Mind Games

“Oh my God, what have I done? I just handed my eighteen-year-old brother the phone. The most important call of my life, and I hand him the phone.”

“Almost nineteen, and his business smarts are a lot older than eighteen.” Lucy rubbed a hand on Thea’s shoulder. “Listening to him’s brought me almost more business from online than I can handle. I’m thinking about hiring on a crafter.”

“Let him go for it, Thea.” Maddy gave her a hip bump. “Worst thing is they hear him out and tell him no. That won’t stop you from selling the game to them if you want.”

Thea paced. “It won’t. It absolutely won’t. I can call him back, tell him my brother’s crazy, and I’d be thrilled to have Milken produce my game.”

Rem wandered back, offered her the phone.

“Mr. Case— He’s gone.”

“Yeah, we concluded our preliminary discussion. We’ve got a video call meeting day after tomorrow, ten o’clock. He needs to take my counteroffer up the chain—though he’s pretty far up, so not much chain over his head.”

“Your counteroffer?”

“Yeah. I told you you’re not selling, you’re leasing the rights to them for ten years—with an option to renew. We’ll negotiate your advance, and your percentage of the sales. Since you have a sequel planned— You do, right?”

“Just in my head.” And at the moment, that head felt numb.

“Good enough. Since, if they want any future Endon games, or any other games designed by Thea Fox, they should hire her at a salary commensurate with her talent, creativity, and skills.”

“Listen to my boy.” Laughing, Lucy gave him a smacking kiss on the cheek. “‘Commensurate.’”

“What did he say?”

“That he’d take it up the chain. He also told me they’d already decided to recruit you. Now I say we hold off till tomorrow and the sun for going to see the land, and instead we sit down here and work out what you want, and what you should get.

“I’ve done some research on it.”

Thea dropped down at the kitchen table and pulled out one of her brother’s favorite exclamations.

“Holy hot shit.”

Chapter Thirteen

She wrote it all in her journal, then read what she’d written just so she could feel the thrill again.

She’d sold—no, leased—her first game. And she’d be paid for it. She had to sign the contract, but she’d be paid for what had once been only a dream.

More, so much more than the money, she had the vindication that her work had value. Milken Entertainment considered her work, her game, her dream worthy.

They wanted some tweaks—improving the music, the sound effects. They had a whole department for that. They’d hire experienced voice actors for the dialogue, which made sense, and could only enhance the gaming experience.

They’d have first refusal on any spin-offs or sequels, while hiring her as a paid intern for her final year in college.

When she graduated, if her work continued to meet their standards, they’d offer her a position as a game designer.

She could have a career, an actual career, doing something she loved.

It seemed impossible, so she read her own words one more time.

Maybe it was being home, maybe it was the thrill and the nerves winding through it, the vision of a future that held so much of what she wanted, but she forgot to hang the pouch and say the words.

She turned off her light, closed her eyes, and began to build her dream.

Part Two of the world of Endon, with Zed and Twink and Gwen, the fearless farm girl Mila, the resurrection of the evil Mog.

She wondered if she could find someone to teach her how to use a sword, to execute the moves, to actually feel what her characters felt. Wouldn’t knowing add more realism and thrill to her battle scenes?