“I’m the woman who called you about the spare room in your apartment,” I say, the words spilling out.
Erik bangs a hand on the counter like a true Viking. I examine his face, my heart hammering. He doesn’t look angry. Wait. Is he...laughing?
“Good job, Sol. Very clever move. Ten points for you.” He lifts his empty glass. “Cheers!”
He’s annoyed, yes, but also amused, as if he’s mocking himself for having believed he could have a pleasant night with a girl he met on Cinder. I can’t let this hurt his confidence. That’s not fair. This is all on me.
“Listen.” It’s my turn to hold his wrist as he gets up. “I’m very sorry I did this. I regret it. It wasn’t nice.”
“You think so?” His sarcasm is so natural it might pass unnoticed. I keep holding him in place. It’s too hot in this bar. I need to breathe the cool air outside, but I’m not leaving until he forgives me.
“I never expected to find you on Cinder. I was honestly looking to have a last night of fun, then your profile popped up, and it felt like...fate.” I look down, overly aware of how much I’m flushing and perspiring. I wipe my hands on my dress.
“It’s fine,” he mutters. His hand is closed in a fist though.
“I’m desperate, Erik,” I say, a bit more firmly, gazing at him.
“It’s noticeable,” he replies with an aloofness that gets on my nerves.
I stand up too, now so hot that a drop of sweat trickles down my spine. “You turned me down without even telling me why.”
“That’s how these things go, Sol.” He opens his arms as wide as the crowded space permits. “The one who contacts you first wins.”
“That’s not true,” I say, hiding my shame in the bottomless pit my stomach has become. “You didn’t close the deal yet or you would have said so. You want the best match, not the first—”
He chuckles. “And you think you’re the best match?”
“I need this room—”
“This is not charity,” he interrupts me again, and I’m getting so irritated my voice is rising.
“I know that!” People are looking at us now. Erik notices and makes a gesture for me to sit down. I don’t want to make a scene, so I take a deep breath, relax in my seat, and lower my voice. “Listen, I pay on time and I keep things tidy. Besides, I’m up for a promotion. We can help each other out.”
Erik blinks at me with his long golden lashes, his jaw tight, and I hurry to give him the rest of my convincing speech.
“I only made this desperate move because I finally have the chance to get my dream job,” I say, and as he doesn’t interrupt, I continue, eyes on his. “If I have a place to live and I impress my boss in the next few months, I might get a promotion, and then I can stay here, living the life I always wanted, away from my family’s influence and the lack of opportunities in my hometown.” I keep speaking, afraid that if I take a break, he’ll walk away. “You don’t know where I came from and how hard I had to fight to arrive where I am.” The words are coming out so fast I’m barely breathing. “Things never came easy for me. I’m used to moving mountains to get what I need.”
Saying all this to a stranger feels awkward yet...liberating. My chest is suddenly lighter, even though my lungs are working almost as hard as they do when I go for a run on a cold Danish morning.
Erik stares at me, and I can’t tell if he’s moved by my monologue or if he doesn’t care at all.
“Where are you living now?” he speaks at last, maintaining his poker face.
“In a studio apartment I need to move out of next Monday.” Every time I’m reminded of this, I feel like I’m being punched in the gut. That apartment became my home—my precious sanctuary of silence and solitude—but it was never mine. “I have nowhere else to go. Not even a friend’s couch.” I flush when I admit this, but it’s the truth. Except for Chiara, whom I chat with at the office, I haven’t gotten close to anyone here. And letting him believe I have friends—or anyone else in the city who cares—wouldn’t help my case.
“And you’re getting a promotion?”
“Yes,” I say a bit too avidly. Then I pause. “Maybe. I was going to quit, but my boss told me I might become game director if I stay.”
“At Scorpio Games?” He remembers I said I work there when I called him, of course. There is bitterness in his tone, but that shouldn’t surprise me. He left the company. Mark told me it was because he wanted to work on a personal project, but I’ll probably never know the real reason.
“Yes. And I need that promotion.”
I watch his face for any reaction. His left eyebrow trembles almost imperceptibly, but that’s all.
“Why did you come to Denmark?” he asks, intertwining his fingers on the bar top. “You mentioned your family and a lack of opportunities, but why not Rio or England?”
Is he interviewing me for the room? I hope so. At the same time, I don’t feel very inclined to tell him my very personal reasons for being in his country. All I’ve laid bare in front of him tonight was enough.
So I just give him the answer I give everyone who asks that question. “I needed a fresh start, and what better place than the happiest country in the world?”
“Is that it?” One of his eyebrows climbs in an unconvinced expression that is sexy and irritating at the same time.
I blink slowly, not letting myself be affected—that is, if my heart pounding madly doesn’t count. “Well, there’s Denmark’s quality of life index, the free health care, the low crime rate, the work-life balance, the hygge...and games jobs that pay a good salary.”
“I didn’t ask you to quote a ‘Ten Reasons to Live in Denmark’ blog post,” he says, cold, rigid, and large as a stone. No, a statue. A pretty one. Michelangelo level. But even prettier.
Stop thinking about his inhuman beauty, Sol, for the gods’ sake.
“I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I did read plenty of those articles before deciding to come,” I say, treating him with his own indifference. I sip from my glass to illustrate how much his tone doesn’t bother me—even though it does.
“Then you found a job here?” I catch a glint in his eyes that wasn’t there before, but I’m not entirely sure what it means.
“It was the other way around,” I tell him, still in my shrug-off mode. “I got the job, then I read up on Denmark.”
“How did that happen? Did Scorpio headhunt you?” He seems a tiny bit more interested now, so I sit straighter and seize the opportunity. I might not want to share, but I want him to care, and I’ll do what it takes. I didn’t come this far to give up.
“I used to work at this indie game studio in Brasília called Vortex Games,” I tell him, running a finger around the rim of my glass. “One day, I went to a video game conference in São Paulo and met game developers from all over the world, including people who worked at Scorpio.”
