Game of Love: A Bad Boy Billionaire Romance

by Lulu Pratt

  “Like where?” I turned to him now. “Where is it you think you’re going? You’re already at the top of the ladder. We both are, and we got there because of the family. Don’t act like you built this all up.” I gestured at the crowd, mingling in their finery, laughing, and gossiping, the American dream in Technicolor.

  “I have something you lack. Ambition. I’m not going to throw away what we have. You might not care what happens to this company, but I do.”

  “Very admirable, Sean. But I have seen how you treat people, and I wouldn’t call that caring. I wouldn’t call it a success either, for that matter.”

  “What would you know about success? You are treading water, pissing it all away until you turn thirty-five and get your hands on the money–” He was interrupted by the return of Peter, and I made good my escape.

  It was best we left it there. He was right. When I turned thirty-five, the money in trust for me from the business was freed up and I could walk away. Before then, if I put a foot out of place, I forfeited the lot. It was our father’s idea of teaching us responsibility. He gave us positions in the company, but we weren’t getting a free ride. Or a penny of inheritance until we had served out our time. As my younger brother, Sean was desperate to be rid of me, and I understood why. But I didn’t understand why he had to be such a dick at every opportunity. I looked for Lucy, and as if by magic, she appeared by my side, her hand slipping gently around my arm and her head resting for a second on my shoulder. A photographer gestured to us to pose, and while I would usually have directed him to Sean, who was both more photogenic and more willing a public figure, I gave him my best smile and held Lucy close. The flash went, and I considered the evening’s duties complete. I put everything out of my head other than the pressing need to see this silk dress on my bedroom floor.

  Chapter 7

  FREYA

  I’VE NEVER been a fan of Monday mornings, but as I sat on the bus on my way to Clover House I felt sick to my stomach. I had spent the weekend trying to get organized and prepare as best I could for my new life as Effie Hancock, the friendly but unremarkable new intern at Clover House. I repeated the name over and over in my head. I was not Freya Hamilton. I was Effie Hancock.

  I would smile and make coffee and gain everyone’s trust, and sooner or later someone would let something slip about the true origins of the new game. Or an opportunity to do some snooping would come along. I tried to silence the rational voice inside my head that told me how unlikely it was that either of these things would happen. What choice did I have?

  The pressure was all the more real now that my sister knew what I was up to. While I had planned to keep it all secret for a little longer, she was kind of crucial to my success. To my annoyance, it all came down to style. In that Beatrix had it, and I didn’t. Beatrix had a walk-in wardrobe with color-coordinated outfits for every occasion. I had a jumbled closet packed with clothes that she called ‘bo-ho’ when she was being nice and ‘hand-me-downs’ when she wasn’t. For every sequin-covered ball gown that Beatrix had hung immaculately in dry-clean wrapping, I had five soft T-shirts from fundraising events. She despaired over my corduroy pants and skin-tight denim, and as for my prized collection of band T-shirts, hard-earned by standing in endless lines for merch booths at gigs, well, probably best not to even go there. So, for me to show up on her doorstep and ask to borrow some sensible work-wear was both a dream come true for Beatrix – who harbored a secret love of corny makeover shows – and a bit of a shock.

  I’d had to tell her everything of course, and I guess it was a relief in a way. But if I were hoping she would put an end to my plans and shake some sense into me, I was wrong.

  “You’ve got a job where?” her voice was quiet.

  “Clover House, but it’s not a job, it’s an internship…”

  “At Clover House. You have an internship at Clover House,” she repeated it, as if the words were somehow new to her and she couldn’t quite understand them.

  “Yes, but…” I tried to wriggle out of it, to tell her I wasn’t really going to go, that it was a moment of madness, but she interrupted me.

  “You’re going to go… undercover… at Clover House? To snoop?” her eyes lit up, and I realized with a sinking feeling that she actually thought it was a good idea.

  “Well, no, I thought I would, but now I…” I had to stop mid-sentence as she threw her arms around me.

  “I can’t believe you have the balls to do it!” She held me at arms’ length and looked at me admiringly.

  “I’m not sure I do…” I smiled weakly.

  “But you had an interview? You went there?” She was laughing now.

  “I had an interview with Sean Callahan himself,” I couldn’t keep a touch of pride from my voice. “And he was a total letch, and I resisted telling him where to go.”

  Beatrix’s eyebrows shot up and her eyes widened. She looked absolutely stunned. She sat down heavily on her bed and sighed loudly. “I can’t get my head around this. What about your travel plans?”

  “What travel plans?” I smiled, because if I began to let her see my regret at postponing my plans, I wasn’t sure I could hold it together.

  “Oh Freya, I’m so sorry. This shouldn’t have affected you.” She looked so tired and sad all of a sudden, and I remembered that Mom had told me how worried she was about Beatrix.

  “So, are you going to dress me up with the kind of clothes that Effie Hancock might wear to her new job, or what?” I held up my arms to draw attention to the flowing balloon arms of the silver-purple second-hand gypsy blouse I was wearing. It was one of my favorites and exactly the kind of thing she hated.

  Beatrix gave me a mock look of horror and jumped up, disappearing into the closet and re-emerging with armfuls of chic workwear in sensible muted tones. It had taken us a few hours, and a bottle of wine, but Effie Hancock was now the proud owner of what Beatrix called a ‘capsule wardrobe’ of ‘key versatile pieces.’ What this meant was that I could mix and match from a range of equally boring items without clashing. I was glad that we were still roughly the same size. Beatrix had always had a more athletic figure while I had inherited our mother’s hourglass shape, so the more fitted of her shirts tended to gape about my bust, and I could only imagine with a shudder how Sean Callahan might react. Eventually, we found a few shirts that didn’t make me look like a slutty secretary in porn.

  We argued about my hair, of course. Beatrix recommended I get it cut, whereas I had no intention of cutting it. My hair was the only thing about my appearance that I really liked, apart from my dark blue eyes that I inherited from my father. I had never dyed my hair, and it was a mass of tumbling waves in various natural shades of auburn and copper blonde. We agreed that while Freya Hamilton ran around with her hair flying out in all directions, Effie Hancock wrapped hers neatly into a sleek bun.

  Beatrix showed me how to tame the fly-aways around my face with a fine hairbrush sprayed with firm-hold hairspray, and the effect was amazing. When I was dressed in a pale gray pantsuit with a white shirt, a neat little pair of patent leather pumps that I had hidden in the back of the closet three years ago and hair tucked up into a sleek roll, I felt a surge of confidence. I felt like an actress in full costume, and I was ready to play my part.

  That confidence, looking in Beatrix’s full-length mirror with my third glass of wine, had mostly evaporated by the time Monday morning came round and I found myself wrestling with my hair and rushing for the bus. It was only a half-hour journey from my apartment to the center of the city, and from there I could easily walk to the Clover House building, but I felt like I was on some kind of epic journey. I was slightly worried that I would run into someone I knew. Most of my friends had gone back home after graduation or already embarked on their careers, but there was still a chance I would see someone who would recognize me. It was almost a relief to see the shiny façade of Clover House up ahead; at least I couldn’t pull out of this now. I was doing it. It was happening.

 
Security had an ID on a lanyard waiting for me, and I was waved through with a smile. I made my way to my desk where I found myself alone. The Design team appeared to be in some kind of meeting, but I had enough reading material on my desk to keep me busy. There was a history of the company – mostly stuff I had read on the website – and information on the intern program, as well as some notes detailing my duties and who I was answerable to. A board on the wall introduced the various members of the team, and I made my way over to it, intending to memorize the names and faces. Sean’s smug grin stared out at me, and beside him, the other of the Callahan brothers. This must be Keegan, the one I ran into at Antionette’s. He was the darker and more handsome of the two, with blue eyes and the kind of bone structure that might look good in an artsy magazine, but gave him an angular look that was anything but friendly. I was already dreading meeting him. I wondered what kind of parents had gifted these two charmers to the world, and reminded myself to simply smile and nod.

  ***

  My first day at Clover House had passed without incident, and the rest of the week was – I reluctantly admitted – almost fun. True, I was mostly making coffee and doing some general admin, but now and then I had some more interesting work to look over – part of my training. It was pretty basic, and I had to think up questions to ask so that they bought the idea that it was new to me.

  Frank was encouraging, and a few times had asked my opinion on some color scheme or layout option, and I had found it hard to hold back when giving him my input. Sean came by a couple times to make sure I was settling in and to check how far down my top he could see. I had smiled and nodded and pretended I urgently needed to visit the copier. I still hadn’t had the pleasure of meeting the other Callahan brother, who seemed to come in before I arrived and stayed until everyone else was gone, a shadowy figure moving around in the glass box at the far end of the office floor, pacing back and forth.

  “He’s all or nothing. Either here from morning to night, or nowhere to be seen. And I don’t know which Keegan annoys Sean more,” Taylor had said with the directness I had already come to appreciate in her.

  “Doesn’t he come out to eat?” I whispered. The longer Keegan Callahan was a sort of mythical beast, the more intrigued and slightly frightened I was of him.

  “Brings food with him, and has one of those all-singing, all-dancing coffee machines in there with him,” she explained, rolling her eyes.

  I got all the way to Friday before my mother managed to wheedle the truth out of Beatrix. I got a warning text from my sister in the morning, and I took a walk during my lunch break to make the phone call I had been dreading.

  “Mom!” I did my best to sound upbeat. “Sorry I haven’t been round, I’ve been…”

  “Working for the enemy, I know.” She sounded matter of fact, and I braced myself for what was to come.

  “I’m trying to help,” I sighed.

  “I know. And I know by now there is nothing I can do to stop you once you have decided something, but listen. Don’t do anything that could get you into trouble with the law. By all means, talk to… your colleagues, and keep your ear to the ground. But nothing else. Don’t go hacking their computer system, or stealing anything.”

  “Mom, I wouldn’t know how to. But if they give me access to files–”

  “Freya,” she cut me off as if she didn’t want to know the details. “Just be careful, and don’t do anything that puts you in jeopardy. It isn’t worth getting into trouble over.”

  “I won’t, Mom,” I reassured her, and I wondered for the millionth time how far I was prepared to go to get the information we needed. I could talk the talk, but when it came down to it, I had no real plan. I tried to change the subject, but Mom was quiet. I made her promise not to tell anyone else what I was doing. It had to stay between herself, Dad, and Beatrix. I didn’t want Drew or Paula to know. Drew was working as hard as he could to figure out what had happened, and my detective act at Clover House felt like a betrayal of his efforts, like I was fairly sure he wasn’t going to succeed.

  As though he had read my mind, a text from Drew popped up on my phone just as I made it back to the office.

  The system is clear. There’s nothing to be found. Can you meet me?

  It wasn’t like Drew to be so direct. I had an uneasy feeling about this, so I checked the time and called him back. I have to admit that standing in the lobby, wearing my Clover House ID, talking to Drew who was back at my parents’ studio, made me feel like a double agent in a spy movie. I kind of liked it.

  “Freya?” Drew sounded on edge.

  “Hey, everything okay?” I asked.

  “Uh, yeah. Sorry for texting you like that. I guess I’m just a bit anxious about this whole thing. Trying to find out what happened, you know, but there’s nothing to be found.” He sounded really low.

  “Drew, you know nobody holds you responsible, right? If you haven’t found a breach of security, it’s because there isn’t one to be found.” I felt a twinge of guilt and added, “I haven’t been around because I’ve had some freelance work I’ve been doing, but of course we can meet.”

  There was a pause.

  “Drew? How about this evening? A drink somewhere?” I tried to sound lighthearted.

  “I’d like that.” There was a smile in his voice, and I felt relieved.

  “We can catch up.” I wondered what the hell we would talk about, given that I couldn’t tell him anything that had happened in the past couple of days.

  “Can I pick you up? Around seven-thirty?” he asked tentatively.

  “Perfect, see you then.” I ended the call and stood there for a minute wondering how that had just happened. It all felt rather like a date, and that was the last thing I needed. So why was I feeling a little flushed as I arrived back at my desk, and why was I trying to think of somewhere nice we could go?

  Frank interrupted my thoughts, and I was glad of the distraction. He wanted me to check over some work, and he seemed under pressure.

  “It’s important, and there’s nobody else to do it. It shouldn’t be down to you, but for some reason, it needs to be signed off by close of day, and I want it checked over.” He gave an annoyed glance at the office where the outline of Keegan Callahan could be seen, as usual pacing back and forth.

  “Leave it with me,” I smiled.

  “There should be no issues,” he called as he walked away.

  Glad to have something of some actual importance to do instead of fetching, copying, and smiling like an idiot, I sat down and began downloading the files that were being sent across the office to me. They kept coming, and I felt overwhelmed by the sheer volume of material. It was promotional material for Cre8ure. While Dynasty Games would have run one marketing campaign, Clover House had a series of targeted campaigns aimed at different demographics. They were offering free in-app purchases, a VIP reward scheme, competitions, and discounted merchandise from partner companies. It must be costing a fortune, but even with my limited experience, I knew it would work. The incentives were compelling, and the artwork was flawless.

  I spent the afternoon immersing myself in the various prototypes, checking for errors, correcting the occasional minor color or shadow issue just like Taylor had shown me to do, and trying to wrap my head around the size of the campaign. Almost everyone had left but Frank by the time I came to the end of the work. I was just about to save it and upload it back to the cloud for Frank when something occurred to me. Something that didn’t make sense. I opened the files again and cross-referenced the spreadsheet I had printed off earlier explaining the pricing across the different campaigns. I checked and rechecked. Someone had dropped the ball here, but I couldn’t understand how. The information on the latest spreadsheet was completely different from the information on the prototypes. I quickly check the dates. Sean had sent over the spreadsheet that morning, so these were new figures.

  I called Frank over nervously and started to explain.

  “Son of a–” Frank did as I h
ad done, checking and rechecking, shaking his head in disbelief. “This is what happens when you have two guys who hate each other both trying to do their job and make sure the other guy fucks up.”

  “What can I do?” I asked.

  “We don’t have time to fix this. It all needs to be edited to these new figures. I don’t know how Keegan missed this.” He sounded angry now. “But we will get the blame.”

  “I can edit these,” I said quietly.

  “You can?” he sounded doubtful.

  “I’m going to need access to a better machine,” I glanced at my laptop. “But I think we can get them updated. I know a… quick way.”

  “You’re a blessing, Effie,” Frank gave me a wide grin, and we quickly moved over to Taylor’s computer.

  I opened the software and began to edit multiple frames at a time, sending the files back to Frank, who reformatted them. He was so grateful that I was helping that he didn’t ask why I had been smiling and nodding as Taylor explained the fundamentals of their design software, and yet suddenly I knew all kinds of shortcuts and tricks to get the job done. I felt incredibly self-conscious and made a few silly errors through sheer nerves, which then had to be fixed, but we got there. It was after six when I had finally finished, and I went back to reread the email thread that had accompanied the pricing spreadsheet.

  “Something funny is going on – I’ve been checking the email thread about these files, and something doesn’t add up,” I said, but his face was clear of worry.

  “Well, they have the files both ways now, so no harm was done, right? Not even the Callahan bros can argue with that!”

  “Sure,” I said, reverting to my cheerful persona.

  “Go on, escape before I find something else for you to do. I don’t know how you did it, but you saved us here today. Have a good weekend!”