Spoiled By The Ruthless Esports Captain
Chapter 7
Saturday morning.
The Seattle sky was surprisingly clear, the sunlight cutting through the wooden blinds of Jorden's second-floor bedroom.
The light cast sharp, striped shadows across the hardwood floor.
Jorden stepped out of the master bathroom.
His dark hair was dripping wet, the water running down his chest and soaking into the white towel wrapped low around his waist.
He pulled open the heavy doors of his walk-in closet.
He stared at the rows of monochromatic clothing-blacks and grays, mostly sharply tailored athletic jackets, soft solid-color t-shirts, and official team uniforms. It was a wardrobe that perfectly reflected his disciplined, almost militaristic lifestyle.
He grabbed a hanger holding a black SG hoodie, then stopped.
He remembered his mother's screaming voice.
He let go of the hoodie.
He reached further back into the closet and pulled out a soft, navy-blue cashmere sweater.
He grabbed a pair of tailored black slacks.
He dropped the towel, pulled the clothes on, and walked over to the full-length mirror.
He ran a hand through his damp hair, pushing it back from his forehead.
The man in the mirror didn't look like an esports tyrant.
He looked like an Ivy League graduate.
He grabbed his leather wallet and his car keys off the nightstand.
He walked down the stairs.
The massive house was dead quiet.
The only sound was the hum of the blender in the kitchen.
Daisy was standing at the counter, pouring a thick green vegetable smoothie into a glass.
She looked up, her eyes widening as she took in Jorden's outfit.
She let out a loud, obnoxious wolf-whistle.
"Going on a blind date, boss?" she teased.
Jorden felt a flash of irritation.
He glared at her, his eyes cold.
"I'm executing a political mission for my mother," he said flatly.
Daisy laughed, taking a sip of her terrible green drink.
"Enjoy your day off. Tomorrow at 8 AM, the fourteen-hour hell begins."
Jorden gave a curt nod.
He walked to the entryway, slipped his feet into a pair of pristine white leather sneakers, and pushed the front door open.
The crisp morning air hit his face.
He walked to the garage and pressed the unlock button on his key fob.
The headlights of a sleek, black Audi SUV flashed twice.
Jorden pulled the heavy door open and slid into the driver's seat.
He hit the ignition button.
The engine purred to life.
He typed the Corbett address into the dashboard navigation screen.
He backed out of the driveway and merged onto the highway heading toward downtown Seattle.
Twenty minutes later, the navigation told him to take an exit near a high-end shopping district.
Jorden flicked his turn signal and pulled off the highway.
He parked the Audi in front of a small, vintage-looking French bakery.
He pulled the keys out and stepped onto the sidewalk.
He pushed the bakery door open.
A bell chimed loudly.
The air inside was thick with the smell of melted butter and vanilla.
Jorden walked up to the glass display case.
He stared at the colorful, delicate pastries, feeling completely out of his element.
He remembered the little girl crying in the dirt.
Girls liked chocolate, right?
He pointed a long finger at the glass.
"I'll take the biggest Black Forest cherry cake you have," he told the cashier.
The girl behind the counter smiled and carefully placed the massive cake into a bright pink box.
She tied a shiny silver ribbon around it.
Jorden paid, grabbed the box by the ribbon, and walked out.
He felt ridiculous holding the bright pink box against his dark cashmere sweater.
He opened the passenger door of the Audi and set the box down gently on the leather seat.
He got back behind the wheel and put the car in drive.
The tall glass buildings of the city slowly faded away, replaced by massive oak trees and sprawling suburban lawns.
Jorden's chest felt tight.
He rolled down his window, letting the cold wind whip against his face.
He started rehearsing what he was going to say to Martha.
"In five hundred feet, your destination is on the right," the robotic GPS voice announced.
Jorden pressed his foot against the brake pedal.
Up ahead, a massive black iron gate blocked the road, attached to a stone security booth.
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