Simon orders a cheese board and some coffees. I am enjoying this meal. In between existential threats, it’s quite delightful.
I try some new cheeses. It seems like the sort of night to experiment. I get told I am owned by a man and his company—he pretends there’s a difference, but I am starting to think there isn’t. He would have me believe that the corporation is controlling all this, but the more I look at him, the more I thinkabout how he behaves, the more I think he must have a hand in it all. A seat on the board, at the very least.
He drives me home at the end of the meal without any more sexy restaurant under-the-table adventures. I don’t know if that’s because Nathaniel ruined the mood, or if our conversation turned in a way he wanted me to take seriously. Probably both.
We stop outside my building and he walks me to the door.
“Get some sleep,” he says. “I will see you at work tomorrow, and tomorrow, I’ll keep my head.”
He gives me a relatively chaste kiss and waits until I am inside. It’s almost gentlemanly. I could almost believe I’ve just been on a normal date with a normal guy.
Then I go up to my apartment and find it messy as hell, and I remember how panicked I was earlier when I was here, and how fucking much I felt the need to get away.
I’ve been here several times today. First when I tried to get the hell out of Dodge, second when I hastily dressed for our date, with Simon probably lurking in the vicinity if I know him at all, and now, late at night.
I stand in the middle of my little apartment, with my bag propped by the door where I put it when I came in, and my purse in my hand, and I wonder if I should just go anyway.
Instead of running—because I would put all the hundred and one dollars in my savings account that Simon is a block or so away watching my apartment—I go for my laptop and I look him up.
Simon Seek.
What comes up is a series of pages associated with various science publications, not surprising.
So he managed to curate his search listings. So what. Anybody can do that.
I check on social media. My friend looks like she’s online. I tap the mic button and send her a voice note.
“Macy? Hey. Uh. I thought I’d send a voice note because it’s quicker than typing this all out, but can you look up this guy for me? He’s sort of my boss, basically, but it’s complicated. We might be dating? Or he’s evil? Or both, I guess. Anyway.”
Less than a minute passes, and she responds. “Name?”
I give her his name, feeling a little guilty about it for some reason, like I’m doing something wrong.
Macy can find anything on the internet anywhere. She has three kids, a really nice husband named Dave who adores her, and the nose of a bloodhound for drama. I’ve also never met her. She lives on the other side of the country, but we bonded over a shared love of bad memes and a TV show that’s not on TV anymore.
I have a shower, put on my PJs, and get into bed. In the time it takes to have done that, there are seven screenshots and three voice messages from Macy. I feel an incredible welling of goodwill and love toward her. This is what a real friend does.
“So it looks like he’s kinda a rich kid turned scientist,” she says, telling me nothing I don’t already know. “His mom was the daughter of an heiress, but not the kind people know about? Not like Hilton. Less famous, but probably richer. Anyway, she married this guy and they had this dude who’s your boss. Hisfamily owns a lot of companies. Like Z. Isn’t that where you got your job? I feel like it is. Sorry, I can’t remember. I think I’m pregnant again…”
I pause the message right fucking there and tap back a response in text.
You’re pregnant?
Idk lol,I get back.
I keep listening to her messages.
Simon basically fucking owns the company, is what I get. Maybe not directly, but his family has ties. Just like I thought. He pretends to work for it, but really he is as tied up in it as anybody could be. That’s why he has a private lab where nobody else interferes with him.
“I found old Facebook posts where he’s going to gala events with his parents. Looks miserable. He doesn’t post much. Good guys don’t. Let me know if you date him!”
“Thank you! You’re amazing!” I note back. “And tell me if you’re pregnant or not!”
This all confirms my suspicions. If he’s telling me I can’t leave because the company won’t allow it, what he really means ishewon’t allow it. I got myself a rich sexy psycho who turns into a fucking wolf.
I didn’t mention that last part to Macy. There are limits and sounding so legit insane she calls for a wellness check on me is one of them.
At some point I must have fallen asleep, because I open my eyes and it is morning, and I am late for work.