The Biker and the Gamer - S. Ann Cole Page 0,2

heater problems.

“Until we can do a full diagnostic, we don’t know what kind of impact this had on the engine,” Kendra explains. “We can have that done tomorrow, and, provided your engine is still in good condition, we should have you sorted by Monday afternoon. Tuesday morning at the latest.”

The Jeep is on lease for a few months, but they did a full servicing beforehand, so this one is all on me. I got five of these Wranglers for the team and we’ve been driving pretty recklessly in the hilly areas. I can pinpoint a handful of things that might have caused the radiator to blow.

“Monday-Tuesday is fine,” I tell her, studying her eyes. They’re so gray they make you question if she’s really seeing you—like a blind man’s eyes. “Do you give replacements?”

“Yeah. But the only replacements we’ve got left are an ’09 Picanto and—hang on.” She looks down and her slim fingers fly across the computer keyboard for a few seconds before she continues, “An ’08 Vitara.”

“We’ll take the Vitara.”

“Okay. Just gimme a few minutes and I’ll have you sorted.”

As she disappears through the side door, Cedric, who’d been towed here along with the Jeep, turns to me with incredulous widened eyes and a slackened jaw. “Dude, that chick is sick.”

A massive grin spreads across my face as I say, “Yup.”

He blinks at my grin, and then his mouth forms into an O. “Ah, I see what you’re thinking: We should use her as inspiration for Syla.”

Syla is the badass sister of Rhyx, the main character of our last open-world game, Thorned Venture. The game was so successful that we’ve decided to do a sequel starring Rhyx’s long lost foster sister, Syla.

We have a completed character portfolio for Syla. The entire game is already plotted, a setting chosen, and half the team’s out here to scout, research, and familiarize for accuracy and authenticity before coding finally starts. But the one thing we’ve not been able to settle on is Syla’s identity.

Rhyx was such a unique character that we needed to generate a character on his level or better for Syla. We’ve spent months running through one graphic artist after another, but somehow all it really took was walking into The Metal House to find what we’ve been looking for all along.

No doubt about it, Kendra Tisdale is Syla. I saw it, Tiffany saw it, and now Cedric sees it.

“Not just an inspiration,” I tell him. “We need her.”

“Hmm, I see,” he muses, rubbing his jaw. “Well, leave it to me. Come Monday, I’ll have her on board.”

It’s true that Cedric and I are partners of Drake & Vaughn Entertainment. But where Cedric cares little about creativity and more about the business side of things, I care less about the business and more about creativity. He’s the frontman, the silver-tongued dealmaker, the negotiator. So usually, I’d step back and allow him to take over from here. But for some inexplicable reason, I don’t want him handling Kendra. This is one “business side” that I am wholly and completely interested in.

I’m…fascinated.

“Nah.” My tone is deliberately insouciant. “I’ll bring this one in.”

Cedric is unable to hide his shock as he asks, “You sure?”

“Yeah, man. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but she seems a bit wound up. Like a ticking time-bomb. I’m worried you won’t have the patience if she turns you down.”

His brows furrow as he darts a glance to the side door then back to me. He’s not convinced. “Yeah….” He trails off, eyeing me closely. “I’ll go with your judgment on this one.”

Tiffany coughs from the right of me. Or is that a snort? “I think she’s perfect for Syla, but I also agree with Mr. Vaughn that she seems a little…different. More confident, world-weary, in control. So she might need to be handled a little, um, differently.”

Cedric shifts a look of skepticism between the both of us, but Kendra returns before he can open his mouth again.

“Okay, so I brought the Vitara around front.” She throws me the keys and I catch them, eyes lingering on her lips, watching them move. “It’s got half a tank of gas. Bring it back with the same amount, yeah?”

“Got it.” I raise my gaze from her shapely mouth to her eyes. “You’ll call me, right?”

She starts to speak, but then her mouth hangs suspended for a fleeting moment as something—I’m not sure what—happens. Breaking eye-contact with me, she lowers her gaze to the counter. “If you mean to update you