Talking Dirty with the CEO - By Jackie Ashenden Page 0,6

ask to prove her point.

Christie logged back in to the Zombie Force chat room. Empty. So maybe Studman wouldn’t show, but it didn’t hurt to check. Maybe she’d get lucky. And if he wasn’t around then there would be others. Plenty of others. She’d find someone. She wasn’t totally lame.

Five minutes later, the chat room remained empty and Christie was feeling more disappointed than she cared to admit. Perhaps it was time to call it quits and find someone else. Clearly he wasn’t going to show.

She was on the point of logging off when a chat window popped up again.

Studman500: Hello Naughtygirl, I was wondering if you’d visit again.

A fierce dart of exhilaration arrowed through her. He was here. Now all she had to do was find a bit of courage, ask him if he wanted a date, and she was set. Easy. Yeah, right.

Naughtygirl25: Just passing through. Where did you go?

He seemed to ignore her question.

Studman500: Liar. You were checking to see if I was online, weren’t you?

Even here, sitting in her apartment by herself, she blushed.

Naughtygirl25: Maybe.

Another pause.

Studman500: Tell me what you’re doing right now. Lounging on the sheepskin rug?

Oh boy, she’d love to do more dirty talk with him, but she was on a mission now. An important mission. One that had nothing to do with killing zombies for a change.

Before she could lose her nerve, Christie opened a private message and typed quickly:

Naughtygirl25: Do you want to meet? For a date?

God, the guy probably thought she was a complete and utter freak. She’d only talked to him for the equivalent of ten minutes before the game had started and then in the chat room by themselves. But they’d had…something in those moments, hadn’t they?

Studman500: A date? IRL?

In real life.

Naughtygirl25: Yes.

Christie stared at her screen until it blurred, her heart thumping, caught on the fine edge between disappointment and relief that he’d say no.

Then his reply came up:

Studman500: As a rule, I don’t date women I meet in chat rooms. But I’ll make a special exception for you. Especially if you bring the sheepskin rug.

He was into it. He really was. Oh bloody hell.

Christie reached for her wine bottle and poured herself another large glass to calm the sudden, spiraling doubt. Perhaps this was sleazy. Perhaps he was a serial killer. Perhaps he was a sweaty, pimply teenage boy. Or, worse, eighty-five and into little girls.

But it didn’t feel sleazy. The gut feeling she got from Studman500 was anything but.

And Marisa would be there as her wing-woman. In retrospect that had been a great move. There was no risk involved.

Christie took a deep breath and typed:

Naughtygirl25: Okay. Where and when to meet?

His reply came back without hesitation.

Studman500: Tomorrow night. At Blue. 7 p.m.

Blue was a bar in the Viaduct Basin on Auckland’s harbor, the restaurant district. It was popular, crowded, and just the kind of place that Christie hated. Crap.

Studman500: Oh, and wear the Ugg boots.

Christie groaned.

Naughtygirl25: IN the pub? I don’t think so. I’ll wear…a sheep brooch. How does that sound?

Studman500: Bizarre. But distinctive. See you there, Naughtygirl.

Christie sat back from the computer, her heart thumping.

Had she really done it?

Had she, the geeky girl who hated dating, really set up an Internet date? With a total stranger?

Oh yes, she bloody well had.

Christie raised her glass toward the computer screen and drained the rest of her wine. “In your face, Mum.”

Chapter Two

Joseph stared at the drink the bartender had pushed in his direction. “Not another one?”

“’Fraid so.”

“From the same person?”

“No. This one is from the group over there.” The bartender indicated a booth full of scantily dressed young women with too much makeup and too much hair spray.

They saw him looking and there was much nudging and whispering before they all lifted their glasses to him in a silent toast. One woman blew him a kiss.

Great. This was the third drink someone had bought him in the space of an hour. Had they recognized him? No, it was unlikely. Despite being the owner of one of New Zealand’s most successful technology companies, he kept himself out of the spotlight. Media attention was tedious and there had been the odd occasion where he’d zoned out right in the middle of an interview, which hadn’t been a good look. Since then, he’d left all of that hoopla to his spokesperson.

Besides, there was also the fact that he hadn’t bothered to shave today—too many late nights working on the E-Slate release. Nothing like a five o’clock shadow to add a