Wicked Game

Chapter One

Crys waved at the men with a forcibly cheery smile as they made for the fancy Mercedes SUV; it masked the sense of dread filling her as silence engulfed her and Claire. It took half a second for the redhead to position herself in front of the smaller Brit, her face flushed and anger flashing in her dark eyes.

"Do you have any idea how much trouble you just put us in, Crystelle?" she hissed, fists on her hips and shoulders tight. She was madder than Crys had ever seen her and she wondered uneasily if her father's name alone wouldn't be enough to save her ass this time. The redhead's lip curled and she sneered down at the younger woman, rage coloring her tone even as she whispered, "If you don't fix this mess and get us this deal, you will be fired. I don't care what Masrani says, I don't care if he fires me, too... This is unacceptable. You may have connections to the original park, but your behavior is disgusting. I wouldn't expect something like this from your father, nor would Mr. Masrani, and I certainly won't accept this from you. Now get out there and take care of this."

Normally, Crys would have responded with a sarcastic quip, a haughty smirk, noting that Claire obviously knew nothing about Robert Muldoon if that was the case. It wasn't because of who she was, or the fact that her father had been a hero during the incident at the first park and she felt herself entitled to anything, but because Claire was so easily riled and she enjoyed pissing her off.

She couldn't bring herself to make a peep, though; she had never made such a complete ass of herself in front of potential clients, nor risked the company hundreds of thousands of dollars in investments and she was well and truly cowed this time.

There was no doubt in her mind that Claire would make due on her threat if Crys didn't do some serious groveling.

Nodding, she squared her shoulders, swallowing thickly, before exiting the Innovation Center. Her heart thumped at the thought of losing her job, but she shook the thought from her head and reluctantly prepared herself to kiss some serious ass.

As she made for the SUV, her pocket buzzed and she retrieved her phone. The goofy picture she had snapped of Owen - he was imitating one of his raptors and the snarl on his face was too much for her to handle - stared back at her and, worrying her lip and casting a quick glance over her shoulder, she answered, "Owen, I really can't talk."

He didn't answer for a moment, before he queried perplexedly, "Why, what's up? At least tell me when you think you can swing by. I-"

"You might need to ask someone else for help with that favor," she muttered, hovering uneasily on the steps, grateful for the swarms of people flowing in and out of the building to mask her small form from Claire's hateful glare, "I fucked up, majorly. Called these asshats 'asshats' an' they heard me. They're from Nike, Owen. Nike. Claire is pissed and I might lose my job."

"God, seriously?" he inquired, though his muffled laugh wasn't quite muffled enough. She could imagine his broad grin and the teasing glint in his hazel eyes.

Flustered, she glanced around for the men or any sign of her boss, "Shut it, Raptor Boy; I'm in major trouble. I don't know when I can get away from these bastards; I gotta take 'em on a tour of the park, play goddamn John Hammond for the day."

"Need any help?" he questioned seriously, "bring 'em by the raptor paddock; I can show 'em the girls. Have 'em do a few practice drills. They could use the exercise and sounds like you could use a knight in shining armor."

"You know any?" Crys queried jokingly, though her heart soared and a grin broke across her face despite herself as she jogged to the SUV. Owen scoffed in her ear and she laughed, though another question fell from her tongue before she could allow herself to grow too elated, "What about your favor?"