Page 10

Chapter Ten

Andrew

Of the eight million people living in London, I’m fairly certain I’m the person most excited to go to work on Monday morning.

I need a distraction to stop my brain from replaying every moment between Justin and me on Saturday night on an infinite loop.

I’m barely settled at my desk when Xander stumbles in like a zombie. Today’s Dragon’s Sphere T-shirt features what appears to be last night’s dinner—unless gravy stains are the latest fashion trend. His hair looks like it’s attempting to escape his head entirely, possibly to seek better living conditions.

“Morning,” he grunts, collapsing into his chair.

“Morning,” I reply.

Xander switches on his computer, and I hear the familiar sounds of Dragon’s Sphere starting up.

When I check my emails, there’s one from Adam saying he’s out sick today, and he hopes we’ll manage okay without him. He’s thoughtfully attached a twenty-seven-point checklist of everything we might possibly do wrong in his absence, ranked by the potential for catastrophe.

Unfortunately, as the morning progresses, Adam’s assumption that we can’t handle things without him seems like a prophecy.

Because it appears everything technological at DTL Enterprises decides to go on strike this Monday morning. By nine-thirty, my inbox is overflowing with increasingly desperate pleas for tech support.

Marketing can’t access their subscriber database, HR’s emails are sending themselves in reverse chronological order, and Ian from Operations informs me that their inventory system is down.

Then, Alison from Accounting calls.

“Um…sorry to bother you, but our printer is making noises that I’m pretty sure violate the Geneva Convention.”

“Someone will be right up,” I say.

I put down the phone and glance at Xander, whose computer is still emitting an unholy mixture of dragon screeches and what sounds like magical spells being cast by a wizard with a head cold.

“Um…Xander, do you think you could go see what’s causing the printers to jam in Accounting?”

“I just need to finish this level. I’ve never made it through before, and if I die now, my entire guild will see me fail. They already demoted me to mushroom picker last week. Do you know how long it takes to rebuild your reputation after spending three days harvesting psychedelic toadstools?”

For god’s sake.

I stand and head to his workspace. Glancing over his shoulder, I see he’s up to the legendary Dragon’s Lair Level Eleven. Shit. This level takes hours unless you use the shortcuts.

“You need to go through that tunnel to the left of the jewel room,” I say.

Xander squints at me. “What?”

The help desk phone starts shrilling incessantly.

“Here.” I reach for Xander’s keyboard and quickly type in the speed-running code I created at MIT when I was obsessed with Dragon’s Sphere.

The sound of a thousand virtual fireworks explodes from his computer as his character materializes in the treasure room, the Level Complete banner unfurling across his screen in shimmering gold text.

“There. Done. Now, can you please go and fix Accounting’s printer?”

I leave Xander staring at his screen as I rush to answer the phone that’s still ringing.

“Hello, IT. Have you tried turning it off and on?”

“Hello, it’s Dave from Sales. And yes, I tried turning my computer off, but now it won’t turn back on.”

“I’ll be right up,” I promise.

I turn to where Xander is sitting at his computer, still blinking in astonishment at his screen.

“Can you please go fix the printer?” I’m almost pleading now.

“Sure.” He lumbers to his feet. “I’ll do it right now.”

Oh, thank god. Maybe I should have tried helping him with Dragon’s Sphere earlier.

My stomach clenches as I head up the stairs to the sales department.

Each step brings me closer to Justin’s domain, and my brain is back to helpfully replaying details from Saturday night—his laugh, his stupid perfect face lighting up when he talked about his cats, how his couch tried to swallow me while we watched British comedy clips.

I stayed at his place until after ten, caught in this strange twilight zone where Justin Morris, my old high school tormentor, kept finding excuses to show me just one more clip he thought would make me laugh.

Somehow, the memory of him on Saturday night unsettles me more than any memory from high school.

Back then, I knew exactly who he was.

Now? I’m not so sure.

When I reach the sales department, I can almost smell the testosterone. Every surface seems to be covered in sports equipment catalogs and someone’s set up a dart board with their competitors’ logos as targets.

Shit. This is giving me high school flashbacks. The way the sales guys call out to each other across their cubicles is like watching the popular table in the cafeteria all over again.

I half expect to see a locker materialize between the desks, ready for someone to shove me into it.

Justin is nowhere to be seen. The tension drains from my body, but it’s quickly replaced by my confusion about whether I’m relieved or disappointed.

It sucks how Justin’s presence or absence still affects me so much.

I keep my head down and head to Dave’s cubicle. It doesn’t take long to discover that his computer is suffering from a classic case of driver rebellion. Three commands and a strategic system refresh later, his screen blinks back to life.

And despite my impulse to leave the sales department as quickly as possible, I can’t help noticing his laptop is running slower than a snail in quicksand.

“Do you mind if I optimize a few things to make your computer run faster?” I ask.

“Sure. Go for your life.” Dave rocks back on his heels, his sales-guy energy barely contained even when standing still.

I quickly code a background housekeeping routine that will quietly sweep out junk files and optimize resource usage.

“That should hopefully help,” I say when I finish.

Dave cautiously stabs at his keyboard before opening and closing a few programs with increasing enthusiasm.

“Hey, it’s going way faster. Thanks so much, mate,” he says.

“Not a problem,” I say.

Helping someone gives me a nice sense of satisfaction.

As I turn away from Dave’s desk I almost collide with Justin, who’s just arriving back in the sales department. He’s got his phone tucked between his ear and shoulder as he juggles three different sports catalogs.

My eyes catch on his workspace that he’s heading toward, all Texas sports swagger with its Houston Texans merchandise and a photo of him in his football uniform from college.

My stomach swoops. Justin the football player. The photo shows him mid-throw in a perfect quarterback stance.

I remember watching him sometimes out the computer lab window when the football team was practicing on the field, mesmerized by the gracefulness of his movements.

I quickly step backward, my hip connecting painfully with Dave’s desk.

The Justin in the flesh spots me. His face lights up in a way that makes me feel dizzy.

“I’ll send you those projections ASAP,” Justin says into the phone. “Yeah, you too. Have a great day.”

Before I can escape, Justin finishes his phone call and sends a warm smile in my direction.

“Hey, you’re saving someone else’s butt today?”

“Ah, yeah,” I say. “I mean, I was just helping Dave.”

He perches on the edge of his desk, absently straightening a set of reports. “You’re like a superhero, swooping in to save the day.”

“Yeah, well, if Marvel ever decides to make a movie about a guy who stops printers from becoming sentient and taking over the world, I’m their man,” I respond.

Justin grins. “I can see it now. IT-Man, saving spreadsheets in distress and defending helpless hard drives from the villainous forces of coffee spills and questionable downloads. Coming soon to a computer screen near you.”

“More like IT-Man, battling the sinister forces of pop-up ads and suspicious attachments. With his trusty sidekick, The Reset Button,” I reply.

Justin laughs, and I find myself basking in the sound of his laughter despite myself.

“Oi, Morris!” Pete’s voice booms across the office. “Come check out these stats from United Sports. They’re more pumped than Dave after leg day!”

Justin’s whole demeanor changes like someone’s flipped a switch. His shoulders straighten and his smile morphs into something more generic.

“Hit me with them,” Justin says. “Though if they’re anything like your golf swing last week…”

“Mate, we agreed never to speak of that again,” Pete groans, throwing a stress ball at Justin’s head.

My stomach churns as Justin effortlessly catches the stress ball and lobs it at the trashcan. This is more the Justin I remember, all masculine posturing and exaggerated gestures.

“You okay, Drew?” Dave asks, and I nod, already backing away.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” My voice is steadier than I feel. “Just…um…let me know if you need anything else.”

I don’t look at Justin as I retreat toward the stairs, the sales team’s laughter following me.

Luckily, when I make it down to the IT department, the technological apocalypse has abated, giving me breathing space for the first time this morning.

All of the revenge pranks I planned against Justin scroll through my brain. But reflecting on them doesn’t help me answer the biggest question occupying my head for the last few days.

Do I really want to keep doing this?

I bring up the next bit of code I’ve written. With a few keystrokes, I could make Justin’s next presentation go viral for all the wrong reasons. My finger hovers over Delete. It would be so easy to just…stop. To let it go. Work out my notice at DTL Enterprises and go back to figuring out what I want to do with the rest of my life.

“So…” Xander’s voice breaks through my internal debate. He’s wheeled his chair to my desk, his expression uncharacteristically focused.

“That speed-running code you used earlier…”

My stomach drops. “What about it?”

“According to my research, only one person has ever managed to crack Dragon’s Sphere Level Eleven that fast.” He leans forward, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “It was Andrew Yates. You know, the guy who built NovaCore?”

My heart stutters.

Shit. Why didn’t I think through how using that code would prickle Xander’s suspicions?

I’d completely forgotten how tech journalists had used my Dragon’s Sphere prowess as a humanizing story, along with all my speed-running records and the fact I named all my servers after Star Trek characters.

“Nice to know I’m in good company.” My voice comes out squeaky.

“Do you know what the funniest thing is?”

I get the feeling I really, really don’t know what Xander finds amusing about this situation.

“What’s that?” I force myself to ask.

Xander leans even closer, his wheels squeaking against the floor. “It turns out Andrew Yates looks exactly like you. Well, besides the fact he wears glasses.”

Double shit. Who knew Xander had actual detective skills hidden under all those Dragon’s Sphere T-shirts?

My heart races.

Is he trying to bribe me? What can I say? My mind spins faster than a hard drive struggling to defrag while running seventeen instances of Chrome.

There’s only one thing I can do when confronted with the truth.

Lie my ass off.

“Okay.” I make a big deal of glancing around before leaning into Xander. “Can you keep a secret?”

Xander nods so enthusiastically that I worry his head might detach.

“I’m…doing a reality show. Like Undercover Boss but with a tech twist. The whole premise is when a tech designer goes undercover to see how the system they designed works in everyday life.”

His eyes go wider than his monitor. “No way.”

“Way. But if you tell anyone, you’ll ruin the whole show. And probably get me sued by the production company.”

“Holy shit.” He wheels back slightly. “That’s why you dress like that!”

Uh…I find it disturbing that someone who wears the same Dragon’s Sphere T-shirt every day with bonus food stains is critiquing my clothes but now doesn’t seem like the time to lodge a protest.

“Exactly.” I fidget with my tie, which suddenly feels like it’s trying to strangle me with the weight of my lies. “So…we’re good?”

“Are you kidding? This is amazing!” Xander’s practically vibrating with excitement. “Dude, you’re worth like…what? A bazillion dollars?” His voice drops to an awestruck whisper. “The tech magazines call you the next Zuckerberg, except, you know, without the whole evil robot vibe. And here you are, fixing Dave’s email!”

While Xander raves on, my stomach hollows as the full ramifications of him knowing my true identity sink in.

If Xander tells anyone, my cover will be blown. Because I’m pretty sure the fact that Drew, the new IT guy, is actually a multi-millionaire who designed the software the company uses is the kind of gossip that will spread faster than a TikTok dance trend at a middle school.

I might not have much time left.

If I’m going to extract more revenge on Justin, I need to do it now.