if it meant giving up part of his weekend to do optional recon.
However, he’d picked up nothing but flimsy rumors all night. Definitely nothing that hinted at who was involved. Now, several hours later, he was tired of banal conversation and dead ends. The king-size bed in his hotel room called to him. It was late and he should get a good night’s sleep.
Aiden shrugged off the temptation. The only lead he had was a leggy blonde by the name of Alana Peterson, who apparently had some kind of grudge against the company. But his attempt to engage her in conversation had resulted in his being turned down flatter than a pancake.
A flash of color caught his attention. A woman stood next to a potted plant, her lithe figure encased in a little black dress that was hot enough to melt brain cells. But it was her hair that captivated him. It tumbled down to her waist, dark brown at the top and hot-pink through the lengths. She had a nose piercing and five earrings in one ear. He couldn’t help but linger; she was sex on a stick.
Plus, he’d seen her talking to Alana Peterson earlier. Were they friends? Or simply two women gravitating toward one another in a sea of men?
The woman turned to the potted plant, her lips moving. Was she talking to a tree?
A laugh bubbled up in his throat. She was definitely more appealing than a bunch of geeky men whining about online dating...even if she did appear to be talking to an inanimate object.
“What does your friend think of the party?” he asked, coming up beside her.
She jumped. “Excuse me?”
“Your friend.” He inclined his head toward the tree. “You were talking to him, weren’t you?”
“Her,” the woman corrected, her face totally neutral. “This is Leafina.”
“Nice to meet you, Leafina.” He grabbed a frond, shaking it up and down. “And you are?”
“Not a tree.” The corner of her lip twitched as she accepted his proffered hand.
Damn, she was gorgeous. Quirky, a little awkward, but sexy as all get-out.
“I’m Aiden, also not a tree. I’m not much of a partygoer, either.” Something warned him being overconfident wouldn’t work with her—hopefully, he’d read her right.
Her face softened. “Me, neither. Are you here by yourself?”
“Yeah, but this is a work thing.” He flagged down a passing waiter and grabbed a glass of red wine. “I’d rather be home, to tell you the truth.”
She made an adorable snorting noise, bobbing her head in agreement. “I got dragged here by a friend.”
“So you’re not a tech-head?”
“Oh, I am, but I do that on my own time.”
He sipped his drink. “Who’s your friend? I might know them.”
“Alana Peterson. She’s a tech reporter.”
Bingo. Not only were they friends, but they’d come here together. If Alana was involved in the leak, this woman might have heard about it.
“I’m familiar with the name, but I don’t think I’ve met her.”
“You would remember if you had.” A genuine smile tugged at her lips. “She’s quite a force.”
“Is she working on a story?”
“Yeah. She’s always fighting for better representation of women in the gaming industry,” the woman said, her voice tinted with pride. “She wants one of the game companies to commit to having a female lead in their games. Or at the very least she wants to find out why they haven’t had one to date.”
Ah, so that must be the grudge he’d heard about. “That game company wouldn’t happen to be Third Planet Studios, would it?”
She blinked. “How did you know that?”
“People talk. Her opinions have caused a stir, and not too many guys here seem to care about feminism.”
“Color me shocked.” Quinn rolled her eyes. “That only proves why we need people like Alana asking questions.”
“You’re absolutely right.” He breathed a sigh of relief.
He could recognize a lie when he heard one—he knew how to detect the sound of it, how to look for the telltale facial movements and tics. And how to do all of that without giving a thing away himself.
Thankfully, there was nothing but honesty in this enigmatic woman’s responses.
Which meant he could keep talking to her without the weight of suspicion hanging over them.
“Who do you work for?” she asked.
“Ricochet Studios,” he said, keeping to his script.
The plan was to tell people he was a game designer, some low-level minion at a big company where no one would be likely to call him out on the lie. He had enough knowledge to have a basic discussion about game design, and he was adept at manipulating conversation should anyone get close to sniffing him out.
His experience working for the FBI had equipped him to skate the truth with ease, not that he took any pleasure in it. But his job came first.
“The company who made ‘Slayer’s Faith’?” Her pink lips parted. “You worked on that game?”
The reverence in her voice was a huge boost to his ego, which was stupid since it meant nothing. “You play?”
“I clocked over a hundred hours on it. You don’t make it easy to get the platinum trophy.” She folded her arms, the action plumping up her breasts so that they pressed together in the deep V of the dress’s neckline. “It wasn’t quite as bad as finding all the pigeons in ‘GTA Four,’ mind you.”
A hot girl who knew her games? Heaven must have been smiling down on him. “Ah, you’re a completionist.”
“All the best gamers are.”
He took a slow sip of his wine. “What’s your favorite game?”
“That’s like asking me to pick a favorite limb.” Her dark brows creased.
“Chicken.” He laughed when she narrowed her gaze at him.
The diamond in her nose winked in the light and she tapped a finger to her cheek. The chipped black polish on her fingernails seemed at odds with the hotter-than-sin dress and sexy heels. But he enjoyed the combo; a little bit of contradiction made things more exciting...like there were secrets to be uncovered. A real person under the gloss.
“‘Slayer’s Faith,’” she said, nodding as if convincing herself. “Followed closely by ‘Mario Kart.’”
“What about Leafina? What does she play?” He looked at the potted plant again and a laugh burst from the pink-haired woman’s lips.
“Can
