Drawn That Way Read online

  Drawn That Way

  A Bound Book

  Bronwyn Green

  Drawn That Way

  Copyright © 2015, Bronwyn Green

  Edited by Jessica Bimberg and Kris Norris

  Cover Art by Kris Norris

  Published by Bronwyn Green

  Released April, 2015

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without written permission of the author, Bronwyn Green.

  To Cussy and Norris – This one is for you guys. Without your encouragement and raging, I’m not sure I would have written this, and I’m so glad I did.

  To Jen, Sommer, Kirsti and Paige – Thank you for always being awesome.

  To Carolline – Thank your for your friendship, technical assistance, and the toasty afghan.

  And lastly, to the one who said I couldn’t…I did.

  Chapter One

  Tristan Weaver slid the finished survey across the break room table to her friend, Clover.

  “Are you seriously going to submit that comment?” Clover asked, her brown eyes wide.

  Tris shrugged. “Why not? It’s true. I haven’t seen a single female character come out of this company that wasn’t drawn like the average uni boy’s wank fantasy. Giant, gravity-defying boobs, waists so small they couldn’t possibly hold up those chests and giant bubble arses—all I’m suggesting is a little diversity. A more realistic view of women in video games. I don’t think that’s too much to ask.”

  She leaned forward, warming to the subject. “And, while they’re at it, they could give them some armor. All the male characters have full protection. The best a female character gets is maybe a crop-top-style breastplate and a Xena skirt. That tells me they’re there for visual interest for men—not as viable characters.”

  “Hey, now. There are some girls,” Clover said, pointing at herself, “who dig a scantily clad female as much as any guy.”

  Tris smiled. “I know, but don’t you get tired of having one ideal shoved down your throat all the time?”

  Clover nodded, her pink and purple pigtails bouncing. “I do, but I’m just worried about expressing that opinion here. I’m not saying you’d be fired for having a differing view, but you haven’t been here that long, and it could make things difficult. Jobs are hard to come by, right now.”

  “Yeah…I know.” Tris hadn’t even been working there for six months, and she had a metric crap-ton of student loans to pay off. She couldn’t afford to lose her job. Of course, her parents kept telling her they’d pay off her loans if she’d move back to Wales. But the whole point of getting her citizenship when her student visa expired was to stay in the States. She sighed, weighing her options. “But, we were asked for our input on the new game storyboard and artwork. Brecken Games definitely has a type.”

  “More like Rory Brecken definitely has a type. Did you see the parade of models he interviewed last month?” Clover laughed and took a swallow of her Coke.

  Tris rolled her eyes. “One tall blonde with ginormous tits after another.”

  “Well, the last one must have been the winner. She was still here at midnight when I left that evening. And, judging from the noises I heard on my way out, she was winning in more ways than one.”

  “Oh, please…with him? Seriously?”

  Clover’s eyes widened. “There’s a reason he only uses one model per character. Apparently, he ends up banging a lot of them during photo shoots, and from what I’ve heard, he doesn’t do relationships.”

  “Well, that I can see. The guy barely speaks. I mean, he’s good looking in that distracted artist kinda way, and he’s got that intense, nerdy thing going on. But I just don’t see women falling all over him.”

  Tris could admit to herself that she found him vaguely attractive and weirdly compelling, but he was definitely not her type. She preferred her guys clean-cut and ripped—footballers were more her speed. Rory was none of those things, but he still made her stomach flip if she thought too much about him. He had dark, wavy hair that almost always looked as if it was a month past needing a haircut, a closely trimmed beard and black-frame glasses that made him look like a cross between a disgruntled hipster and a disapproving professor. It was the disapproving professor vibe that often had her squirming in her seat.

  Her friend scooted closer, drawing Tris’ attention away from her sudden need for alone time. “Just telling you what I’ve heard. Oh, and I guess he’s a little kinky, too.”

  “He is not,” Tristan said, stifling a snort. That was pushing the boundaries of her belief a little too far. However, now, the disapproving professor fantasy was back full-force. And, thanks to Clover planting that perverse little seed in her head, Tris suspected she was going to need some quality time with her detachable showerhead, tonight.

  Clover just nodded.

  “What kind of kinky?” Before Clover could answer, Tris held up her hand. “You should know that if you tell me feather ticklers, blindfolds, whipped cream and strawberry syrup, I’m going to be severely disappointed in your idea of kinky.”

  She’d been disappointed in a former boyfriend’s idea of kinky, too. When she’d suggested they try something a little edgier in the bedroom, she hadn’t anticipated ending up with a yeast infection and having her favorite sheets stained.

  The other woman rolled her eyes, and was that a blush coloring her cheeks? “The things I’ve heard from some of the models are way more hardcore than feathers.”

  “Like what?” Just once, she’d like to try something that was a sharp left from Vanillaville. It wasn’t that she objected to conventional sex—good sex was good sex. But some days, she wanted something more. Something a little different. As her dirty Tumblr would certainly attest. Taking a deep breath, Tris sat back in her chair, took a sip of coffee, and tried not to sigh as she waited for Clover to spill.

  When the other woman didn’t elaborate right away, Tris continued, “So, what…how intense are we talking? Spanking? Flogging? Bondage?”

  Clover cleared her throat. “They’ve all been mentioned.”

  Crossing her legs, Tristan took another swallow of coffee and hoped to dull the damp ache pulsing between her thighs. God, she needed to get laid. It had been far too long. For just a minute, she tried to imagine the practically pathologically reserved Rory Brecken doing any of the things she’d just listed, but D/s sex and the owner of Brecken Games didn’t belong in the same sentence—let alone the same thought.

  Her friend tilted her head to the side and stared at her.

  “What?”

  “Just wondering what you’re thinking.” Clover twirled one of her brightly colored pigtails around her finger.

  “I dunno. I can’t see it. I can’t even imagine him talking dirty to a woman, let alone tying one up.”

  The sound of feet scuffling at the door dropped Tris’ stomach to the vicinity of the floor, and she whirled to look behind her.

  Fucking hell. Rory Brecken stood in the doorway holding a folder and his ever-present travel mug. How long had he been standing there? How much had he heard?

  He nodded at Clover then turned to Tris and nodded at her, too, pinning her with his steady gaze. If he knew what they’d been talking about, he gave no indication, just broke eye contact and moved into the break room and slid his mug under the spout of the coffee maker.

  Both women stood. “I should get back to that code,” Clover muttered. “It’s not gonna write itself.”

  As she left the room,
Tris discreetly folded the survey in half and headed for the door.

  “Tristan?”

  In the nearly empty room, his voice seemed to resonate, sounding a little rough, as if he didn’t use it often. Hearing her name in that gravelly tone sent shivers along her spine. She hoped like hell he hadn’t noticed.

  Pasting on a smile she wasn’t close to feeling, she turned around. “Yes?”

  He stared at her for what couldn’t have been more than a few seconds, but it was long enough to convince her that he’d heard every word they’d said about him. Her stomach lurched as her nerves rioted with anxious regret. She and Clover had no right to discuss his personal life. What he did or didn’t do with his character models was none of their business, and she felt like an arsehole for prying.

  She was about to say as much when his gaze dropped to the table then lifted back to hers. “You forgot your coffee.”

  Chapter Two

  Rory Brecken watched as Tristan scurried forward, folded sheet of paper in her hand, and snatched her cup off the table. “Thanks,” she muttered with a tight smile, her cheeks flushed with color.

  He couldn’t get the image of her fidgeting in her seat as she’d questioned Clover about his kinks out of his head. The way she’d uncrossed and re-crossed her legs as she’d waited for her friend to answer ramped up his attraction to her more than he cared to admit—even to himself.

  He should be annoyed that his employees were sitting in the break room discussing his sex life, but given what he’d just learned about Tristan, he really couldn’t muster up any real irritation. Not that he’d be doing anything with that information.

  He had a strict no-dating-employees rule. He didn’t care if other people did it, but he refused. Being the owner meant that, no matter what, there would always be a power imbalance, and that wasn’t anything he wanted to mess with. Agreed upon power imbalances during sex were fine—desirable, even—but bringing that into a relationship that affected his company wasn’t something he was willing to do.

  He preferred to keep people in boxes. Boxes that were the right size and shape for their contents. Boxes that classified the people in them and his relationship to them. Boxes that helped him keep track of who and what everyone was to him. And some boxes weren’t meant to be opened.

  Clover's box was decorated with strings of code, impossibly colored curls and worn Doc Martens. John's box was covered in dollar signs, golf clubs and cell phones. All the things he used to sell Brecken Games to the world. And Tristan's box was covered with numbers and ledgers. But, on the edges, things were shifting. Restraints and floggers crept in among the equations. Her box was changing, and so was his ability to keep her there, away from his curiosity and desire.

  He dragged his hand through his hair and attempted to push thoughts of Tristan and what he’d like to do with her out of his head. Besides, he didn’t do relationships, anyway. Physical intimacy was one thing. But emotional? No, thanks. When he found a willing partner, like Katie, the subject of last month’s photo shoot, he went for it. Even if Tristan were interested in a one-night stand, he still couldn’t allow himself the pleasure. A quick fuck—though he swore it wouldn’t be quick if he were ever lucky enough to touch her—with an employee wasn’t an option.

  Closing his eyes, he tilted back his head and stifled a groan. Now, he couldn’t get the image of Tristan with her wrists bound and her ass raised out of his mind. He could picture her with her hair a dark, tangled mess around her flushed cheeks and her huge green eyes, heavy-lidded and glossy with need. His cock hardened as he imagined bringing his hand down on the pale skin of her ass and the backs of her thighs—smacking her until she was shaking, begging him to fuck her.

  He took a deep breath and tried to rein in his too vivid imagination. How the hell was he supposed to meet with his design team and coherently discuss the upcoming expansion of Dark Soul’s Night? Sighing, he opened the folder he’d brought with him and forced himself to focus on his notes for the meeting.

  “Rory?”

  He looked up to find Eric, one of the programmers, standing there with a steaming cup of coffee. He hadn’t even heard the man come in, let alone fix himself something to drink. Rory took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. He was more distracted by Tristan than he’d thought.

  “Yes?”

  “I just wanted to let you know that you might want to reschedule the meeting. Cam just went home sick. He thinks it might be food poisoning.”

  There went any hope of distracting himself from thinking about his lovely accountant. “Okay. Thanks for letting me know.”

  Eric lifted his cup in a mock salute and wandered out of the break room.

  Pulling his phone from his pocket, Rory followed him out and texted the design team to postpone the meeting then headed to the reception area to collect the mail.

  Annie, the secretary, was engrossed in a game as he approached. “Hey, Bossman,” she said without looking up. “The mail’s on the ledge, and the last of the surveys came in. They’re in the blue folder.”

  “Tell me again why I pay you to play games?”

  She grinned. “I’m a beta-testing wizard. And, I’m the best multi-tasker there is.” As if to prove her point, the phone rang. She muted the sound from her computer and pushed the button on her headset. “Brecken Games, how can I help you?” Her eyes never left the game screen.

  Rory grabbed the mail and the surveys and headed back to his office, shaking his head. Reaching his desk, he opened the folder and scanned the first survey. Since he sent out the surveys every six months, he wasn’t surprised that this one contained nothing new. But he valued his employees’ input, and the truth was, people who were happy and felt their needs were met produced better work.

  He flipped to the next one. The only thing new on this one was a request to reevaluate the company’s healthcare coverage. He made a note of it before moving to the next sheet. He paused, recognizing Tristan’s unmistakable scrawl. The surveys were supposed to be anonymous, and there was an online form to that end. But not everyone composed their thoughts well on a computer, which was why the paper forms were an option, too.

  An odd sense of relief swept through him as he read that overall, she liked working for the company and had no plans to leave—which was good. He didn’t want to lose her. It was far more than his attraction to her. He was absolute shit with numbers, but beyond that, he trusted her. His last accountant had embezzled tens of thousands of dollars, and by the time they’d caught him, the money was long gone. That wasn’t anything he needed to worry about with Tristan, though. He’d learned to trust his gut instinct with people rather than how they interviewed or what their references said. It had been an expensive lesson, but he’d learned it.

  Reading further, he noticed that she’d also asked for a reevaluation of their healthcare coverage. He added that to the tally then continued reading. Words in the next section jumped out at him. Sexist. Diversity. Stereotypical. Lack of representation.

  It wasn’t news to him that the artwork in video games catered to a certain demographic. Hell, he personally catered to that demographic. He’d made a lot of money off that same demographic. He’d been hearing rumblings from female gamers for a while now—not just about his games, but games across the board. If pressed, he’d have to agree—there wasn’t much in the way of diversity.

  Doodling absently in one of his ever-present sketchbooks, he read the rest of the surveys. A couple other people asked about healthcare options, and a couple more had suggestions for the next company outing. After finishing his notes, he flipped back to Tristan’s survey and re-read it.

  They’d been talking about adding new character classes for the roll out of the Dark Soul’s Night expansion. What if he took it a step further and added different body types?

  There was bound to be some backlash from some gamers, but financially, the company was in a position to take that risk. And, ultimately, it might actually draw more players to the company—players who f
elt marginalized by games currently on the market.

  Excitement quickened his pencil strokes. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this enthusiastic to start new concept art. He just had to figure out where to find the models he needed for this project.

  Rory glanced down at his drawing. His hand froze, and surprise punched him in the chest. He’d drawn Tristan, an expression of fierce concentration on her face. It was the same expression she’d worn when she’d first audited Brecken Games’ books—full lips pursed, her brow slightly furrowed and her hand shoved in her long, dark hair keeping it out of her face as she stared at the page in front of her. He knew exactly where to go for his first model.

  Chapter Three

  Tristan glanced up at the knock on her open door and froze guiltily as she made eye contact with Rory. Instead of the financial report she should have been working on, she’d been scrolling through her dirty Tumblr blog—which was probably a stupid thing to do since he had the office right next door.

  He cleared his throat and shifted in the doorway. “Do you have a minute to talk?” he asked, adjusting his glasses.

  As casually as possible, she closed her laptop lid. It was after five, and technically, she was on her own time, but if he walked over here, she definitely didn’t want him to see what she’d been looking at.

  “Sure. What’s up?”

  He stepped farther into the room and closed the door behind him. He’d never bothered shutting the door any other time he’d come to talk to her. Not that he’d come in there, often. As he moved closer, she recognized the folded piece of paper in his hand, and her stomach sank.

  “I wanted to talk to you about your survey.”

  She took a breath and tried for an even tone. “I thought those were supposed to be anonymous.”