Then he finally slipped inside. Percy was split. He’d come all this way on a whim, just to get some extra time with CJ. He hadn’t expected to be staying in the hotel room with him, but leapt at the suggestion once CJ made it. That meant, if he was going to stay, CJ would have to be off working. And that, not mincing words, sucked balls.
Not even in the fun way, like he hoped they might get to do later.
But at the same time, he wasn’t exactly rife with disposable income for trips to the big city. Or the mostly big city, in the case of Spokane. It was a good opportunity for him to take things in. He could hit up Auntie’s Bookstore, see if they had anything to tickle his fancy while he was waiting. He’d brought his laptop with him, so he could cruise through fan fics if traditional books didn’t sate his appetite for amusement. Or he could game, play some Sidewinder titles before he learned something about them he might wish he hadn’t.
He pulled out his phone. Also a good idea to check out that roastery, see if they were worth a little visit. His entire personalitywasn’tcoffee, but you didn’t insist on operating a barely-holding-on coffee stand without at least a bit of passion.
Chapter 8
CJ stepped out of the town car and walked through the revolving door of the office complex. It was a stark affair, mostly done in grays, whites, and blacks, although a few hanging plants were scattered around the walls, providing nominal pops of nature amongst the straight lines and sere palate.
Before he could even approach the portly man behind the front desk to ask for directions, a low thrum of a voice bristled across the lobby. “Mr. Skaug?”
He turned toward the source of the voice. A short Black man—meaning he was about CJ’s height—stood by the bank of elevators, wearing a suit in gray pinstripe with a forest green tie. He smiled, the expression genuinely warm instead of the customer service version CJ always expected from corporate liaisons.
He walked up, footsteps echoing in the stony interior, and extended his hand once he got close. “CJ, please. The only people who have to call me Mr. Skaug are the ones who get on my bad side.”
The man chuckled, shaking his hand. “Well, hopefully that won’t be us. I’m Anthony. I was sent down to greet you and show you up to the meeting room. If I get on your bad side in that short interaction, I need to work on my people skills.”
“I’m sure we’ll be fine.” They loaded into an empty elevator carriage, and Anthony pressed his badge against a sensor, closing the doors and sending the pair of them gently up. It took only a few seconds for them to glide to a stop and the doors to part once again.
Anthony stepped out, hand in the space between the doors to prevent them closing up again. “The meeting room is just past the reception desk, here. You’re expected, so just head on through. I would accompany you, but I have to be on my way. No rest for the wicked.”
“I would hardly call you wicked.”
“You haven’t seen me after a few shots of whiskey.” He winked as he stepped back into the elevator and the doors closed back over him.
The décor here was largely the same as down below, sans the plant life that had attempted to injectsomevibrancy into the surroundings. This was all stone and concrete, and the view out the windows was nothing but frost and snow and other large, rectangular buildings, which didn’t help enliven the mood. The only splash of color was the large, backlit sign just before the reception desk: a blue serpent, made of interlocked chevrons, with its fangs lancing into a blocky, stylized font bearing the company’s name. Sidewinder Entertainment had certainly taken the most literal approach to their logo possible, that much was clear. Adding blue was certainly color, but not the sort of warmth or life the space really needed, just cooling it down all the more.
Not here to critique their design decisions. CJ rolled his shoulders back, then strode toward the reception desk, giving a nod to the woman seated behind it before stepping around her. Apparently, they hadn’t wanted to waste any time, informing everyone that he was coming.
The door just past reception was propped open with a mesh wastepaper basket. CJ knocked on the door jamb as he pressed in, announcing his presence. “I hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long.”
Four people were gathered inside. A Hispanic woman, with shocks of red dyed through her curls, sat closest to the door and fixed a tight smile on him. Next to her, a skinny white guy, oldest in the group to look at him, sat with his hands folded on the tabletop. Another white guy sat across from him, probably in his early thirties, with close-cropped black hair and theexactcustomer service smile CJ had been expecting from Anthony before. Not reaching his eyes at all, totally and completely fake.
At the head of the table was a figure that CJ at least recognized from looking into the company. The only board member, apparently, who chose to be any level of public-facing. He was Black, mid-forties, his shaggy mane starting to gray, although it was tied back into a bun at the moment. His beard was tight to his jawline, mustache bushy, and he was far and away the most muscular, well-built person in the room. Even including CJ. Looked like a damn bodybuilder who somehow stumbled his way into a nerdy little indie enterprise like Sidewinder.
He was also the man with the money, so CJ greeted him first. “Mr. Lane.”
“Daniel, please.” His smile was a little warmer as well, although his figure made it look ever so slightly sinister. But he gestured to an empty seat next to him and CJ took it. “I do apologize for yesterday. This is a fraught situation, and I was less than charitable with you on the phone. Took out my frustrations on the wrong party, to be sure. I hope we didn’t rush you too much in getting here.”
An apology was more than CJ usually got when higher ups abused him. “Thanks to the kindness of strangers, I managed to make it.” He leaned back in the chair, looking over the collected board members. “So, which one of you is the homophobe in question?”
The woman bit down on her knuckle, clearly stifling a laugh, and the older guy blanched somehow paler than he had been before. Even Daniel’s clearly well-practiced façade cracked, smile faltering and neck tensing.
But the young white guy had zero poker face, jumping up and removing the garbage can so the door closed, then started closing the blinds on the windows looking out into the office. “I don’t think we need to throw around words like that.”
Sothiswas Eddie North. The so called ‘genius’ lead project manager at Sidewinder Entertainment. The source of this entire problem.
CJ leaned forward, fixing his gaze as bluntly as he could. “I read the messages, Mr. North. If we insist on pussyfooting around to spare your feelings, we’re not going to be able to get anywhere.” CJhadto read everything, had to know how bad this was going to be. A bunch of DMs and emails had been leaked, and while small sites had picked up on them already, he’d so far managed to pull the right strings to keep anyone major from talking.
But it was a matter of time—and not very much time at all—before the whole world got to see exactly what Eddie North was really about. CJ tried not to focus on the exact words and phrases used, the sentiments expressed, but he couldn’t help some of it leaking through, tightening his fists and grinding his teeth together the more time he had to spend in the room with this asshole.
Eddie sat back down, focusing his glare straight on CJ. “Those messages were private communications. It’s not my fault—”
“It is your fault.” CJ was well-paid, and for a reason. His reputation preceded him, and gave him the latitude to speak this frankly. And they all knew it, otherwise they wouldn’t have put up with all his requests so readily. “You sent the messages. That was a stupid decision. You don’t get to just show people how much of a piece of crap you are and expect nothing to come of it. You might not be immediately recognized in public, but your name carries weight.”
“Private communications—”
