Bad Idea by Damon Suede

Author:Damon Suede [Suede, Damon]
Language: eng
Format: epub

13

EVERYONE has their own shit sandwich to eat, and the bread makes a big difference.

Kurt liked to hit happy hour at Splash on Musical Mondays, not for love of showtunes, but because the gay geek community tended to converge to get trashed and sing along.

Silas went early to the Unbored offices because he wanted a friendly pep talk, even though Kurt wasn’t keen on his newest infatuation. Trip would never meet or agree with Kurt’s idea of a catch.

Unbored Games covered a narrow floor of an old piano factory on Lafayette, just north of Houston Street, because that’s where the cool kids congregated. Office space in Brooklyn would have been way cheaper and newer, but Kurt loved razzmatazz, and his investors were outer-borough-phobic. He’d taken the lease on a third of the space back when he could scarcely afford it and gradually expanded—fueled by Red Bull and ruthless ambition—to devour the adjoining square footage like a digital amoeba. In nine years, Unbored had gone from bootstrap origins to one of the companies to watch in Silicon Alley.

The elevator opened right into the workspace, a point of pride with Kurt: having the entire floor and all those windows looking out over NoHo. They were high enough that the view was mostly puffy silver horizon, and down below the traffic’s faraway rumble sounded like the Adriatic Sea.

Silas parked his ass in a reception area papered with framed awards and launch posters that were supposed to intimidate showbiz types. He was a couple of minutes early, so he paddled through his text messages. Two from Trip put a smile on his face. He resisted the urge to reply immediately.

On the other side of the open space, Kurt laughed and said something from his corner. Curious, Silas headed back, following the wall of arched windows. Before he’d gone three yards, shouting stopped him:

“—because they’re cunt-noggins!” The male voice sounded angry.

Jesus.

Kurt’s opponent sat with his back to Silas. Tangled waves of light-auburn hair fell to his shoulders. Who talked like that to a CEO? Kurt glared at the seated figure, red-faced, his mouth working but no words emerging to ease the crackling tension.

Christ. Had he roller-skated into the middle of open-heart surgery by accident?

Kurt wiped his face and stood, revealing an impeccable three-button Burberry suit, but he’d yanked his gold tie hard to the side and unbuttoned his collar. He didn’t retaliate. Obviously he needed this sloppy nutjob to like him, whoever he was.

No suit. Of course, in game-world, that didn’t mean much. Video game studios had little use for corporate drag. They usually aimed for “ironic slob” as a uniform. The seated adversary could be anyone from an investor to a writer to a deranged blogger.

Silas sauntered closer to Kurt’s lair to get a gander at whoever had him so ruffled.

Shoulder-length hair and a faded green T-shirt, so no venture-capital drone. So many geeks jumped in after school and forged hundreds of international best sellers in garages and basements. Billions of dollars built nerd heaven.

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