The apartment door clicked open.
Gus Harper bent slightly, carrying Zoey Parker piggyback. She looped one arm around his neck, high heels dangling in her hand, the other clutching her phone.
"Yeah, we'll swing by tomorrow… around ten. Cool, thanks, bye," Zoey said, ending the call as they stepped into the entryway.
She hooked the door handle with her toes, shutting it with a smooth kick, slicker than a practiced dance move.
"You're quick to call the shots," Gus teased, swapping his shoes for slippers. "I'm the landlord, and I haven't even decided if I'm going, but you're all in."
"Psh, $200 a month for a 2,500-square-foot place!" Zoey shot back, waving her heels. "You'd jump at that deal too."
Gus raised an eyebrow. "When did I say your rent stays $200 for the new spot?"
"What?!" Zoey's eyes widened. "You can't jack up the price now!"
Seeing Gus's smirk, she launched into a dramatic plea. "Come on, life's short—just a few decades. You could own a mansion, but you only need a bed to crash in. Home's just a pitstop, right?"
"Get down here," Gus laughed, easing her onto the couch.
Zoey landed with a soft thud but yelped. "Ow!"
"What's wrong?" Gus spun around, alarmed.
Zoey clutched her head, eyes watering. "Ow… I hit my head… all because of the rent…"
"Sorry, sorry!" Gus rushed over, rubbing her head gently. "I was kidding. I'm buying a place, but I don't need 2,500 square feet. Rent's $200, $100, whatever you want."
Zoey sniffled. "It's… probably fine…"
Then she dropped her hands, flashing a grin and mimicking Gus's raised eyebrow. "$100 a month! You said it—no takebacks!" She held out her palm.
Gus froze. "What the—?"
"You playing me?" he groaned, half-laughing. "You're out here using fancy skincare, and you're haggling for $100 rent? Have you no shame?"
"Nope!" Zoey blinked innocently, smirking. "I'm broke from bailing out your PR disasters."
"That was ages ago!" Gus clutched his hair. "You're still holding that over me?"
Zoey hopped up on the couch, leaning close with a sly grin. "That PR save? I'll milk it forever."
Gus went quiet, staring at her for five seconds.
Then he chuckled. "Fair play."
Zoey grinned back, triumphant.
Gus crossed his arms, eyeing her perched above him. "One question, though."
"Shoot," Zoey said, gesturing grandly.
"Some folks could pull that stunt because they've got the upper hand," Gus said, smirking. "What's your leverage?"
Zoey's grin froze. Her eyes widened.
"Wait, I was kidding—!" she squeaked.
Too late. Gus scooped her up, tossing her back onto the couch with a plop. He grabbed her ankle, tickling her foot. Zoey shrieked, laughing and squirming as the ticklish jolt hit her like a shockwave.
"Stop! Hahaha, I'm sorry!" she gasped, twisting on the couch. "Name your price—anything!"
The rent climbed from $100 to $200, then $300.
Zoey's laughter filled the living room, her pleas drowned out by giggles. "Okay, okay, I give!"
Crash!
Silence fell, broken by Gus's pained groan.
Zoey, panting, grabbed a cotton swab, dabbing at Gus's freshly bruised eye. "I didn't mean it…"
Gus sighed, wincing as he touched his new shiner. "$400."
"Deal!" Zoey nodded eagerly. "I'll drive you to the house tour tomorrow to make up for it."
Gus nodded, satisfied. "You're extra feisty today."
"I'm just hyped," Zoey said, grinning. "You're getting your own place. That's huge."
She was thrilled. Moving with Gus to a bigger spot—his own home—felt like a win. A new chapter was close, and she was buzzing.
"Also," Zoey added, checking the time, "no cooking tonight. Let's order takeout and check Plants vs. Zombies's first-week sales at eight."
"Nah, just read the report tomorrow," Gus said, shrugging. "It's a lock."
Zoey squinted. "You're that sure?"
"Dual platforms," Gus said, leaning back. "PC market's massive—To the Moon sold 1.7 million in a week. Add mobile? Huge. Industry stats say four billion smartphones globally last year. That's half the planet."
Zoey's stomach sank. "Four billion?"
"Rough estimate," Gus said. "Some folks own multiple phones, but it's still a giant market. Plants vs. Zombies is a casual hit. I'm not sweating the numbers."
Zoey gulped. Her 750,000-unit sales guess for the 12-day cycle now felt low. Even in seven days, Plants vs. Zombies might crush that. A million? Gus seemed sure.
"So… your sales guess?" she asked.
Gus shrugged. "At least a million."
"A million? In a week?" Zoey's jaw dropped. "To the Moon took major hype to hit 1.7 million!"
"Exactly," Gus said. "To the Moon's a niche story game—great, but limited. Plants vs. Zombies? It's for everyone. Mobile's a game-changer. A million's conservative."
Zoey's mind raced. Gus knew the market inside out. To the Moon was art, but Plants vs. Zombies was universal—kids like Lily, dads like Walter, everyone played it. A million units wasn't crazy.
Takeout arrived. After dinner, they played a quick round of checkers, bantering over moves.
Zoey's phone buzzed. They glanced at the clock—8 p.m.
"Showtime!" Zoey yelped, clearing the chessboard. She hopped onto the couch, crouching like an eager puppy, eyes locked on the projector screen.
Gus shook his head, chuckling. "Why so hyped?"
Zoey didn't answer. She was gambling on a loss—her 15x rebate depended on it. Until she saw the numbers, she held onto hope.
Gus grabbed the mouse, pulling up PacificTech's data portal. "Ready?"
"Born ready," Zoey nodded.
"Three, two, one!" Gus clicked, loading Plants vs. Zombies's sales data.
The screen refreshed.
Zoey glanced up and froze. The number started with a six.
Her heart sank. Game over.
Not a million, but 600,000 units? Still a killer number. At $2 a pop, that's $1.2 million—$900,000 after IndieVibe's 25% cut. With a $1.15M budget, that's a $250,000 loss. Her 15x rebate would net $3.75 million.
Not what she hoped, but solid. If the main project profited, sub-projects could chase losses. She regretted not pushing for a 100x rebate.
"It's decent," Zoey sighed. "Not a million, but 692,729 units—"
She stopped, squinting. "Wait… 692,729?"
Her eyes darted back. "Six hundred ninety-two thousand, seven hundred twenty-nine…?"
"Huh?" Zoey blinked. "Why's there an extra digit?"
Silence hit the room.
Gus's voice broke it, cautious. "If… you think there's one too many digits, try shifting the units up."
Zoey's neck stiffened. She met Gus's stunned gaze, their eyes mirroring shock.
She swallowed hard. "You mean…?"
Gus nodded. "Not 690,000. It's…"
"Six million, nine hundred twenty-seven thousand, seven hundred twenty-nine units!"
One week. Global sales. Nearly seven million.