Passionate Game (Kimani Hotties) (3 page)

Tamara had no issues with his viewpoint. After all, she also didn’t want to be weighed down by any man—but it wasn’t a women’s liberation mind-set. She just figured that she could have the best of both worlds—like Oprah. Grant had his role model; she had hers.

No man had managed to make his way to the forefront of her thoughts. Right now, only her academy and the youth she helped had her focus. If a man came along who earned a place in her priorities, then he’d have to accept her dedication to her career. She still noticed male eye candy, but most times she didn’t bother showing any signs of interest.

Sitting across from Grant brought that smooth medium brown complexion face-to-face with her. He certainly could own the label of eye candy. Even his hands, with long, slender fingers, drew her attention. His bared, muscled forearms flexed and relaxed as he motioned. The man turned the computer nerd stereotype on its head.

“I think our food is ready.” She pushed back her chair to stand with him, but he raised his hands. “I’ve got it.”

She nodded and accepted the kind gesture.

The more she talked to him, the less she wanted to see him just as eye candy. He had brains, and the fact that he had superhottie assets at the same time ratcheted up her approval ratings. The combination tickled her fancy, but she had no appetite for a little sample. What she wanted was to feast on his charisma, intelligence and physical strength. She knew she couldn’t excite her palate for a bigger helping of sexy. Though her private body parts wanted in on the negotiations, she wasn’t budging. Watching Grant and his succulent lips were as far as she was going with this fantasy.

“Chicken salad sandwich for you. I got the kettle chips because it was slim pickings.”

“That’s thoughtful.” She waited until he was seated and had opened the wrapping for his sandwich before she began eating.

Tamara made small talk with Grant while they ate. She kept the topics away from her number one issue. Instead, they shared stories about living with aging parents. His parents honestly drew her interest; they sounded lively and fun-loving. Listening to his childhood antics with his siblings drew her laughter.

Eventually, they couldn’t avoid the bigger issue.

Grant pushed aside his plate and leaned on his elbows. “I’m ready. Bring it on.” He beckoned with his hand.

“All right, let’s get down to business. I know you have other pressing engagements to attend to.”

Grant nodded. The mischievous twinkle in his eye slid away to be replaced by a speculative gaze.

* * *

Grant prided himself on being organized and meticulous about his schedule. But his entire day up until this moment had had an off-kilter feel to it. As much as the unknown gave him indigestion, he had tried to go with the flow. That’s what his sister always preached. He was too uptight. He needed to relax. Her last bit of advice wasn’t appreciated when she’d said that the lack of a special someone in his life was messing with his chi. He hated when she got all metaphysical because she had a way of messing with his mind. As the youngest of three siblings, she didn’t play by the rules, tricky little monster.

The day was past the halfway mark and the off-kilter feeling hadn’t ended with the sexy presence of Tamara Wendell in front of him. Because he had lost to her golf skills, he couldn’t walk away and pretend that he was unmoved by her charisma.

“I’m listening,” he prompted.

“As I’ve said, I’m the owner of New Horizons Leadership Academy, which works with the Miller-Brown Home for Boys. These are young men at critical junctions in life. Their run-ins with the law range from repeated trespasses after dark in city parks, to constantly fighting in school, to shoplifting at the local malls. They are faced with a future where communities are ready to lock them up and throw away the key. I eventually hope to expand my networks with other juvenile facilities, but for now, I’ve been working with them for the past two years.”

“Noble. So, how are you funded?” Confusion deepened on Grant’s face.

“Grants and private donations. I don’t take a salary, therefore I can hire the best and the hardest-working people.” A look of determination crossed her face. “We’re a small team, but we’re efficient and productive.”

“And how do I fit in with all this? Yes, I run a company. I have a decent-sized staff. But, I have project deadlines to meet. You’re asking me to take on a couple kids—”

“More like ten—”

“Ten! What the heck?” Grant waited for her to laugh and say that she was joking.

“Shh. Stop acting as if that’s a problem. You can spread them around the company.” Her defense came at him in a passionate wave.

Her intensity caused his eyebrow to pop up with surprise.

“Is this how you go about getting them jobs?” Those big brown eyes coaxed him just as hard as her soft, determined voice did. He found her presence to be dangerous to his resistance.

“Well, no. I’ve never had so many kids who couldn’t be placed.”

“What’s wrong with them?” He frowned, waiting to hear some outrageous explanation.

“Nothing is wrong with them. They need a second chance.” Tamara’s chin raised a notch. Her entire body bristled under his question.

“Uh-oh, now you’re killing me.” Grant shook his head.

“Let me explain. These kids are difficult to place because of their juvenile records. However, the counselors and I believe that they are exceptional because their aptitude for learning is off the charts. And that’s a good thing.”

“But if they have antisocial behavior, you want me to risk my company and my employees with volatile kids who don’t give a darn about anyone but themselves?” Grant pursed his lips. He hadn’t meant to raise his voice.

“Don’t paint them with a wide brush. You don’t have a clue.”

She might as well have poked him with a fiery pitchfork. His ears burned.

Grant pushed back. “Then if I’m so clueless, why are you coming to me?”

“I studied your company and you. You had passion, enough knowledge and some good luck to create Benson Technologies. People didn’t always believe in you. Yet, you’ve become an icon in the industry.”

“Don’t pretend that you believe in me if you just want something from me.” He didn’t bother to hide the sarcasm. No matter how long someone talked to him, the person eventually showed his or her cards. Although she came at him with her own unique style, looking as fine as hell, she wasn’t any different. Now he fought to pull back from her intense emotion before he tumbled down the hole into her crazy plan.

“I suppose everyone always wants a favor from you. You’re a man with means. But I’ve been up front about what I want. This isn’t about me. I’m fine. I’m comfortable. No, this is about stepping up to help others.”

“You want me to help you so you can sleep at night?” He didn’t let up, still smarting from her previous comment.

“You are impossible.” Tamara stood. Her body bristled with fiery anger and indignation. Grant sensed that to be accused of being selfish cut her to the quick.

“I didn’t expect that comment to be the one that would be the deal breaker. You were fighting with so much energy. Makes me wonder.”

“Say one more word and I will empty this glass all over you.”

“I wish your kids a lot of luck with such a hot-tempered advocate in their corner.”

“You are being flip, and that’s just plain irritating.”

“Yes, I’m being deliberately annoying.” He raised his glass in a salute. “But seriously, I don’t make decisions of this magnitude just because a stubborn, albeit pretty, woman tries to shame me into surrender.”

Grant noted how Tamara’s mouth tightened and worked as if she was having a silent argument. He would love to know what she was fighting against to remain calm. This wasn’t about her. Maybe she was one of those missionary wannabes who got a high off being the social worker because she basked under her ward’s gratitude. Maybe playing the savior gave her a high.

After all, he didn’t know her. She had done extensive homework on him, but he had been blindsided and played along. Now that she had put herself in his crosshairs, he meant to keep her there until he figured out the real deal. She couldn’t be this kind, thoughtful and giving without expecting anything in return.

“I have a proposal with a bio about each boy in my car. At least look at them.” She hesitated, waiting for his response.

Grant looked at his watch. “Let me walk you to your car. I do have to get back to work.”

“Yes, of course.”

Grant escorted Tamara to her car. He wished that he had the time to continue this discussion elsewhere. Her doggedness impressed him. Although deep down inside he knew that he would end up accepting her candidates, he wasn’t quite ready to give in.

She unlocked her trunk and opened her briefcase. While she continued to extol the merits of each teenager, he flipped through the file.

They all exhibited academic excellence. But he’d have to lie if he said that their checkered pasts, and in some cases, too-recent run-ins with the law, didn’t make his gut clench. On paper, they were extremes of good and bad.

Easy to see why most people would not give them a second look. As cold as it sounded, there were good kids who excelled just as well or better with nothing that was cringe-worthy in their backgrounds. Those were the ones being cherry-picked by the top companies, ready to be molded and tossed into the corporate culture of their sponsors.

But Benson Technologies had its own unique, indefinable culture. Grant prided himself on making sure that the environment didn’t stifle creativity or create clones. But how far could he go with pushing the limits? Bringing on ten young men to be mentored was a job unto itself. As it was, he maintained a lean staff where everyone worked a job and a half.

“Please don’t let my...actions and words stop you,” Tamara said. “I’m laying it all on the table. Whatever you can do...” She handed him the last file. Her fingers tightened briefly as he took the file from her.

He touched her hand. “I promise not to let
you
sway my decision.” Even as the words left his mouth, Grant had to cross his fingers on his other hand because he had already reneged on that promise.

Tamara had an eerie power of persuasion that was slowly affecting him. From the tantalizing scent of her perfume, to her sexiness, to her fearless stance, she influenced more than his mind. She caused his body to react as if it were under the influence of a potent drug.

From what she’d said, he surmised that she didn’t have a plan B. He didn’t think that he was too off the mark. Why else would she have spun herself into a low-grade twister, ready to take him out? Maybe time was running out to help these kids.

But how far did he want to go?

He tucked the files under his arm and walked away. He wasn’t done with Tamara Wendell yet.

Chapter 4

A
week had passed since Tamara Wendell had beaten him in a game of golf. Grant had taken the files she had given him back to his office, and now he’d finished reading each teen’s bio. His decision to help hadn’t wavered. How could it waver? He had once been one of those kids on the brink of heading down a bleak path.

Trespassing. Fighting. Truancy. He had earned his parents’ displeasure and then some. It hadn’t been until his father had landed a solid job and could get their family back together that Grant had turned a corner in his life. But those early years, consumed by poverty and despair, had ripped the family apart. He and his siblings had gone to live with a foster family while his parents had desperately tried to get their lives in order, determined to reunite the family.

Grant had taken on a rebellious attitude to steel himself against the shame and anger that had grown and swelled in his heart. By the time he was back with his parents, he was out of control. His father had quickly gotten tired of his bad behavior. Considering how hard his dad had been with him, Grant suspected that he hadn’t been able to deal with feeling like a failure. Finally, a strong-willed mentor who didn’t take any of his rage had gotten him on the straight path. But even now Grant hadn’t stopped apologizing for putting his father through the wringer. The guilt still gnawed at his gut.

Now that Grant had information on the teens, he also wanted information on Tamara. He tossed the assignment to Deanna Rushgrove, his human resources manager, who handled background checks. If he did go along with Tamara’s plan, he wanted to know, for purely business reasons, what type of woman he would be working closely with.

Come to think of it, Deanna had seemed a bit too eager to dig up any background details. Maybe the creative way Tamara had skirted his HR department to snag his attention had gotten under her skin. She’d even promised to have a file on his desk within the hour. He was looking forward to reading the good, bad and possibly ugly news about this interesting woman.

“Mr. Benson, the DBSK creators are here,” said Latrice, his assistant, in a singsong voice.

“Show them in, please.” Grant slid the files of the young men to the side of his desk. He had to get his mind back on his work. Nothing could get him to focus more than to dive into one of his works in progress.

As expected, two young men, no older than college age, walked through the door. They had “born gamer” written all over them, despite the suits they wore.

“Have a seat, gentlemen. Jax, good to see you. Danny, have a seat.” Grant stretched out his hand and noted their clammy hands. Understandably, their nerves were getting the better of them. He sat back in his chair, trying not to crowd them. People tended to forget that he was also a gamer at heart and only a businessman by necessity. But he didn’t look at his business solely from a profit margin perspective.

“Mr. Benson, I...we...well, gosh, we are excited about the new venture.” Danny Metcalf, the more exuberant of the two men, moved restlessly in his seat.

“So am I.” Grant pulled out the mock-up of the game designs that had been completed so far. Normally the creators would meet with his design team, but this time he wanted to talk to the guys before anyone else got started on the brainstorm. What they had created promised to be epic.

Grant continued trying to make them comfortable. “Anything to drink—coffee, tea, soda?”

“I’ll definitely take a soda.” Danny raised his hand as if answering a question in a classroom.

“I’ll join you with one. And you?” Grant noted that Jax Altman, the younger man, didn’t say much of anything. Instead his pinpoint stare took in everything with a suspicious glint. Grant wondered if they were both on board with this deal. He wasn’t about to invest his money and time only to be faced with partnership squabbles. His gut told him to continue onward, and this time he listened.

“Nothing.”

Grant called Latrice for two sodas. He didn’t wait for the beverages to get down to business. “I’ve been mulling over picking the right people for the team. I have two members of my staff who would be great to head up the project team. I’ll introduce you to them later, but I want to talk a little bit about your vision.”

“Why are you so interested in our vision? You’re going to do what you want anyway.” Jax crossed his arms and stroked his untrimmed beard.

“I have the right to do so, according to our contract. But I think we would work better if I have a keener sense of what you envision.” Grant looked directly at Jax. “I don’t want to start on a tumultuous note.” He was used to working with the creative types and having to navigate both their emotions and their unique working styles. Running a gaming company had put him in a position where he’d had to hone those skills or risk having no staff.

Jax grunted. His expression gave away nothing.

However, Danny smiled brightly at Grant. “What would you like to talk about?”

“I understand the general gist of the game and its levels. But the overall objective...” Grant paused, trying to find the right words. The main premise was okay, but nothing that came out of his company should be only “okay.” He wanted consumers to choose this game because there wasn’t a substitute and because the experience was so unbelievably intense that they became addicted it. He wanted noteworthy. He wanted great. He wanted the characters to turn into cult classics.

He continued. “I see that on the surface, the computer game is about angels battling demons. But there’re more nuances to the premise—in the world, not everything that seems to be perfect actually is perfect and not everything that appears to be evil actually is evil. In some cases, angels and demons switch sides with each other or transform back into humans.”

“Exactly. Mythology is important. The users have to buy into the rules of the world or else nothing matters. Having interaction with the humans is going to be the big buzz. I think their roles can be ramped up.” Danny didn’t seem to take a breath during his response.

“I’ve been working on that.” Now Jax sat forward. His posture always seemed as if he was poised to lift off. “Humans are agents to the angels or demons, but only certain ones can be turned.”

“What’s preventing all of them from being turned?” Grant looked at his notes. When world building, there couldn’t be any holes. Other gamers lived to find faulty logic. Having a recall to fix a hardware issue or launching an upgrade to fix the design didn’t fit with his standards for quality and delivery of the product. He’d never had to do that for any other project.

“That’s not the goal of the angels or demons.” Jax stroked his beard.

“Okay, but it doesn’t explain why all humans aren’t turned,” Grant pushed. He popped his soda, already preparing for a long morning to iron out these important details.

“The goal is for one side to annihilate the other. The humans are caught in the middle of the battle. Their loss is collateral damage.” Danny jumped in to explain.

Now that the conversation got under way, Danny seemed to be in his comfort zone. Even Jax’s suspicious attitude had softened.

“I think one of the levels should be a scenario where the humans could be used by one group,” Grant suggested.

Jax nodded. “We can take a look at that.”

This brainstorming process got his juices kicking. Grant sat back in the chair and sipped his soda. “We will do this.” He raised his soda can and waited for Danny to follow suit, then they tapped the cans to their mutual success.

Now that his creative well had opened, he couldn’t stop the flow of ideas. They remained in a huddle tossing around ideas, inventing, imagining and creating. Grant wrote copious amounts of notes to register the rules for this world. He scratched his temple, still thinking of additional possibilities.

More research on angel mythology from various cultures needed to be conducted to enrich the background. A vivid world paved the way for designers to create colorful, realistic scenes. Gamers were sophisticated end users who had to buy into the new world. They would form their expectations based on the intricate interweaving of the plot, their favorite characters and level of interaction with other gamers. Those components dictated if, at the end of the day, the gamers would spend the dollars to buy the new series.

After the men left to meet with Hadfield and Norton, Grant returned to his office. At his desk, he pushed up his sleeves, ready to sink his teeth into the work ahead. The power to create was intoxicating and made him feel as though he was floating high above the world, where he could admire its beauty. Most of his waking hours were consumed with his passion. His parents had gotten used to not seeing him for days, even though they lived on the property together. Meanwhile, he didn’t give dating even a second thought. He couldn’t split his time, his thoughts and his heart between his passion for games and a woman. It was out of the question.

Or so he repeatedly told himself whenever an aching loneliness did manage to sneak in and take hold. The increasing frequency of that loneliness was annoying. Lately, the feeling came whenever he thought of the stern face Tamara Wendell had made when she had been bending him to her will.

“Grant, here is the write-up on the Wendell woman.” Deanna stood in the doorway of his office. He quickly beckoned her over to take a seat. She shook her head primly.

He reached for the file, noting how thin and light it felt in his hand. Exactly what did it contain? What would the contents reveal?

Deanna stood at his desk like a soldier at attention waiting for her next set of directives. His hand hovered over the file. He was eager to read over every detail about Tamara. She intrigued him with her brashness and her vigor for her work. Already feeling a bit of admiration, he’d rather keep his out-of-control emotions on the down low. He looked up at Deanna and reconsidered allowing her to stay. He respected her no-nonsense attitude with potential new hires. She could spot the weakness in someone’s character, a skill that he found impressive and necessary to vet the ideal candidates. On the flip side, she was so eagle-eyed that the staff saw her as too cold and unapproachable. Tamara probably had had the misfortune to encounter this side of Deanna. Although later he would ask Deanna for her opinion, he wanted to savor any initial revelations without her input or her observation.

“Thank you, Deanna. I’ll let you know if I need anything further.”

“May I say something?” She pushed the thick black frames of her glasses up the bridge of her nose. Her frown covered her entire face, pinched and disapproving.

“In my professional opinion, I think that you need to be careful. There seemed to be discrepancies between—”

Grant raised his hand to interrupt. “It’s okay. I will take all this in and decide.” He wanted to add
on my own.

Deanna left, plainly miffed at his dismissal. It wasn’t the first time that he had gone in one direction when she had wanted him to go in another. Maybe one day his stubbornness would get the better of her and she’d quit. Hopefully that wouldn’t be anytime soon, because she was good.

In the privacy of his office, with his schedule clear for the next hour, he took a deep breath. Anticipation built within, as if he was about to make a major discovery.

Slowly he opened the file, noting the scant paperwork. Only a few pages fluttered out of place. The first page was a neatly typed chart of personal information. Her middle name was Reggie. He sensed a story and wondered whom she was named after. She grew up in the public school system, a direct reaction to her parents’ confidence in the merits of free education. She’d graduated with honors in childhood education, but then earned a master’s in business marketing. Nothing else. He scanned the paper’s contents once more. Her education wasn’t a surprise. Yet, he wanted to connect the dots that had taken her from education to marketing to running an academy. Maybe the other paperwork would satisfy his growing list of questions. He suspected that there had to have been a catalyst for her desire to open an academy for at-risk young men. When had the pull to start the academy occurred? More important, what had caused that pull?

Tamara’s face—confident, even a bit cocky, with dramatic features that made him look twice—was the outer cover of a fascinating and intriguing personality. Five minutes of talking to her had revealed how deeply she cared about the kids in her care. His instinct told him that she was for real.

He continued scanning the next page. She wasn’t married. No children. No siblings. She had been interviewed only once, with her activist parents at an event facilitated by Oprah. Her family connections had certainly brought her close to various influential celebrities. As he looked at the chronology of events in her life, he surmised that maybe her father’s terminal illness was a defining moment. The date of his death and the opening of the academy were close. The loss of such an important figure in her life must have been heart wrenching. From the way she talked about her mother, they had a close relationship. More than likely, they relied on each other to be strong. Honoring family held a high place in his philosophy of life, as well.

He read a newspaper clipping reporting on her father’s passing. The close-knit family had had to deal with his early death in a public way because he had been a prominent figure. Her father’s lengthy illness had caused him to have to cancel many events. As a result, Tamara and her mother had stepped up and filled many of the appointments. Supporters praised her direction, although she drew criticism for not being as powerful as her father. According to the article, she didn’t have the oratory power of her father, but Grant didn’t agree. She had had the power to sway him with her magnetic charisma.

A few snide articles called her the trust fund activist. There was a sole picture of her exiting a nightclub with friends, which had earned the wrath of a writer who was eager to vent about today’s youth. He was about to turn the page when he noticed that Tamara had issued a letter to the editor, taking the writer to task for being narrow-minded and not performing the proper research. He admired her for defending herself. That spark of fire that he had seen flash in her eyes when she was making a point had stirred up more than his approval. It was closer to an arousal.