“Thank you, I guess,” Sara said simply.
Ahri came skipping down the stairs. “Rafe, why are you still here? You’ve got a meeting in fifteen minutes. Remember?”
“What would I do without you?” He stood. “You coming, Ez?”
Ezreal jumped to his feet, managing to ruffle the hair on both of the little boys’ heads as he did. He turned to Sara but looked down.
“W-w-when? And w-w-w-what t-t-time?” His ears had gotten redder with each word he stumbled over.
And she understood, both his hesitation to speak and his understanding of her son. Ezreal Wallach, billionaire musician, stuttered. Her heart went out to him.
“I usually do what I can in the evenings and on Saturdays, but it’s going to take time and money to get it ready.”
“T-t-tomorrow.”
“All right. I’ll cook you dinner, if you want.”
Ezreal nodded and turned to the front door, the corner of his mouth curving up.
Sara wasn’t sure what to think of that hint of a smile. Had he just preyed on her sympathies? He could be proud of himself for having accomplished something? But what? Getting around the teacher? She would allow this oddly intriguing man to help her—until he proved he wasn’t trustworthy.
And men always did.
* * *
Ezreal satat his computer late that night, working on the music that he hadn’t been able to get out of his mind since he’d been introduced to Mrs. Fortune and her children. Never before had he met an entire family with such musical voices. They’d energized him, and he couldn't wait to finish up the piece.
He’d been stumped lately on the right theme song for a new champion they were working on for their online arena game. Now that he’d met Sara Fortune, and her children, it was like a tsunami of competing melodies crashed against his brain. If he could just separate each of them, he’d then be able to pull them all together into something epic. He was sure of it. Somehow the three Fortunes had broken down the barrier and freed his muse.
The three Fortunes. They’d turned out to behisgood fortune. Ezreal chuckled softly at the whimsical thought.
A tap on his door pulled him from his work, and he frowned. He hated being interrupted when he was on a roll.
“What are you doing here so late?” Darius Dimitriou asked as he opened the door and strode in.
Ezreal glanced up at the tall man. He was the oldest of the four partners. While he’d also attended Harvard, he’d already been working as an art teacher in Boston when he met Rafe through a common friend.
“I’ve had this melody running through my head all day, and I have to get it down before I lose it,” Ezreal said.
“Glad to hear it. I’ve been getting tired of hearing you complain about not finding the right music during our games. Don’t stay up so late that you miss that meeting in the morning.” Darius started to leave but then turned back. “Have you decided yet what to wear to the Midsummer’s Eve Event?”
If Ezreal could figure out how to get out of attending it, he would, but Rafe was touting it as a big deal. He’d arranged it to honor their biggest fans, the ones who’d spread the word about their game and helped to make it such a big success. From a business perspective, it was a great idea. They’d sold out within a few hours. The passion so many people had for their game still amazed Ezreal. He could make a comfortable living just on the REKD soundtracks. This game was even bigger than their first one, the sale of which had made them all rich.
“I’ll throw something together for a costume.” Ezreal continued to edit the piece he was working on. “I’m not very good at that kind of thing anyway.”
“Seriously, Ez?” Darius came to stand by the desk, sounding frustrated. “You have to represent the company. You can’t just ‘throw something together.’ Besides, it’s not like you have to make it yourself. Pay someone to do it for you. That’s what I’m doing.”
“Who are you going to be?” Ezreal glanced away from his monitor, interested for the first time. He hated doing anything that drew attention to himself.
“Twisted Joker.”
“Of course.” Ezreal started typing again. “You can get away with that with your Greek god looks.”
Darius snorted. “You should dress as Hunter. You know my team had you in mind when they designed that champ.”
“You mean your design lead did.” It was Ezreal’s turn to snort. She’d had a crush on him, and it’d made things really awkward until she’d transferred to their California office. That happened sometimes when women found his silence intriguing rather than a turn-off. “I’m not a Stellar Guardian.”
“AndIdon’t play cards like my champion does. So what?” Darius headed toward the door. “Do a different skin, say from the adventure line or something. I’m sure you can find someone to make you a costume.”
