is he? Some sort of mastiff?’ Ally asked as Guy
shut the door behind him.
‘Neapolitan mastiff,’ Ross answered, impressed. ‘A blue,
because his coat has that blue sheen.’
‘Does he have a name?’ Ally asked as Pic rested his jowls—and
there were many of them—on her bare knee.
‘He has many, but the breeders named him Piccolo. I mostly call
him Pic.’
Ally took a moment to make the connection and when she did she
laughed out loud, dimples flashing. ‘Piccolo is Italian for small. Somebody’s
idea of a joke?’
‘He was the runt of the litter,’ Ross explained. ‘They never
expected him to be half the size of his siblings, but he’s turned out to be the
best of the bunch. The breeders keep hinting that they’d like him back.’
Ally covered Pic’s ears so that he couldn’t hear his words.
‘Don’t say that in front of him,’ she chided. ‘You’ll make him feel
insecure.’
Ross laughed at her goofiness. ‘He’s a dog, not a child,
Jones.’
Ally stroked his crinkled face and Pic sighed. ‘Ignore him,
darling, you and I both know that you are a fur person. You said you mostly call him Pic? What else do you call him?’
‘It varies and very much depends on whether he’s eaten another
pair of my shoes, the carpet, or the pipes in the pool. Some choice swear words usually spring to mind,’ Ross said on a
smile.
‘Poor baby.’
Ross let her words drift over him. ‘Thank you. I’ve got about
six left flip-flops at home. Why can’t he eat the flip of a pair if he’s already
eaten the flop? Why does he have to start on a new pair?’
‘I was actually speaking to Pic, not you,’ Ally said, her hand
on Pic’s massive neck.
‘Oh.’
Pic yawned, flopped to the ground at Ally’s feet, rested his
massive head on his equally massive paws and closed his eyes. Ally felt like
doing the same. Instead, she tossed her pen onto the coffee table between them,
stood up and stepped over Pic and looked out through the floor-to-ceiling glass
wall, past the walkway that meandered around the four sides of the building and
gave access to the offices on this floor and the craziness of the main floor
below them.
To her, his office set-up was utterly bizarre. In the indoor
quad below there were couches and huge TV screens playing music videos.
Headphoned people played video games in front of another enormous wide TV
screen. Very few people worked at desks, laptops seemed to be the popular
choice, and his staff lounged in couches or chairs tapping at their
keyboards.
The occasional mini rugby ball sailed across heads from one
side of the light-filled room to the other, and weirdly dressed people with
bright hair, tattoos and piercings sat at a bar in the corner, drinking coffee
and chugging energy drinks.
A pot-bellied pig snored at the BDSM-booted feet of a girl with
bright pink hair and tattoos—she looked about sixteen, with Goth make-up—who was
having a ferocious argument with a Sheldon-lookalike nerd.
It was a crazy set-up and she’d go nuts if she had to work
here. It was too busy, too chaotic, but it seemed to suit Ross perfectly.
‘How do Pic and the pig get along?’ she asked.
‘They’ve learnt to tolerate each other,’ Ross answered.
‘I think Pink-Haired Girl is about to stab Sheldon Lookalike
with a letter-opener.’
Ross stood up to see where she was looking and shook his head.
‘No letter-openers. We are mostly a paper-free environment. And Kate and Hardy
always argue—that’s why they are really good partners. They bring out the best
in each other.’
Ally shook her head in disbelief. ‘She just threw her can of
soda at him.’
Ross shrugged. ‘He must like it since they’ve been married for
three years.’
‘ Married? You’re kidding me!’
‘Nope. They are also two of the most exciting game designers I
have ever met. Kate is stunningly creative and she pushes Hardy to get him to
translate her visions, characters and stories for a game into code. He says
shut the door behind him.
‘Neapolitan mastiff,’ Ross answered, impressed. ‘A blue,
because his coat has that blue sheen.’
‘Does he have a name?’ Ally asked as Pic rested his jowls—and
there were many of them—on her bare knee.
‘He has many, but the breeders named him Piccolo. I mostly call
him Pic.’
Ally took a moment to make the connection and when she did she
laughed out loud, dimples flashing. ‘Piccolo is Italian for small. Somebody’s
idea of a joke?’
‘He was the runt of the litter,’ Ross explained. ‘They never
expected him to be half the size of his siblings, but he’s turned out to be the
best of the bunch. The breeders keep hinting that they’d like him back.’
Ally covered Pic’s ears so that he couldn’t hear his words.
‘Don’t say that in front of him,’ she chided. ‘You’ll make him feel
insecure.’
Ross laughed at her goofiness. ‘He’s a dog, not a child,
Jones.’
Ally stroked his crinkled face and Pic sighed. ‘Ignore him,
darling, you and I both know that you are a fur person. You said you mostly call him Pic? What else do you call him?’
‘It varies and very much depends on whether he’s eaten another
pair of my shoes, the carpet, or the pipes in the pool. Some choice swear words usually spring to mind,’ Ross said on a
smile.
‘Poor baby.’
Ross let her words drift over him. ‘Thank you. I’ve got about
six left flip-flops at home. Why can’t he eat the flip of a pair if he’s already
eaten the flop? Why does he have to start on a new pair?’
‘I was actually speaking to Pic, not you,’ Ally said, her hand
on Pic’s massive neck.
‘Oh.’
Pic yawned, flopped to the ground at Ally’s feet, rested his
massive head on his equally massive paws and closed his eyes. Ally felt like
doing the same. Instead, she tossed her pen onto the coffee table between them,
stood up and stepped over Pic and looked out through the floor-to-ceiling glass
wall, past the walkway that meandered around the four sides of the building and
gave access to the offices on this floor and the craziness of the main floor
below them.
To her, his office set-up was utterly bizarre. In the indoor
quad below there were couches and huge TV screens playing music videos.
Headphoned people played video games in front of another enormous wide TV
screen. Very few people worked at desks, laptops seemed to be the popular
choice, and his staff lounged in couches or chairs tapping at their
keyboards.
The occasional mini rugby ball sailed across heads from one
side of the light-filled room to the other, and weirdly dressed people with
bright hair, tattoos and piercings sat at a bar in the corner, drinking coffee
and chugging energy drinks.
A pot-bellied pig snored at the BDSM-booted feet of a girl with
bright pink hair and tattoos—she looked about sixteen, with Goth make-up—who was
having a ferocious argument with a Sheldon-lookalike nerd.
It was a crazy set-up and she’d go nuts if she had to work
here. It was too busy, too chaotic, but it seemed to suit Ross perfectly.
‘How do Pic and the pig get along?’ she asked.
‘They’ve learnt to tolerate each other,’ Ross answered.
‘I think Pink-Haired Girl is about to stab Sheldon Lookalike
with a letter-opener.’
Ross stood up to see where she was looking and shook his head.
‘No letter-openers. We are mostly a paper-free environment. And Kate and Hardy
always argue—that’s why they are really good partners. They bring out the best
in each other.’
Ally shook her head in disbelief. ‘She just threw her can of
soda at him.’
Ross shrugged. ‘He must like it since they’ve been married for
three years.’
‘ Married? You’re kidding me!’
‘Nope. They are also two of the most exciting game designers I
have ever met. Kate is stunningly creative and she pushes Hardy to get him to
translate her visions, characters and stories for a game into code. He says
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