The More, The Merrier

The boardroom was still and suffocating, the air thick with tension as Howard leaned back in his chair, a smug grin curling his lips. 

Damian's presentation had been flawless. His calm, collected tone had been disarming, his words clear and calculated. "Catalyst Games has been struggling to adapt to market trends," he'd said, his blue eyes scanning the room with an air of command. "While its legacy speaks for itself, the future of gaming demands innovation and scalability. Wellspring Capital has the resources to push Catalyst beyond what it's currently capable of. VR development, next-gen titles, cross-platform integration—we have the infrastructure and partnerships to make it happen. Staying small means stagnation, and stagnation means failure. Do you want to survive or thrive?" 

When Callum countered with Catalyst's history of making accessible, player-focused games, Damian didn't miss a beat. "Accessibility doesn't have to come at the cost of ambition. With the right funding, you can do both—and that funding is standing right in front of you."

Callum bit his tongue after that and Damian's smirk had been nothing short of cruel. He'd easily fielded any and all of Callum's rebuttals and, by the time he'd walked out of the room, leaving the board to vote, it was clear they were convinced.

Callum had never seen his father happier, heck the man didn't even look this happy on any of his birthdays and Callum was his son. He looked more smug and satisfied than a fat cat. The vote had gone exactly as he wanted. 

Callum stared at the room, his pulse pounding in his ears. Only Ryan, himself, and a few loyalists had voted against the sale of the company. Everyone else had betrayed him, their hands raised without hesitation. His father was only one vote away from selling Catalyst to Wellsprings Capitals. 

Callum clenched his fists beneath the table, his nails digging into his palms. He'd built Catalyst from the ground up, sacrificed his time, his energy, his soul, and now it was slipping through his fingers like sand. 

"Relax," Ryan said, nudging Callum's shoulder as they walked out of the meeting. "You're wound tighter than a headset cable in a drawer." 

"How can I relax when Howard is one vote away from gutting everything I've worked for?" Callum snapped, his voice low and harsh. 

Ryan shrugged. "Look, I get it. Things are bad. But, think about it this way, those of us who didn't vote for the sale love this company as much as you do. The rest of 'em are money hungry grubs, we'll be locked here for a while."

"But not forever," Callum growled.

One vote. All Howard needed was one vote.

"We have time," Ryan assured him, calmly. "Besides, you're not going to fix anything by grinding yourself into dust. You need to unwind, boss. Seriously." 

Callum sighed, running a hand through his disheveled hair. "And what do you suggest? Yoga? Meditation?" 

Ryan smirked. "No, but thanks for the mental image of you in yoga pants. It's Friday. Go to a club, let loose, and—God forbid—have some fun. You look like you haven't smiled in weeks." 

"I don't have time for fun," Callum muttered, his jaw tight. 

"Make time." Ryan crossed his arms, leaning against the wall. "You're no good to the company—or yourself—if you're always this stressed. Hell, go dance, drink, flirt. Maybe get laid. Just do something that doesn't involve spreadsheets and board meetings." 

Callum considered it, the idea tempting him more than he cared to admit. Work had been relentless, the press over the explosion was still a nightmare, and Micah… 

Micah wanted nothing to do with him. Again.

'I need to think. And I can't do it around you…' 

Callum sighed, exhausted. The boardroom had cleared, the company was mostly empty. Night had fallen and all he had to do was go home to an empty house and lick his wounds like an unloved dog. He needed to get out of his head. He needed to get Micah out of his system. 

He needed to move on. The man who loved him back was no more and he couldn't… he couldn't afford to fall in love with Micah. Even though the intern made it so easy.

"Fine," Callum said finally. "But you're coming with me." 

Ryan laughed. "Hard pass. I've got a date tonight." 

Callum blinked. "You? A date? With an actual person?" 

"Well, she's not a hallucination."

Callum was genuinely surprised. For as long as he'd known his friend, the man was a notorious playboy. He didn't 'do' dates. "Who is she?"

Ryan grinned, his expression smug. "I don't kiss and tell, boss." He clapped Callum on the shoulder as he walked away. "Now go have fun. And don't do anything I wouldn't." 

---

The club was loud, dimly lit, and packed. Bodies swayed to the bass-heavy music, the scent of sweat and cheap cologne hung in the air, mingling with the tang of spilled alcohol. The bass thumped in Callum's chest, the rhythm of the music almost hypnotic. Multicolored lights flashed erratically, casting fleeting shadows across the crowded dance floor. A group of friends laughed loudly near the DJ booth, while a couple danced intimately in a corner, their movements almost indecent. Callum nursed a glass of whiskey at the bar, letting the burn settle in his chest as he surveyed the room. 

Coming to a club had seemed like a good idea when Ryan was convincing him but, now that he was here, he felt stupid. Clubs were for enthusiastic college students or like… old men that wanted to cheat on their wives. The pulsing lights and writhing crowd weren't exactly his scene. He was supposed to be relaxing but he just felt uncomfortable. Like everyone could see that he wasn't a regular 'club-goer'.

Ridiculous.

"Mind if I join you?" 

Callum glanced up, his eyes landing on a striking woman in a crimson dress that hugged her curves perfectly. She leaned against the bar, her dark eyes sparkling with mischief. 

"Be my guest," Callum said, gesturing to the stool beside him. 

She slid onto the seat, her red lipstick catching the light as she smiled. "You look like you could use a distraction." 

Callum raised an eyebrow. "And you're volunteering?" 

She laughed, the sound low and throaty. "Let's just say I have a knack for spotting people who need to loosen up." 

She glanced over Callum's shoulder briefly, her lips curving into a secretive smile. It was quick—so quick that Callum almost didn't catch it—but there was something conspiratorial in her expression, like she was in on a joke he didn't yet understand.

He hummed and took another sip of his drink. That was odd…

"Oh, so you're the club therapist?" Callum said, raising an eyebrow. 

The woman laughed out loud."Fuck, you make me sound like I'm for everyone."

"Are you not?"

"Of course not," She grinned, swirling her martini. "But I suppose you could call me a therapist. Except my methods are more fun, and I don't charge by the hour." 

Callum chuckled, leaning an elbow on the bar. "I'll bite. What's your diagnosis?" 

She tilted her head, pretending to examine him. "Hmm… workaholic. Slightly repressed. Might explode at any moment. Classic symptoms of someone who hasn't had a good time in way too long." 

"Accurate," Callum said dryly. "Should I be concerned about the exploding part?" 

"Only if you keep holding everything in," she shot back. Her grin widened as she added, "Lucky for you, I'm an expert in relieving pressure." 

Callum gave a short laugh, shaking his head. "Smooth." 

"I try." She leaned forward, her lips curving into a playful smirk. "Your turn. What's your diagnosis for me?" 

Callum studied her for a moment, his smirk returning. "Overconfident. Dangerously charming. Likely to lead people into trouble." 

She laughed, the sound light and easy. "Guilty as charged."

"So," he said, leaning closer, "what drew you to me? The brooding aura? Or the fact that I look like I'm one bad day away from throwing someone off a rooftop?" 

She smirked, her gaze trailing over him. "I think you're cute." She leaned in, her lips brushing against his ear as she whispered, "And my boyfriend thinks you're hot." 

Callum froze, his brows raising slightly. "Your boyfriend?" 

She tilted her head toward the corner of the room. Callum followed her gaze, spotting a man sitting across the bar. He was ruggedly handsome, with a chiseled jawline and a confident smirk. As their eyes met, the man lifted his glass in a silent toast, his gaze lingering in a way that felt both bold and inviting. 

Callum turned back to the woman, a slow smirk tugging at his lips. "Sounds like a good time to me." 

Her smile widened, her nails trailing along the edge of his glass. "If you're interested," she murmured, sliding her thigh against his under the bar, "you better put that glass down. Can't have you inebriated when you're supposed to be moaning my name." 

Her knee was getting dangerously close to his crotch by the minute and Callum sat up a bit straighter. Ryan was right. He did need this.

He chuckled, setting the glass aside. "Fair enough. Just make sure your boyfriend doesn't mind if it's my name you're screaming." 

She grinned, her hand brushing his as she leaned in closer. "Trust me," she whispered, her lips just a breath away from his ear, "he won't mind at all." 

Callum's pulse quickened, the tension in the air crackling like static. He glanced back toward the man, who was now making his way toward them with an easy, confident stride. 

The man stopped just behind the woman, his hand resting lightly on her waist as he locked eyes with Callum. His smile was slow, deliberate, and full of promise. The man stopped just behind the woman, resting a hand lightly on her waist. He was taller than Callum expected, his broad shoulders filling out a tailored navy shirt that was rolled up at the sleeves. His smirk matched hers, confident and teasing. 

"Are you having fun, babe?" the man asked in a velvety smooth voice, glancing at his girlfriend.

"Lots," she replied, tracing her fingers over his chest. Callum followed the path they made. "I was just talking with…"

"Callum," he managed to say.

The woman smirked. "Callum and I were just talking."

The man chuckled deeply, like he knew exactly what 'talking' meant. "I'm Nathan, I hope Willow over here hasn't been giving you a hard time."

The man's— Nathan's— eyes were boring into him, appraising him. He liked what he saw. Callum couldn't say he didn't feel the exact same way. "She's been good company," he replied smoothly. "We were just talking about how we should spend the rest of our night."

Nathan smiled, "Well, mind if I join you two?" 

A part of Callum's mind told him that this was reckless. Stupid. But maybe that's exactly what he needed right now—to do something reckless, to forget about everything for a while. Forget the board, forget Micah, forget the fact that the world seemed to be crumbling around him.

And he couldn't think of a better distraction than this.

His smirk deepened. "The more, the merrier."