parody porn.”
“Piper has to know.” Rashae paced into the kitchen and poured herself some water.
“She’s still God knows where with her dad.” Miranda groaned and muttered in the background.
Piper’s dad was a hippie who lived out of his van wherever he decided to stop. It wasn’t unusual for her to go months without communicating with her old man, or for him to show up unannounced to use her shower or eat her food. Chances were, she was in some back-woods motel or at a hippie commune somewhere until it was time for her to catch a flight to New York for the con, if she even got there.
“Then—here’s an idea—why don’t we all skip the con and I don’t know, have an intervention?” Rashae knew Kobe had been invited, but since he had yet to actually accompany Piper on any of their trips, Rashae didn’t think it was likely he would this time.
“You’re deflecting,” Miranda said.
“I’m thinking about my friend.” Rashae pressed her cheek to the fridge and closed her eyes.
“How are you feeling? Really and truly?”
Rashae sighed.
She knew what she should say, that she was pissed and on a campaign to put her life back in order. But that wasn’t the truth.
“Sad. Hurt. Lonely. All my anger’s burned up and now I’m just...” She swiped under her eyes. Her friendship with Declan went back a few months. And then she’d met him, and she liked him a whole lot more face to face.
“You liked him,” Tamara’s tone was softer. More understanding than she might have been before falling head over heels for Stephen.
“You totally blew us off Christmas day. It’s okay to like him,” Miranda said.
“He was using me.”
“Yeah, well, have you confronted him about that? He owes you an apology and an explanation to start with.” The softness was gone from Tamara’s voice.
“No.”
“You should.”
“I don’t want to.”
“Okay...then...” Tamara hummed in the background. “I’ve got an idea. It’s weird, but hear me out, okay?”
Declan shook the snow off his boots and shed his coat.
Today he had a game plan. A mission.
The walks were shoveled, he’d cleared a few downed branches and knocked the ice off the eaves. He’d pulled down the larger Christmas decorations. The rest would have to wait until the other house staff came back from holiday.
Now, he was ready to begin.
Rashae still wasn’t speaking to him, and that was fine. He didn’t deserve her attention. What he owed her was action. Going after the root o
f the problem.
John and Ayan.
Since their initial shit storm of a post, the two were doing a good job of showing their true colors with the way they were carrying on. They were greedy bastards, out to make a quick buck at the expense of professionals like Rashae and Declan. Whatever support they’d earned from the community of developers was drying up faster than piss on sand. He was dedicated to the cause of making their wrongs right, and things would get a lot worse before they got better. If it meant making them pay, then he was good for it.
So far, Ayan had a three-day forum ban and John wasn’t far behind. But that was the small stuff.
Declan had heard back from the newsletter provider the guys had signed up for. After divulging the two men’s thieving ways, their account had been terminated and they were blocked from opening any new accounts.
The crowd funding site staff was still on holiday, but he had heard back from someone that the matter was flagged for immediate attention once people were back. Declan didn’t know for sure, but reading between the lines he was pretty sure both of their user accounts on the site were frozen.
This was just the beginning.
Declan was going to show Rashae that he hadn’t been using her. That in this, he was on her side. Yes, he’d fucked up and he didn’t expect her to take his sorry ass back, but he was going to do everything in his power to ensure John and Ayan paid for what they did.
How many other poor souls had they stolen from in the effort to make a buck before now? In Declan’s experience, men like these were repeat offenders.
He sat down at his desk with his new laptop.
The old one was in the hands of a guy Declan had done a few favors for. He was hoping that if he’d been hacked—and he suspected he had been—they could track down the culprit. Though Declan wanted nothing more than to get his hands on a person who would exploit a human being like that, there were better ways to make the lowlife pay.
There were several lawyers who had connections to the historical house, and Declan had also done a number of favors for them over the years, from clearing grounds to assembling children’s equipment. He’d become a professional handy man more or less and never taken anything but his fair wages in return. Several of the men had said they owed him a debt. He wouldn’t hesitate to cash in now if it meant ensuring the bastards behind this smear campaign got what they deserved.
The Gamer and the Geek (Gone Geek, #4) Page 18