The door to Zoey Parker's office clicked open.
Gus Harper stepped in, only to freeze. Zoey sat ramrod straight in her CEO chair, phone in her left hand, her trusty water gun in her right.
"Misunderstanding—" Gus blurted, sensing trouble.
"Misun-what?" Zoey cut him off.
Spray!
She pulled the trigger, no hesitation. A stream of water blasted Gus's face, paired with Zoey's dramatic wail, like a CEO chewing out a slacking exec.
"You knew you messed up, Gus Harper!" she bellowed. "You're breaking my heart!"
"Me! The president of WindyPeak Games! I care about my team, love my team, make sure everyone gets a breather—work-life balance, baby!"
"But you!"
"You sneak off to the coffee shop downstairs to flirt during work hours?!"
Spray, spray!
The water gun kept going, soaking Gus like he'd fallen in a lake. Zoey stood, clutching her chest like she was in a soap opera, still blasting him.
"I get it! You're a hotshot now—big name in gaming, loaded, talented, the golden boy of every fan's dreams!"
"But come on, you can't just openly chase girls on company time!"
"Hugging, and… and… that!"
"Tsk, tsk, tsk, making out in public? That's a PR nightmare!"
Before she could rant on, Gus strode forward, closed the door, and pinched her cheeks like she was a grumpy kid.
"Huh?" Zoey's pouty lips mumbled, eyes wide with confusion.
"It's a setup," Gus said, wiping water off his face and slicking back his hair. "That photo's staged. I didn't kiss anyone, and the hug wasn't my idea, okay?"
Despite the soaking, Zoey's over-the-top reaction was oddly comforting. Her straight-up confrontation meant Nebula Tech's scheme to drive a wedge between them had flopped. If she'd gone quiet and started snooping, that would've been trouble—exactly what Nebula wanted.
Since Zoey threw a fastball, Gus matched her with one of his own. Clear the air, no drama, no doubts. Solid as a rock.
Zoey blinked, her face softening. A flush crept up her cheeks, half-embarrassed. "Uh… okay," she mumbled. "I might've jumped the gun. But you kinda had it coming."
Gus let go, spreading his hands. "And now?"
"Better," Zoey said, grabbing tissues from her desk and tossing them to him. She gestured to a chair, still awkward. "So… what's the deal?"
With Zoey calmed down, Gus laid it all out—Sophia Tate, Nebula Tech's poaching attempt, the staged photo. Zoey's face went from red to pale to stormy.
Poaching. Again.
Nebula had tried this before, but William Parker, Zoey's dad, shut it down. This time, they'd wised up—no headhunters, just their top secretary pulling a stunt.
Cutting off her cash flow was like declaring war. Gus wasn't just WindyPeak's director; he was her golden goose, tied to her secret rebate system. Without him, her dreams of raking in millions were toast.
Sure, the piggy bank wasn't overflowing yet, but Zoey was inching closer with every risky move. Nebula's relentless poaching was a direct attack on her hustle.
Enough was enough.
Zoey took a deep breath. Nebula today, some other tech giant tomorrow—there'd be no peace unless she hit back hard. Time to make an example.
"What's the play, Gus?" she asked, eyes narrowing.
"Dirty tactics, plain and simple," Gus said, shrugging. "Nebula's got no chill. Ethan Caldwell's got no bottom line."
"First, they try to poach me. When that fails, they snap a shady photo to stir up drama."
"Bet by this afternoon—or tomorrow—that pic's plastered across gaming blogs, painting me as cozy with Nebula's secretary. It's meant to spook you, tank team morale, slow down Titanfall, and mess with IndieVibe's market cred."
"After all, it's not a good look when a studio's director looks like they're in bed with the competition."
Zoey nodded, impressed. Gus had seen it all before. "Any bright ideas to shut this down?"
"Three options," Gus said, holding up three fingers. "First, we prep a PR blast to squash the story the second it drops. Clear the air, calm the market. The internet forgets fast—ride out the storm, and we're golden."
"Second, we play their game but better." He grinned, pointing at the photo on Zoey's phone. "They haven't leaked it yet. We beat them to it—send that pic to gaming blogs ourselves. Spin it: Nebula's secretary snuck into Seattle to meet me, maybe leaking secrets or planning to jump ship."
Zoey gasped. "Dude, that's savage."
"Savage?" Gus mock-glared. "I'm risking my rep to save the company, and you're throwing shade?"
"No, no!" Zoey backpedaled, laughing nervously. "I mean, you're all in—going full rogue to protect us. Respect."
Gus paused, then muttered, "Yeah, well… I'm outta here. Sophia's probably still nearby. Maybe I'll take that Nebula job."
"Hey, no!" Zoey bolted after him as he headed for the door, half-joking, half-panicking. "Gus, come back! Don't leave me hanging!"
She chased him into the hall, hamming it up. "Gus, my world's empty without you! How do I go on? Take me with you, Gus!"
Laughter erupted from the project team's door, heads peeking out to catch the show. Gus, mortified, speed-walked to his office and slammed the door.
Zoey giggled, knowing Gus's dramatic entrance and honesty meant he was staying put. But loyalty didn't stop the vultures from circling. If she played soft now, every tech bro from Silicon Valley to London would come for Gus.
Sure, Zoey was WindyPeak's hands-off CEO, a gaming newbie riding her rebate system to riches. But that didn't mean she was a pushover. Nebula was threatening her cash cow, and she wasn't here for it.
Last time, Victor Lang figured out she was William Parker's daughter and played nice ever since. Gus's plan—PR defense or flipping the script—was solid, but not enough. Nebula tried to steal her queen; Zoey was flipping the board and throwing a haymaker.
She grabbed her phone and dialed a contact. "Hey, Maggie, you free?"
"Zoey," came Margaret "Maggie" Hayes's warm voice, ever the pro. "Not busy. What's up?"
"How much to make some news?" Zoey asked, cutting to the chase.
"Make news?" Maggie, head of Global Pulse Media under Parker Capital, sounded surprised. She'd always followed William's orders to stay hands-off with Zoey, but this was a paid request—fair game. "Depends on the hype. No fake news, though."
"It's legit," Zoey said. "I've got about $1.07 million—savings, bonuses, and my advance salary. How big can we go?"
Maggie nearly choked on her coffee. "A million? Zoey, that's not news—that's a marketing blitz!"
"What's the story?" she asked, stunned.
"Just a photo," Zoey said, eyes glinting as she studied the staged kiss. "I'm sending it now, Maggie. I need it fast and loud. Title it like this—"
Breaking News! Nebula Tech's Top Secretary Caught with IndieVibe Exec! Trade Secrets or Defection? Is Nebula's Next-Gen Flop Doomed?
An hour after Nebula's dirty trick, Global Pulse Media's push notification hit millions of phones.
Within thirty minutes, finance and gaming blogs went wild:
Nebula Tech's First Loss Sparks Internal Chaos!
Top Secretary Jumping Ship? What's Happening at Nebula?
Does This Photo Signal Nebula's Surrender?
Insider Scoop: Nebula's Secretary and IndieVibe's Star in Secret Talks!
A $1.07 million media storm swept the internet. Zoey's spin? Nebula's Sophia Tate was either leaking secrets or defecting, and their Polar Bear 3 project was crumbling.
The fallout was brutal. Nebula Tech and IndieVibe were global giants, their stocks tracked by every tech investor. IndieVibe's Titanfall trailer had already tipped the scales, boosting their stock while Nebula's tanked. Zoey's media blitz was a gut punch—Nebula's stock plummeted, wiping out nearly $2 billion in market value in three days.
Blogs went overboard: "Sources say Sophia Tate and Gus Harper have been an item for months…" "The pair allegedly bought a penthouse in Miami…" "Insiders claim Sophia's pregnant, hiding it to keep spying on Nebula's tech…"
It started with a photo and spiraled into fan fiction. Zoey blinked at the headlines. A million bucks didn't do this. She wondered if her dad, William, had pulled strings but decided not to ask. If he was backing her quietly, let him.
Three days later, Victor Lang called with an update. Nebula's stock was in freefall, Sophia Tate was fired, and Ethan Caldwell faced a two-week internal probe. Nebula Entertainment's VP, Nathan Reed, wanted to meet Zoey to "calm the storm."
Zoey's response was ice-cold: "No meeting needed, Victor. Pass this along."
"Nebula's a gaming titan—they know how to take a hit and own their mistakes. My last name's Parker, as in Parker Capital. We're both global players; I didn't want to escalate, but Nebula kept poking the bear."
"I'm glad they're open to talks, but I'm not meeting. The news is out, and it'll burn for a few more days. I can't stop it. If Nebula can't weather it, tough luck."
"Survive, and we're square. PR's their problem now."
"But tell them this: fair competition drives the industry forward. I'm all for it. But if anyone tries dirty tricks on my director again, they're done. I don't play."
One punch to shut down a hundred. Zoey was pissed.
Her knockout blow spooked every gaming studio eyeing WindyPeak. The message was clear: mess with Zoey Parker, daughter of Parker Capital, and you'd pay. The industry cleaned up its act—less backstabbing, more focus on actual games. Studios started dissecting Gus's work, analyzing Titanfall's mechanics, and aiming to beat WindyPeak fair and square.
Meanwhile, Titanfall's development steamed ahead, fueled by relentless hype. Five and a half months later, WindyPeak announced the game was polished and ready.
Three days after that, IndieVibe X2's first batch of motion-sensing cabins rolled off the line.
Game and hardware, locked and loaded.
WindyPeak's first escort masterpiece—and its first stab at a story-driven epic—Titanfall—was here.