Free Blast From The Past 1 by Faith Winslow

different pro-grade dartboards.
    “Can I play the winner?” I asked, walking closer to them. I’d honed my dart-throwing skills over the past few years since my ex, Erik, was in a league back in Ohio.
    “If you think you can handle the competition,” Gary replied, steadying himself and aiming for the bullseye.
    “I think I can,” I said, confident in my abilities.
    A few minutes later, Gary did a victory dance as the board blinked its lights, indicating that Player 1 was the winner.
    “You’re up, new girl,” Jeff said. I couldn’t tell if he was being cute, or if he couldn’t remember my name.
    I grabbed the darts from his hand and threw one, aimlessly, at the board.
    “Looks like this’ll be an easy win,” Gary said, taking his position at the line and throwing a pretty decent shot. “Maybe we should put a wager on this game? How’s about if I win, you give me your phone number?”
    I slanted my head at my opponent and took a more powerful stance this time around. “I’d tell you no, but I don’t think it’ll be an issue,” I said, throwing one right in the bullseye. “I’m kind of a shark, and I don’t like to mix business with pleasure.”
    “That’s a good policy,” another male voice said from some distance away. I didn’t even have to turn around—I already knew who it was.
    “Hey, J.R.,” Jeff said, rushing over to our big boss. “You wanna get in on a game?”
    “No thanks,” he said. “I’m actually here to talk to the shark. Stephanie told me she was headed this way, and I need to have a quick word with her.”
    I looked at J.R. and felt that lump rise in my throat again. This is it , I told myself. He remembered .
    I set my darts down on a nearby table, and walked over to J.R. reluctantly. I could smell his cologne, and it definitely wasn’t a cheap drug store brand.
    “Let’s go to the conference room,” he said. “We’ll have more privacy in there.” I’d never heard those exact words from him, but the phrases sounded all too familiar.

~ Chapter 17 ~
     
    “We have a problem,” J.R. said, sitting down at one end of the long table in the conference room. He motioned for me to sit down as well, and I took a seat located halfway between him and the other end.
    “What’s that?” I asked, waiting for him to go on.
    “Why don’t you tell me?” he asked, if not instructed.
    I looked at him and shook my head. I wasn’t about to open my mouth and give him the advantage.
    “All right,” J.R. said, rising to his feet and walking over to the media console. “We’ll play this the hard way.”
    He flicked on a few switches and the large flat screen monitor started to glow. He dragged the mouse to the music app on the screen, and clicked it.
    “What the hell is this?” he asked. I looked up and saw the strangest thing.
    Instead of the log-in/registration screen appearing on the monitor, a blank screen popped up, followed by a huge yellow smiley face with bulging blue eyes and a floppy pink tongue dangling and wagging from its mouth.
    “I have no idea what that is,” I said, being completely honest.
    “Then I guess you have no idea what this is either,” J.R. added, killing the smiley face and opening another file on the monitor. The file was a text document that contained nothing but squares, hearts, smiley faces, and other strange, unnecessary, useless characters.
    “You’re right,” I said, growing concerned. “I have no idea what that is either.” Suddenly, I got the feeling that I hadn’t been called to the conference room to discuss my past, but, rather, something else—and, for the life of me, I couldn’t tell where this conversation was going.
    “Let’s try a third time,” J.R. continued. He collapsed the nonsense document, opened the web browser, and typed in the words “new music apps.” He went on to scroll down the page, revealing scores of taglines that with titles such as “rEcore developing new app with major music moguls,” “Top