"Among the Ruins" by Sir Lawrence Alma-Tadema (1902-1904), value unknown
Bonus Chapter - Simon's POV - [Between Chapter Four and Five]
I hated getting up early.
But it tended to be an unfortunate side effect of my profession, and adulthood in general, so I regrettably didn't have any other choice. I was also at the office for about fifteen hours every day, meaning the early hours of dawn were my only opportunity to go to the gym.
I didn't have a lot of free time those days; I barely had time for anything other than work. If anything, my time in the gym was all I could get to be my time, when I could exhaust my frustrations and pent-up anger to make it through the rest of the day. I could force myself into the office after, even when sometimes I wanted nothing more than to quit and leave like Reed did.
But I didn't. And I'd decided I wouldn't.
Instead, I did the next best thing. I glared up at the ceiling and bench pressed more than I should before the sun was up. My entire body was covered in a slippery sheen of sweat, and my clothes squished damply between the bench and my body as I heaved the bar towards the ceiling. It was gross and pleasing all at once. There was a type of satisfaction to be covered in sweat, to know you worked your ass off and pushed yourself; your body having to compensate for the energy and heat you forced it to yield.
I pushed myself a lot these days.
My breathing was harsh as I shoved the bar up towards the ceiling, hyper focused on getting it up and down without letting it fall. I had no attention to divert even when a figure stepped above me and occupied my peripheral vision.
With a grunt, I shoved the bar up a final time and let it slip into place on the holders. I laid there for a moment, catching my breath, feeling my chest's rapid movements beneath my hands. Then I heaved myself up and turned, looking to see who stood behind the bench.
Beck Ramos stood with an unreadable expression, his hands on his hips and his gaze watchful as he looked me over. A flash of annoyance shot through me, but I ignored it and him as I quickly stood and headed for the weights. Grabbing two five-pound weight plates, I shoved them onto either side of the bar, purposefully avoiding looking at him and his judgement. Beck watched silently, unsurprised at my silence. I went back to the bench and positioned myself down, gripping the rough etchings on the bar and taking more deep breaths, preparing myself for another set.
"Where's your spotter?" Beck finally spoke. Out of the corner of my eye I saw him looking around the mostly empty gym, his expression turning displeased as he saw no one nearby. He turned back to me, his eyes hard and his mouth downturned.
I ignored him again. I was really good at that, especially in the last few months. Beck and Reed were my closest friends, but I had acquired a special skill of blocking them out. I didn't need their concern. I was fine.
I grunted as I lifted the bar, my muscles screaming and my arms slightly shaky. But I pushed through, letting the bar down in a controlled descent before shoving it back up. Pressure built in the base of my skull, and my jaw ached from clenched teeth, but I didn't stop. I kept pushing until my arms threatened to give out, the weight promised to buckle, and my eyes turned blurry.
When I relented and pushed the bar up a final time, my arms started to steadily quiver. Beck's hovering hands shot out and helped me pull it into place. That time, I laid on the bench a little longer, waiting for the blood to stop rushing through my body and the ache to stop pulsing in my head and arms.
A water bottle shoved into my field of vision, and I accepted it begrudgingly, forcing myself up enough to drink it. I felt a rush of gratitude as cold as the water I chugged when it hit the spot, and I found myself drinking until the bottle was empty. I gasped for air as my limp arms fell to my side.
For a moment, there were only the sounds of my desperate lungs puffing for breaths and my overexcited heart thumping in my ears. Gulps of air soothed the blood in my veins and the burn in my muscles.
"You're pushing too hard," Beck firmly cautioned. I tossed the empty water bottle back at him, standing up on shaky legs and heading towards the locker rooms without a word. Beck followed.
He waited as I showered and put on my suit, one even nicer than the others I usually wore. A CEO had to dress sharp, but today was full of meetings that required an even stiffer collar than normal. A perfectly folded lapel was a choking noose I was forced to wear every day.
I was glad to be back at work most of the time, as shitty as the past few months had been, but I was seriously considering implementing a casual dress code. For all I cared, the analyst team could work in slippers and crocs, and the security teams could wear whatever the hell they wanted when they weren't in the field.
I could do that now. Somehow I had gone from a comfortable position as Bravo team lead to second-in-command behind Reed, and then almost immediately up to current CEO. On its own it was a lot, but considering I'd started this year with a forced sabbatical, it was an astronomical promotion.
Hell, I hadn't even been reinstated as Bravo team lead before I was promoted.
I yanked my locker open, still avoiding looking at the scrutinizing head analyst that wouldn't stop hovering. He was still following me when I left the locker room, allowing the silence until I broke it.
"What are you doing here, Beck?"
My eyes remained forward as I made my way out of the gym. Beck fell into pace beside me, both of our strides hard and purposeful as we neared the exit.
"You've been coming here every morning for months. You need to take a break."
I know where this is going, so let's just cut to the chase.
"From work or the gym?"
"Both," he replied seriously. My hand tightened on my bag as I slammed out the door into the faint morning light. My jeep was one of only a few vehicles in the lot, but Beck's car was parked right next to it.
We used to work out in the mornings together, but I had been going earlier ever since taking over as CEO. I needed the time to focus and I needed the harsh workouts. It was the only way I could stay sane. Pushing my body to the brink grounded me, distracting me from everything else going on. This wasn't the first time Beck had shown up at the gym to urge me to slow down or take a break.
"You know I can't do that," I reminded, attempting to keep my voice flat. I immediately knew I failed at it, instead almost borderline harsh in my response. Luckily, I felt a low enough level of guilt to be able to overpower it. I tossed my bag in the back and yanked open the car door, feeling the anger and restlessness pound through my veins in an unrelenting pulse.
I should've pushed harder.
Beck's hand caught my door with a smack, stopping me from fully opening it. "It's been months, Simon. Take a damn break before you burn yourself out."
His gaze was serious and cautious, a stark contrast from the Beck I usually knew. Concern and frustration were not emotions he wore well due to a lack of social and public use. They were rarely seen out of the iron grasp he usually clamped them in.
I should have matched him toe for toe, but my eyes angrily darted from his. "I had all the breaks I needed, remember? Six whole months of it."
His hand fell off the door as I forced it open. I swung up into the seat, expecting the pep talk he usually gave, but Beck didn't respond.
I didn't look at him. I couldn't take his pity, which I knew would be in his gaze if not in his words.
"See you at work," I finally said, forcing out a breath and gripping the wheel with tight knuckles. I remained staring ahead in resolute defiance as Beck hesitated, but slowly relented.
"See you there, then." He let the car door close and stepped back, watching as I pulled out of the lot and headed to hell.
"What the hell, Reed?" I hissed into the phone, slamming my way into my office. "Why would you say we're interested in that?"
"Because we are," Reed's voice said firmly back.
"'We'?" I shot into the phone.
"You," Reed corrected. "You are. You can't keep avoiding cases."
"I'm not. We've been taking cases for weeks. But there's no line of people waiting to sign us up as security, Sterling."
I'd never called him by his last name for anything but a joke before, but I felt too angry to even think about it. My gut churned too harshly, every fiber of my being screaming at me that this could go very badly.
We need more time.
"You've been taking shitty ass cases that are way beneath your paygrade. The teams should be doing the type of cases they're trained for, not helping train mall security or working weddings."
"You're not here, Reed! I'm taking cases we can handle. When we get our shit together again, we can start taking bigger cases."
"That's bullshit, Simon, and you know it. You've never done bullshit so don't effing start now. You're the CEO," Reed reminded sharply. My stomach twisted at that, a piercing pain slicing through me and a throb starting at the base of my skull.
"I don't need the reminder, jackass. I'm here busting my ass putting this company back together while you play house in D.C."
I regretted it as soon as I said it. I knew Reed felt bad about leaving. The old CEO hadn't left the company under smoothly planned circumstances and Reed had been next in line for the throne. But he hadn't wanted it. While he'd stayed for a while after Quentin left, just long enough to sort out some of the mess left behind, it'd been time for him to move on. He'd wanted to leave, and we all knew it. He wanted to be with Avery. He finally found someone, and when she moved to D.C. for work there was no way in hell he would be anything but miserable staying behind.
So, I told him I could do it.
When he asked, and the teams immediately looked to me as next in line, I accepted the title. I reassured him there was nothing to worry about and promised him he was still part of the team. Hell, I practically shoved him out the door myself. He moved across the country to be with the love of his life, I became CEO, and I was honestly happy for him. Jealous, but happy. Besides, he was still around. Even thousands of miles away, he was still helping where he could.
I just wasn't sure the company could be saved.
When Quentin was revealed to be the traitorous piece of shit he was, the company stumbled. Morale dropped, loyalty crumbled, and ripples of uncertainty threatened the strength of the teams. Trust was crucial to teams and companies like ours, and losing that had not only rocked our streams of revenue but our spirit.
Losing Reed hadn't helped either, but I would never say that to him. He deserved to be happy. He was lucky he found Avery.
Reed was still quiet after my jab. He wasn't one to talk before he thought, something I had yet to master, and was proving yet again why he should be in the seat I dawdled in. I took a deep breath, clenching my eyes shut and tilting my head back onto my chair. After a moment, I readjusted the phone and tried again.
"I'm sorry. I'm putting out fires left and right here. We aren't ready."
Reed waited another beat before responding. "This is the chance you've been waiting for. To show everyone the company is back and ready. To prove the teams are still able to handle anything, no matter what," Reed said. "People need to be reassured the new leadership is everything Quentin wasn't. That you're not Quentin. This is the perfect opportunity to reintroduce the company as a top-level security firm. As Riverwide, not Greystone."
He paused before digging his heels in deeper. "Those shitty ass jobs can't do that, Simon. They were great when sorting stuff out, but it's time. The teams are ready. Someone is finally willing to hire the teams, not for training wheel runs or hand holding, but a real job. That has to be taken advantage of before they find someone else."
I puffed another breath out, staring at the clock hanging on the opposite wall. I knew my teams were ready. They had always been ready to some extent, even when we took time to find our footing again. Of course, they were ready.
I just wasn't sure I was. I was never supposed to be here. Not in this office, this role, not as CEO. Reed was supposed to be doing this, not me. I never wanted this.
The clock ticked halfway around the clock.
Shit.
"Fine. Tell me more. An art museum?" My hand scrubbed across my face.
"Yes," Reed started. "Lena Loretti called this afternoon-"
"The TV star? The case you worked with the dogs?" I interrupted. I hadn't been part of that case, but I'd caught up on everything I missed while away. The six months I was gone were brutal, and a part of me still ached at how much I hadn't helped with. I was foaming at the mouth for details even now, desperate to piece together and understand the cases worked in my absence.
"Yeah, asshole, I was getting there," Reed snapped, annoyed at my interruption. Reed and I had known each other too long to give a shit about the smaller stuff, so I rolled my eyes and stayed silent. "Yes. She called this afternoon and said an art museum may be interested in increasing security after a theft last night. She passed the information along to the owner. They may be getting back to you, but no timeline was provided. I wanted to give you a heads up so you could start getting info anyway, just in case they do call."
"Got it. How big of a theft are we talking about?"
I knew jack shit about art, but I knew they could be ridiculously expensive. Most of the time, I had no idea why. Half the paintings I'd seen were shapes with some title that had nothing to do with what's shown. Apparently, I'm supposed to look at some colorful and entirely abstract blotches and see emotions or people.
Sure.
Regardless, the question was important for more reasons than one. How big the heist was would tell me how much work this case would be. If we were talking a small museum with minimum security and a long way to go, or a top notch security system. Whether this was the equivalent of a couple thousand being stolen, and a minor league game we could quickly use to our reputation's advantage, or something a little pricier on the insurance claim, and hence needing some more intense time at plate. A top system that failed could also either require tweaks or a massive upheaval of current protocols, but usually would require more work either way.
Needless to say, top notch security systems meant top notch belongings to protect. We could be looking at some work with a fine-tooth comb and possibly stepping on the toes of existing security. This job was complicated, even on its best days.
"You ever seen those Ocean movies?" Reed asked.
"What Ocean mov— uh, like Ocean's Twelve?"
"Yeah," Reed answered. "Sort of like that. Not a lot taken, but what was taken is bad enough. Last night the museum was robbed of a single painting worth millions. Not just a few million either, we're talking double or triple digits here."
It better not be some stupid shapes.
"I'll start the file. So, they're looking to increase security in case someone comes back for more?"
"I only talked to Lena, but that seems like the idea. The contract could be anywhere from a few weeks to a few months if they end up being interested."
It'd be bold for a thief to come back. And rather stupid, too. I doubted we would need to worry about that, but we could offer insight on what went wrong. Our team's skill set centered on the discreet and the elaborate, courtesy of our speciality lying in politics and celebrities, and both would be required in a high-stakes heist. In order to protect from possible plans, you had to guess and estimate what those possible plans were. It didn't help to just be a hero — you had to view life from the eyes of the villain as well.
Honestly, it did sound like a good case. No high-stakes danger or politics, just nightly strolls and gradually helping beef up ranks, while simultaneously pointing out flaws and embedding our recommendations. Even if the current security team wasn't thrilled at our presence, it wouldn't be the worst case to take. My teams would excel at it and it'd be a steady contract. Their security could potentially need some serious work given the loss, but it would still be preferable over political cases. I figured we were done with politics for a while.
A very long while.
"What's the name of the museum?"
"Whitehill."
I'd never heard of it, but I didn't exactly spend a lot of time checking out museums. I didn't have much time for doing anything at all.
"And the painting?" I asked, clicking open another tab on my computer.
"Weeping Willow. No, wait, sorry. Weeping Widow," Reed said, sounding slightly distracted. I typed it in.
"What's going on?"
"Nothing, just – Rolo! No!" Reed pulled away from the phone, sounding muffled. "No! No. I said no. Don't you da—"
I couldn't help my resulting cackle. I loved that dog. Rolo was Avery's and had some serious character. He loved to mess with Reed. I knew Rolo was actually a big fan of Reed, but boy, did that dog love to give him a run for his money sometimes. Total sweetheart for Avery, but occasionally reminded Reed where he fell in the hierarchy.
"I turned around for one second!" Reed came back to the phone, grumbling and annoyed. "I can't even have a sandwich around here."
"So, Rolo got his lunch then?"
"Funny. I put it on the coffee table while I was talking to you. Saw him inching towards it so I went to get it, but he snatched it and ran. Never seen him run that fast."
"Your fault for putting it on the coffee table," I laughed. Reed grouched for a few minutes as I heard rustling on the either side of the line. I could only guess Reed was making another sandwich.
Reed cleared his throat. "Let me know if the museum calls. If you need any extra hands, I can be there in a few hours."
I heard it in Reed's voice, that part of him still wanted to be here. He was happy where he was, but I knew he still missed us. Side effect of knowing each other since the days of stabbing car keys in beer cans in college.
I also sort of missed the jackass. Not that I would ever admit it. But I certainly missed the days when my biggest worries were convincing Reed to pitch in on a keg or leaving a sock on the door.
"Thanks. But I have Beck here to annoy me, so I don't need you here to do it too," I said dryly.
"Right. Speaking of which, you two still going to the gym together?"
"Why?" I gritted out. Obviously, Beck and Reed had been talking about me. But honestly they could take their concerns and shove it. While on some level I appreciated it, higher surface levels of pride and stubbornness showed first, and I didn't need a break. Or rather, I did, but from them and their nagging.
"No reason. Haven't found a good gym here yet. Miss the one we went to," Reed said slyly, referring to when he used to go the gym with Beck and I in the mornings too.
"Well, good luck with that."
Reed's words changed, dropping the act. "Don't push too hard, Simon. The company needs you on top of your game."
I didn't respond.
"Also, Avery wanted to invite you here sometime soon. She said you should take a vacation and come stay with us. She invited Beck and Gabby too, but she knows you guys can't all come at once because of work."
"We'll see," I deflected. "I gotta get back to work."
"Keep me updated."
I agreed, and with that, I hung up the phone and dove into research on overpriced paintings, classy museums, and countless Whitehill officials.
Interesting to hear what Simon says...
(Simon also says vote, share, and comment).
I've gone back and forth a lot about this chapter. This chapter is really a nod to "In Love and Diplomacy", the first book I wrote that was the starting point for this book. This book is technically a spin-off (but sometimes doesn't feel like it).
If you're a reader from ILAD, you know I did two chapters from Reed's POV in that book (which I know is unusual). In this book, I'm hoping to have a few from Simon's as bonus chapters. It's interesting to push myself to write conflicting points of view. While I found my footing with Eleanor and Avery a little easier, Simon and Reed have presented more of a challenge. I like challenging myself! But I know it might be a little odd to be introducing another POV so far into the book, so they're bonus chapters for the time being. Either way, hopefully you guys enjoyed the inside of Mr. Simon Gatz's head! He's quite dramatic, huh?
Also, not all works of art featured here will be stolen works. There will be some untouched classics as well. I wanted to clarify that.
- H