Waiting For It - Allyson Lindt Page 0,28

So was Luke. They wouldn’t—

“Planned is the right word for it.” Luke sighed. “Calling it anything else is bullshit.”

Nope. Nuh-uh. I would not jump to conclusions. “What is it?” I looked at Chase. “Tell me straightforward-like. Don’t wrap it up pretty.”

Chase pinched the bridge of his nose.

“When hooked up, your name came up,” Luke said. “I’d tell you I don’t know how, but you were there in every other tangent. It came out that we both like you. Care about you. Would like more than friendship.”

That was sweet. So why did it taste rancid? “Okay?”

“I admitted I was holding back for the same reasons you hesitated—our shared friends.” Chase pulled on a pair of trousers over his boxer briefs.

“Luke was hesitating because he’s my boss.” An explanation I was sick of hearing. Not because it was an invalid reason, but I didn’t see a way around it, and that obstacle nagged at me. None of this eased how much the word planned bothered me. “And?”

Luke stood with his feet shoulder-width apart, hands clasped behind his back. “I had another reason for waiting, but it’s related. You’re not going to be working for me much longer.”

They couldn’t fire me, could they? “After everything I’ve done? All the hours I’ve put in? I’m on the chopping block?” I mean yeah, our game launch had been the worst in the company’s history and I was a team lead, but I’d tried. My heart hammered against my ribs, and my breath came in short gasps. This wasn’t—

“No.” Luke was emphatic. “No one is firing you. I promise. The opposite. You’re not supposed to know this, but after the game launches, Scott wants to move you into a Design Director position. He’s just waiting.”

The wheels in my brain spun freely, not snagging anything. Not processing anything. Promotion. Not working for Luke, but with him. Recognition for the months of long hours. Having a say in the direction of games. My dream job. “Basically, everyone’s just... waiting?” More motivation to finish the game. Like I needed another reason.

“Exactly.” Luke’s smile was tentative.

I should leave things as they were. This was a happy outcome. I mean, until I had to pick a guy, or things didn’t work out with either of them, but there was no reason to go into dating assuming the relationship would fail. “But that’s not what you mean by we planned.”

Chase winced. “We agreed neither one of us would pursue you until we both could. He made a move early, and I didn’t want to miss my chance.”

“And?” I wasn’t hearing anything bad, per se, but they radiated guilt. The backstory was nice, but it didn’t answer the original question. And why did Luke’s phrasing make them look like they’d been caught with their dicks out?

“We may have made a bet about which one of us could win you over.” Luke grimaced with each word. “The prize is you.”

They made a wager, and I was the reward? My jaw dropped. Apparently that was a thing that really happened. I tried to find a response, but anything I would have said would sound more like a low keening than words.

“It’s not like what you’re thinking.” Chase reached for me.

I stepped back until I collided with the dresser.

“It was a stupid way to phrase things.” Luke hadn’t moved from his at-ease stance. “I care about you. Not a stupid bet.”

“Yeah, but you agreed to it anyway. Not only that, but you meant it enough that you still think of me in those terms.” My voice came back, fueled by anger, hurt, and disbelief. “I can’t— You really— A fucking bet? Am I supposed to be flattered that you think I can be won and traded? Spoiler alert—I’m not.”

Chase took a step toward me. “Annie.”

“No.” I held up my hand, index finger out, as a warning. I saw two choices—curl up in a ball and sob for the next decade, or swallow this horrific feeling and go back to work. I wouldn’t pretend none of it had happened, but I would ignore the giant pit in my gut that enjoyed any part of it. “Don’t call me that. Don’t touch me. Don’t come near me. Guess what? You both lose.”

“Please. I’m sorry.” Luke’s posture softened, but he kept his distance.

I grabbed a change of clothes from my luggage and focused on keeping myself from shaking. From breaking. Was the room part of their plan? This trip? The seat upgrade had been. How much didn’t I know?