“Yeah, you shouldn’t speak for them.” She grinned. “And you shouldn’t let them speak for you anymore.”

I remembered Jordan’s words and was emboldened. This warm feeling burned in the middle of my chest. I felt strong. “I know.”

“Women are stronger when we stand together rather than constantly trying to tear each other down.”

I took a breath and let it out. Boy, did I know that well. Mia didn’t know the mother I had. If she did, she’d probably understand me better.

Every time I’d shop with her, I was either too short or too fat or my coloring was wrong because I wasn’t the tall, willowy blonde that she was. Your father’s looks and my brains—talk about getting the short end of the stick in the gene pool.

“I hope we’re good now…” I said, raising my eyebrows in question.

Mia nodded. “Yeah, we’re good. Just be careful of Cari, okay?”

I was amazed at how accurate her warning was, despite it coming too late for me. “Thanks. I’ve been trying to steer clear.”

“That’s probably the wisest thing to do.”

I shifted and smiled again. “Can I ask you a favor?”

She raised her brows, nodding.

“Jordan has assigned me a project and I’m hoping he approves it. I want to document what it’s like for a non-gamer to get into a game like Dragon Epoch—like what gets them interested initially and what keeps them playing. I’m the test subject, obviously… And I know you’re a gamer so I’d like your perspective.”

She smiled. “Sure.” She whipped out a piece of paper from her bag and wrote on it. “Send me an email and ask away.”

I took the paper. “Thank you. Just—thanks for everything.”

She shifted in her seat to gather her stuff. “You’re on your way out of here, I think,” she nodded toward the entrance of the cafeteria where Jordan loomed like a thundercloud—tall and sinfully handsome in a charcoal gray suit with an amber tie the only splash of color. Three-piece, no less, with a vest that hugged his trim, solid build.

I actually found myself catching my breath as my heart skipped a beat. He raised his brows at me expectantly. I stood, threw out the rest of my coffee—that stuff from the cafeteria really was crap—and thanked Mia. We walked toward the exit together.

“There you are,” he said when I made it to him.

Mia flashed him a thumbs-up, and he waved to her as she passed by on her way out of the cafeteria.

“What was that all about?” he asked while we walked out to the parking lot together.

I shrugged. “Just some unfinished business I had.”

He said nothing and I studied his handsome profile out of the corner of my eyes, that same warm feeling coming over me. I was proud of myself, but also grateful for his words that had given me the courage to apologize. I felt relieved and light as air. And if I didn’t think he’d give me some kind of snide reaction, I might have thanked him.

But I swallowed that notion. Not yet. We had a long drive ahead of us and it wouldn’t do to start it out with awkwardness. It was two and a half hours from here to Santa Barbara, good traffic willing.

We made our way to his parking space at the front of the lot, where—sure enough—there was a vintage-looking motorcycle in the CEO’s spot right next to his. Jordan’s car was a shiny new silver Range Rover with every extra feature known to mankind. It was a wonder it didn’t drive itself.

We stopped at a drive-thru Starbucks near the freeway on-ramp to fuel up on caffeine. I sipped at my double latte with an extra shot, no sugar. The strong, bitter taste, along with the mega dose of caffeine, helped to keep me awake.

We discussed my project for a few minutes, and he approved of me documenting my journey from “muggle” to full-blown geek, suggesting I give it a marketing angle by providing information on how to attract new players to the game. I took a few notes and then we fell into silence, so I pulled out my phone.

I read the rest of Pride and Prejudice as we stopped and started through LA traffic. There was quiet between us as he listened to the business report on the morning news radio show.

But somewhere around Thousand Oaks, as the traffic started to thin, Jordan’s phone buzzed with a text.

“Check that, will you? I want to make sure it’s not the asshole banker backing out on our meeting.”

Gingerly, I picked up his phone and saw the text that popped up on the notification screen. My brows climbed sky high as I read it.

“It’s not the banker,” I said.