2. Simon Cillian Blake
2
SIMON CILLIAN BLAKE
Newport Beach, California
The thud of my fists against the heavy bag is the only sound I hear. The light above casts shadows on the already dark walls, turning the gym into an underground arena. Sweat stings my eyes as it drips down my face, but I keep going. My muscles strain with each punch, a release, a way to tame the fire that threatens to consume me—a ritual I rely on when the past comes out to play.
My knuckles scream, but the familiar burn keeps me grounded. Fighting fire with fire. Every hit, every swing, feels like I’m punishing my own heart. And hell, do I need it! Time might heal wounds, but what on Earth can cure regret?
I’m panting as my fists drop to my sides. I can feel the relentless thudding behind my ribcage, the dull ache in my bones, and the emptiness that no amount of physical exertion can fill.
Suddenly, a solitary clap breaks the silence. “Energy to burn or just showing off?” Clayton Hartley, one of the owners of Hartley Marine and an ex-Navy pilot, strides into the gym in his crisp suit. His smile is as sharp as his attire. Apparently, bad days are for the rest of us.
“Workload’s been thin on the ground lately, tasks too tame. When are you going to toss me something meaty?” I shoot back, catching my breath.
Clayton chuckles, rubbing his chin. “World’s gotten a bit too serene, hasn’t it? You’re scaring all the trouble away before it finds us.”
My work here is shadow play. Few even know I exist. I’m the chameleon, seamlessly blending into any scene to snatch what I need. Officially, I’m a PI—Personal Investigator. But really, my job description might as well be ‘whatever the hell needs digging up.’ Personal matters included. Before the Hartley brothers hung up their bachelor hats, my skills were often tapped to vet their dates. Not exactly the high-glam life, but necessary with everything they had on the line.
Clayton adds, “Looks like you’re a victim of your own success, Blake. Feeling like a restless hound, all cooped up?”
I smirk. “What can I do for you?”
“Rob wants us.” He appraises my sweaty face. “Boardroom in fifteen.”
“I’ll see you there,” I say, unwinding the boxing wraps from my hands. “So, what’s the catch this time? Another heartbreaker or a lost cat?”
“Might be a project for you, but perhaps the subject isn’t your favorite.”
“Who’s getting married?” I ask.
“Nobody.” Clayton winks at me as he leaves.
After a quick shower, I step into the sleek, glass-walled boardroom. Rob and Clayton are already there, seated at the long conference table. This morning, the usual business atmosphere is lightened up by the impressive array of pastries.
“Morning, gentlemen. Did I miss a memo about turning this into a bakery?” I eye the spread with a grin.
“It’s the catering guys’ business anniversary, and apparently, they’re trying to fatten us up as a thank you!”
“Good thing I’m wearing chinos,” I quip. Unlike my bosses, who always show up in impeccable suits, I prefer to keep it low-key with smart casual attire. Neutral tones that blend into the crowd. I save the suit for when it’s absolutely necessary.
Rob stands up and pours me a cup of coffee.
“Thanks, Rob,” I say, appreciating his humble gesture.
Meanwhile, Clayton offers me a plate of chocolate croissants with a grin. “I know you’re all about keeping that ripped physique, but trust me, this one is totally worth the cheat,” he says.
I accept the plate from him. Biting into the pastry, I mumble, “Oh, wow.” Clayton is right—pure bliss. The flaky, buttery layers melt in my mouth, the chocolate filling oozing out with just the right amount of sweetness.
As we enjoy the morning treat, Rob steers the conversation toward business. “All right, gents. Next on the agenda is Georgia-May Williams.” He passes me a set of printouts. “She claims she has a prototype software that could revolutionize sailing navigation.”
I stifle a scoff. We’ve had plenty of companies promise revolutions only to repackage the same old ideas. “What did Rocky say?” I ask.
Rob leans back, meeting my gaze. “Rocky doesn’t know yet.”
I gape, taken aback. “How?” I frown, still processing. Rocky is the alpha of Hartley Marine’s engineering team. He’s been with the company since it was just Rob and his father, back when they were crafting bespoke forty-footers. A far cry from the massive luxury yachts Hartley Marine builds these days, complete with helicopter pads and basketball courts, priced in the hundreds of millions.
“Ms. Williams sent the proposal directly to me,” Rob shares.
I silently praise this woman’s boldness. She has guts. I give her that.
“I don’t see a company here,” I comment. The letterhead looks professional but only lists her name and address. The content is mainly an in-depth description of the product she’s offering, quite different from the typical proposals overflowing with corporate jargon and inflated promises, followed by tables full of dollar signs as if written by Richie Rich.
“She doesn’t have a company,” Rob says evenly.
The fact clearly piques his interest. It catches mine, too, though not with the same enthusiasm as my boss. I flip through the proposal, eager to reach the last page for some kind of summary or call to action. “Is she trying to get Hartley Marine to invest in her startup or something?” I mutter as I skim through the paragraphs.
“I don’t think so,” Clayton chimes in. “She simply wants to sell her product to us. Reading between the lines, she needs some quick money.”
I read her profile out loud. “A math lecturer at the University of Colombia, and she has been working as a contractor for Obsidian Moon Interactive.”
Rob fills me in. “An interactive simulation and gaming solutions provider in Silicon Valley. Medium-sized, only a handful of people have heard about it.”
I read the printout more thoroughly. She explains her proposal matter-of-factly, using bullet points instead of paragraphs. Everything is in order, representing her methodical thinking. There’s no boasting about her capabilities, just the logic and promise of her product.
Rob continues, “If it works as advertised, it could be a game-changer for us. Regardless of her motive, I’m eager to meet her. We rarely received a proposal from an individual engineer, let alone a female one. Not to sound sexist, but it’s refreshing and about time.”
Clayton agrees with his brother. “It’s been scientifically proven. Women have up to fifty percent more neuronal and non-neuronal cells.”
Obviously, I’ve been mingling with the wrong kind of women, or maybe I’m the problem. Right now, though, I feel like I’m running on half a brain cell trying to figure out what Ms. Williams is selling. High-tech navigation, sure, but the details? They’re as elusive as my last vacation. Clearly, Rob and Clayton are on board, but I might need a few extra neurons just to keep up with their excitement.
Clayton points at me, chuckling. “Look at Mr. Skeptical!”
“Well, it’s my job to be skeptical, Clay,” I respond. “I think, on all probabilities, everyone is capable of making dumb decisions in any given situation regardless of how many neuronal cells they have.”
“Still, Blake, if I was a statistician, I’d calculate that men make exponentially more dumb decisions compared to women,” Clayton argues. “If it weren’t for my wife, my dumb decisions would’ve multiplied like errors in a faulty avionics system.”
As their PI, I know the ins and outs of Rob and Clayton’s personal lives. I see firsthand how much they love and respect their wives. Their admiration shines through in every story they share, every praise they utter. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want what they have—a relationship built on mutual respect and unwavering support. But for now, I just have to keep my chin up and focus on my work.
“A woman can turn even the most guarded man into an open book,” Rob adds.
I clear my throat, declaring, “No woman can read me. I guess that’s why I’m still here.”
Sometimes, being around my married bosses makes me feel like a fish out of water. Stability and love are foreign concepts to me. I stick to meaningless trysts with strangers, forgetting them as easily as I remember the day I was born. It’s the price I pay and will keep paying for the rest of my life, for one regret. A decision that shattered my world. It’s been over a decade, but the memory of my wife taking a bullet for me will never fade.
“There’s more to this than meets the eye,” I caution, my PI instincts kicking in. “A lot about this proposal just doesn’t add up. It’s out of the blue, submitted by an individual, and even though I don’t fully grasp the technical details, it sounds too good to be true. We need to make sure she’s not a pawn in someone else’s game.”
“Of course, that’s a possibility,” Rob agrees, his tone devoid of surprise.
“If her software is legitimate, we owe it to ourselves to explore this fully,” Clayton adds, leaning forward.
Rob swivels his chair, fingers tapping as he steeples his hands in front of him. “I’d like to meet her. We need to stay cautious but open-minded. No biases. Think of it as being in Shark Tank , listening to pitches from complete strangers.”
Clayton tilts his head thoughtfully before saying, “Let’s lock in a meeting, then. Seeing her in person might give us a better read on her intentions and capabilities.”
“Hold on. You’re asking me not to investigate her?” I ask.
“For now,” Rob answers, giving me a knowing gaze. “Think you can manage that without going into withdrawal?”
I understand their approach, although I’m not entirely convinced. I might be overprotective, but I’d do anything for them. Rob and Clayton have given me more than just a job; they’ve given me a second chance at life. So, while I get their need to be open-minded and unbiased, I also have a responsibility to keep them in check. It’s my job to ensure their safety and success, even if it means stepping on a few toes along the way.
“All right, I’ll keep my nose out of it,” I decide. “But if anything else feels off—and to be honest, this already feels off—if there’s even one more red flag, I’m jumping in.”
Rob slaps the armrests as he stands. “That’s settled, then. She’s flying in from Denver. How about you pick her up from LAX? Could be a bonding trip,” he suggests with a grin.
“Can I throw in an element of surprise?” I bargain.
“If it adds a dash of excitement, be my guest. I’d rather you do that than munch on cushions,” Rob says. “Just remember, we’re aiming for stellar service.”
I snicker, grabbing another croissant. “Well, I guess it’s time to put my chauffeur hat on.” And maybe throw on my Armani suit.
We start to disperse, Clayton sticking by my side while Rob dashes off to another meeting.
“You okay?” Clayton nudges me.
“Of course. Finally, a gig,” I reply.
“It doesn’t exactly light your fire, though, does it?”
“Whatever you and Rob need, I’ve got it covered. Think of me as your personal bodyguard. I’m not out there taking bullets, but keeping you guys out of trouble is close enough.”
The thought has crossed my mind more than once. Sometimes, taking a bullet seems simpler than unraveling people’s secrets.
Clayton laughs, elbowing me, “Just between us? Being a bodyguard doesn’t pay nearly as well as being a PI.”
“Good to know.”
Rob and Clayton discovered me when I literally took a bullet for an investment guru when he spoke at an economic conference. I wasn’t on his detail. I was just an attendee, still not sure why I was there. Perhaps it was because I was unemployed, broke, and depressed. Yet, I somehow found a reason to keep living, even after Flo was killed while waiting for me to return from an assignment she had begged me not to take.
That controversial speaker at the conference was an asshole, infamous for his abrasive demeanor and poor treatment of others. But he had a family—a pregnant wife and a young son. When I saw the gunman, I moved without thinking and shielded him. At that moment, my blood had turned colorless, as though it didn’t matter how much of it I lost.
I recovered, of course, and all I received in return was a get-well-soon card and an autographed copy of his book. But I earned something far more valuable: the attention of Rob and Clayton, who were also at the conference. The two brothers took me in when I was a wreck—mentally and financially—seeing something in me I couldn’t see in myself. Now, leading a solo life, the Hartley family is who I live for.
“Clay, I’m thinking,” I say, halting our steps. “Why don’t I pay a visit to Obsidian Moon today? The Valley isn’t far from here. Just a friendly background check, nothing more.”
Clayton ponders for a moment. “Okay. Do whatever you think is best. I’ll let Rob know.” He understands my nature. I’m a sniffer dog at heart, and the idea of not digging into this new arrival has me on edge. Maybe Georgia-May Williams is the challenge I’ve been craving.
There’s no denying it. I can’t wait to meet her.