There was only one problem with that scenario. A real, live guy with all the warts would never fit in with her ivory-tower ideals. Particularly not a guy with no manners, no imagination, and dark eyes that burned with lust.
She didn’t want it to be about just lust. Call her stupid, but she’d seen what sex just for sex’s sake looked like. It had chilled her blood.
Although, oddly, the dark-haired man’s scorching gaze had not.
She couldn’t handle this kind of emotional voltage. She had a career to forge, rent to pay, the Fiend to stay alert for. Look at her, wandering the streets without even paying attention to her surroundings. She had to sharpen up, or she’d find herself stuffed in the trunk of a car.
After her shift, Nell changed into her suit and dabbed on lipstick, staring doubtfully in the mirror. She twisted her hair into the tightest knot she could, with all that curly volume. It was the best she could do.
The receptionist’s directions to her interview were easy. It was a twenty-minute walk through Midtown. She entered the lobby of a large office building, took the elevator to the sixteenth floor, and found a door marked “Burke Solutions, Inc.”
It was a big, well appointed office. The receptionist was a young man with bulging eyes and a bow tie. He smiled as she approached.
“Can I help you?” he asked, hanging up the phone.
“I’m here for an interview with Duncan Burke,” she said.
“Another poet?” He regarded her as if she were a rare bug.
“Uh, yes,” Nell said. “Why do you ask?”
“You wouldn’t believe some of the weirdos who have been coming in. You look relatively normal, but you never can tell. I’ll tell Duncan you’re here.” He pushed a button. “Duncan, I’ve got another poet for you.” He listened, hung up. “I’ll take you to his office. Follow me.”
Nell followed, waited as he knocked. “Come in,” a deep voice said.
The receptionist gestured for her to walk in first. The smile on her face froze as she saw the man who stood up to greet her.
It was the black-haired man.
Chapter
3
Nell’s mouth went dry. He stared at her, eyes narrowed. She lowered her outstretched hand. Her stomach was cartwheeling. She pressed her hand against it, and forced herself to drop the hand. It twitched.
“I know you,” he said slowly.
Nell whipped up some instant bravado.
“Strip steak sandwich, soup of the day, apple crumb pie with vanilla ice cream, and lots of coffee,” she responded.
“You’re the waitress.” His tone was accusing. He seemed so much taller. Of course. In the restaurant he’d always been sitting down. “You look different.”
“I’m not wearing an apron.” She resisted the urge to button up her jacket. No need to advertise her self-consciousness. And she’d buttoned her blouse to the top. Hadn’t she? Do not check. Don’t.
“You guys know each other?” the receptionist said, eyes goggling.
“Derek, that’ll be all,” the guy said.
Derek blinked innocently. “Can I make you guys some coffee?”
“Out, Derek.” Derek sidled out the door. Nell and the black-haired man looked at each other for a long, nervous moment.
“You told me you were an expert in poetry and a doctoral candidate at NYU,” he said.
“And so I am,” Nell replied.
“Excuse me for being personal, but you look far too young.”
She had to change her look. “I’ll be thirty in October,” she said. “Would you like to see my driver’s license?”
“Look, Ms…. uh…”
“D’Onofrio,” she supplied.
“Ms. D’Onofrio, I sympathize if you want to break out of waitressing, but I don’t hire young women just for scenery. If you’re not qualified, don’t waste my time. It would be unpleasant for us both.”
Nell was speechless. The nerve. And he’d just implied that she was, well…pretty enough to be scenery. A compliment hidden inside an insult, or maybe an insult hidden inside a compliment—she wasn’t quite sure which. “I gave you my credentials,” she reminded him. “And I didn’t misrepresent myself in the least. If you’d like to verify my references, feel free. I am more than qualified for the work you’ve described. I’m interested in the flexible hours. It’s difficult to find jobs that fit into a graduate seminar and teaching schedule.”
“If you’re a teacher, why are you waiting tables?” he demanded.
“Because it’s impossible to pay rent on a grad student’s stipend,” she retorted. “I’m a busy person, but I’m the best you’ll find for this project. If you want to interview me, let’s proceed. If you intend to keep insulting me, I’ll go.” She looked him in the eye.
He examined her for another long, harrowing moment, and tapped his pen against his keyboard. “Okay,” he said. “Let’s proceed.”
Nell rummaged in her bag and handed him a résumé. He stared down at it and nodded. “Fine. Pull up a chair.”
Nell looked around. The chairs were piled chest high with computer printouts. The black-haired man got up. His sleeves were rolled up, and the muscles in his forearms bulged appealingly as he grabbed armfuls of paper and dumped them on the floor. “Derek was supposed to recycle this stuff last week,” he growled. “Sit down.”
Nell seated herself gingerly on the edge of the chair.
“We’re creating a cutting-edge computer game. More puzzle solving, less blood and guts. At various points in the game, to move to the next level, the player must decipher a map, break a spell, or defeat some magical creature. Instructions for the tasks will be encoded in texts that are stylistically in keeping with the game. I also hope to use stuff that has actual artistic merit. Good stuff. Do I make myself clear?”
“Quite,” Nell said.
“We’ve been interviewing for weeks, but I’ve been unsatisfied with the pool of applicants. It was my idea to fax colleges and universities. I figured, if I want fancy writing, I should go to the source.”
“Sensible,” Nell commented. “You said last night that you’d never done anything like this before.”
“Right. I’m not a game designer. I design programs with practical applications. The game is my brother Bruce’s baby. My mission is to make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid. I’ve invested a fortune in graphic designers and programmers. I can’t afford for this thing to fail.”
“I see,” she murmured.
“Let’s get back to what I want from you,” he said.
“Of course.” The intensity of his gaze made his choice of words seductive. Nell clasped her hands and forced herself to concentrate.
“For example, to move to the second level, the player finds a manuscript that gives him these clues: a silver vial, a scrying pool, and a jeweled dagger. You pour the contents of the vial into the pool to understand where to find the dagger, which leads you to the next level. The labyrinth. Got it?”
“Uh, yes,” Nell said.
“So write something that gives clues, but leaves the player to figure out the details. While alluding to the overall quest of the game.”
“Which is?” Nell inquired.
He shifted restlessly. “To rescue the enchanted princess.” Nell raised an eyebrow. “I know, it’s been done,” he muttered, uncomfortable. “Maybe we’ll come up with something more original later.”
“Stick with the princess,” Nell said. “That’s always a winner. So. A computer game for hopeless romantics. Lovely. Just my cup of tea.”