Page 1 of Boarding Pass (Hearts Without Borders #1)
Chapter one
Why do feel like I’m at my funeral?
Supposedly it’s a celebration. A send-off. Some sort of fancy going-away party.
No. It’s the end of a fucking era.
The room hums with chatter from the Hungry Llama executive staff—a team my best friend, Austin Andrews and I put together after we dropped out of college. These are the people who were in the trenches with us for over a decade. Together, we built the company into a gaming unicorn.
Which is now owned by Jacoby International.
They rotate through, clink my glass and say variations of the exact same thing through tight, polished smiles. “ Congrats, dude .” “ You’re gonna be missed .” “ To new beginnings .”
Almost like memorized lines from a script titled, How to Toast the Guy Who’s Moving On While Everyone Else Stays Put.
I swirl the whiskey in my glass and take another sip.
This entire evening is surreal. Almost like I’m watching a movie of my life from above. Hell, I’m supposed to be the guest of honor, but I might as well be a corpse in a casket they’re all politely circling. I guess everyone wants to have a minute with the departing boss—me.
And then…what?
Fuck it. I take another sip of Midleton and watch Austin with his arm slung around my twin sister Shay. They’re laughing at some story one of the accounting team is telling. I’m still coming to terms with the fact they’re engaged. They look so damn settled. Comfortable.
Like they’ve been handed the keys to the rest of their lives and they know exactly what they’re doing.
Meanwhile, I sit here smiling and nodding like a jackass while trying to shake the gnawing sense of emptiness permeating my body like a disease.
So here’s to “moving on.” To “new adventures.” To whatever the hell happens next.
But man, even though it’s my choice to leave the one job I’ve ever known, I feel like I’ve been dumped into some kind of side quest with no map, no mission, and no idea where to go.
Technically, I still have a seat on the board. But sitting in an air-conditioned room full of smug dudes with suits, trying to care about quarterly projections, feels about as exciting as grinding XP in a mobile tower-defense game that’s all ads and no payoff.
“Stodge!” Austin’s earnest voice cuts through the buzz. He holds up two glasses of champagne, grinning like a damn idiot. “We’re toasting! Get over here.”
Like I have a choice. I run a hand through my hair as I cross the room and take my place by his side. The whiskey’s warm in my chest, but not enough to dull the nagging feeling I’m coasting while everyone else is leveling up.
“To Miles Stojanovi? a.k.a. ‘ Stodge .’“ Austin slings his arm around my shoulder, dragging me into the small circle with Shay. “Visionary. Creative genius. The heart of Hungry Llama. We couldn’t have done this without you.”
I dutifully clink my glass against his and then tap it to my sister’s. “Couldn’t have done it without you, bro.” I force a grin, meeting Shay’s eyes for a second.
She smiles brightly, but her gaze is soft. She knows. Of course, she does. We’re twins, after all.
Austin is still yammering on about me and something about he and I being a team forever. Blah blah blah. The words are fine and the sentiment’s nice, but all I can think about is how forever looks different now. Austin has Shay, Hungry Llama has a new owner, and I have…
Nothing .
No, scratch that. I have money. A stupid amount of money. Enough to burn through a hundred lifetimes of bad decisions and still be fine. Enough to make me invisible if I don’t want to flash my credentials. But what’s the point of any of it if I’m filled with this weird emptiness ?
Like everything I’ve worked for is for nothing. Because I’m alone. I’ve given Hungry Llama my heart. My soul. My youth.
I guess I thought being rich would be worth it.
It’s not.
Shay sticks close and gathers me into a hug when the toasts die down. “You okay?” she asks quietly, her chin tilted so Austin can’t hear.
“Yeah,” I lie.
Her brow furrows, but she doesn’t push. I don’t want her to because as the time of the party winds down, I’ve made up my mind.
It’s time for me to find my fucking joy.
The Uber drops me off at my sleek high-rise in downtown Seattle. I never got around to furnishing it properly but I have some basics so it’s not totally empty. I kick off my sneakers, pour a glass of Gatorade Zero, and sit on a barstool at my kitchen island.
I click on Kayak and search for first-class flights to Europe .
The results populate. Rome. Madrid. Berlin. Paris.
Paris catches my eye. Always does. Austin and I went there once for a gaming conference when we launched our company and were traveling on the cheap.
Back then, he and I were two geeks chasing an impossible dream.
We had six hours of free time before our flight left and spent most of it getting lost on the cobblestone streets, filling our bellies with pastries and laughing at ourselves for butchering the language.
We often reminisced about how we’d go back and do it up once we “made” it. Neither of us bothered, though. Too caught up in the day-to-day of running a billion-dollar company, and the opportunity never presented itself.
In any case, I pick Paris. Who doesn’t love Paris?
I don’t overthink it. I book the ticket, grab a carry-on, and toss in some basic clothes, figuring I can do laundry or buy what I need. My passport’s in my dresser drawer, a little dusty but still valid. By midnight, I’m packed and ready for my early flight.
The flight’s relaxing. I eat the surprisingly delicious first-class airline meal. Drink a couple of glasses of whiskey. Adjust my seat into lie-flat mode and let the background hum of engines lull me into a fairly restful sleep.
By the time my plane lands at Charles de Gaulle, it’s already early evening. Customs is a breeze and before I know it, I’m squinting against the fluorescent lights and following signs to the RER train.
I don’t have a plan. That’s the point.
An hour later, I’m standing in front of a fancy five-star hotel in the Marais district with wrought-iron balconies and flower boxes spilling over with red geraniums. Charming as hell—and it has availability.
I drop my bag in the room, splash some water on my face, and change into something less crumpled.
Stepping out into the Parisian night, I have no idea what I’m looking for.
But, I’m already itching to find it.