Chapter 5 #3
I have a little black dress that fits nicely, so I decide to wear it, even though he told me to do it, and I wish I hadn’t.
Simon knocks on my door at 7.00 p.m. on the dot.
I answer the door. We both pretend we’re normal. I don’t have to pretend as much as he does, to be fair.
He looks handsome in a suit. Just like I knew he would. Bastard.
It’s not fair that good-looking men get to have this much sway over the sanity and good judgment of women like myself.
I can’t help what my body does when I see him standing there, tall, dark, handsome, carrying god knows what in his suit pocket in terms of experimental chemical treatments, potentially on the verge of hulking out into a fucking wolf.
“You look very nice,” he says slightly stiffly as we go out to the car.
I put my hair up and also put my best pair of earrings on. I want to look nice. Sometimes these things are done to attract men, but I already know I attract him while wearing a cardigan and a pencil skirt. Tonight’s attire is for me, closer to a battledress than a seductress.
That sentence doesn’t make coherent sense even in my head, but I take joy in it and if anybody complains about it I’ll ask what the fuck they are doing in my head.
“Thank you,” I say, taking a seat in the passenger side of his car.
He drives us to a restaurant. Italian. Nice. Filled with normal people having a nice evening, except for one couple who are sniping at each other about a family vacation while their kids hit each other with an iPad, which adds a little local color.
Simon gets us a table upstairs on the balcony overlooking the river. The shrieks of the younger diners blend with the shrieks of the city, and there’s something like peace out here.
“Thank you,” I say. “For taking me out. This is nice of you.”
“I got the feeling you needed something nice,” he says. “I know your very short tenure at the company has been, well… some would describe it as traumatic.”
“They might,” I agree.
There’s chemistry between us. I can feel it sparking. We are alone on the balcony, and his hand slides under the table, his fingers trailing up my thigh. I feel the muscles low in my stomach start to tighten, my breath hitching. Of course he is bold in public. He is bold everywhere.
“Hi! My name’s Nathaniel! I’ll be your server for this evening, can I get you guys anything to drink?” An aggressively cheerful man interrupts what was starting to become interesting.
He’s just doing his job, of course, and a good job of it too. In fact, for the entire time I’ve known him, he’s refrained from turning from a human man into a molten puddle, or an animal. So he has that going for him.
Simon slides his hand away and smoothly orders wine for the table, as well as appetizers and mains. He orders for us both, without asking me what I want, or if I have any dietary issues.
“I’ll have my prawn cocktail without any prawns,” I say. “On account of my throat closes up when I eat seafood.”
That’s not actually true, and kind of a dick move to say, but it’s also a dick move to order like it’s 1950 and my desires don’t matter.
“Scratch the prawn cocktail,” Simon says. “Is the rest of it okay?”
“Yes,” I say. “The rest sounds lovely. Thank you.”
“Can I suggest the fried mozzarella sticks,” Nathaniel beams. “They’re not dairy free, though.”
Simon looks at me. I nod. He orders the mozzarella sticks. The waiter leaves us alone, but his hand does not immediately return.
“What’s happened between us has been intense,” he says.
“You stalked me to my house. So. Yes. And you physically stopped me from leaving today. So there’s also that,” I respond. “I think I might technically have been kidnapped, but I’m not sure what I can do about it.”
He smiles at me with a kind of wicked indulgence that makes me feel warm on the inside. I know I am mixed up in something far beyond my control, and certainly beyond my comprehension. But when he smiles at me and there is warmth in his eyes, I feel an intense sense of having been chosen.
On the first day, which was only a few days ago, he was so cold, so arrogant. So absolutely unconcerned with being liked by me, or liking me. And now it’s different somehow.
“I like you,” he says, that little sentence echoing the warmth I feel emanating from him. “Actually, as I mentioned before, like is too small a word. And love is too soft a word. I crave you, Lydia. I want you in ways I have never wanted anybody. There is something inside you that calls to me.”
He’s sweet-talking me. He’s telling me the things every woman wants to hear. Most men compliment my eyes, or my ass. Simon’s taken my ass and is now telling me that he wants me for my soul.
This almost feels less real than the fact he has the ability to turn into at least half an animal. I feel the hair on the back of my neck standing upright in an intuitive sort of way. I am in danger.
I don’t know if he wants to hurt me, but I know that I am becoming vulnerable in ways I’ve never been before. It is scary to like someone. It is absolutely fucking terrifying to be wanted back.
“I don’t know what you want from me,” I say, knowing that I am not really responding the proper way. I’m supposed to swoon, probably. I’m supposed to turn my brain off and just let him have his way with me.
But he’s a monster, and I am stuck in a job that won’t let me go.
“Mozzarella sticks!” Nathaniel the waiter presents enough of the fried delicacy to sink a small ship on the table between us. “And bread!” he says, adding a basket of fresh bread that smells so good I don’t care if I’m being corporately kidnapped by a wolf monster.
I thank him, as does Simon, and I attack a roll with unladylike ferocity. I have been so hungry, I realize. But between running away and being hunted down and then taken out to dinner, with some work in between, I barely noticed that I hadn’t eaten.
“I’m sorry,” he says again.
“What for?”
The butter is just the right kind of cold. It holds together and stays cool enough to maintain a layer on the bread, but there’s a melty pool sinking into the pores as well. This might be the best thing I have ever eaten in my life bar nothing.
“For not ensuring you are properly looked after. You’ve been running like a scared animal. I’ve allowed you to become so stressed you tried to flee the city. There’s really no need for that. You’re safe.”
I don’t know about that, but I do know that the meal is delicious. We have steak, pasta, and lots of sides. It is all cooked to perfection, and for dessert, tiramisu. By the time I clear my plate, I am perfectly stuffed.
“I am allowed to travel,” I point out.
“Actually, you’re not. The contract you signed with the company prevents travel outside the city until the termination of the contract.”
“That cannot possibly be legal.”
He gives a slight shrug. “What’s legal these days? Anything anybody with enough money decides is legal.”
He’s right about that, but the fact he says it so easily and smoothly makes me uncomfortable.
Simon is so immersed in this world of billions of dollars and a complete lack of ethics.
He does what he wants. He takes drugs he makes for himself.
He fucks his technical writer when she walks in the door.
He breaks into her home. My home. He fucking chases her down when she tries to…
when I try to escape. I am disassociating mid-thought because of how creepy this all is.
“Is this dinner… to tell me that I can’t escape?”
“After all you’ve seen, after all the company knows you know… there is no leaving,” he says. “Think of it like the mafia.”
My blood runs cold. Thinking about anything like the mafia isn’t exactly a ringing endorsement for that thing. The mafia have a reputation for being fearless, ruthless, and lawless. Okay, so yes, it fits. I wonder if the part about not being able to get out alive is also true.
“Is that supposed to scare me?”
“I don’t want to scare you,” he says. “But I do want you to be informed.”
“Cheese?” Nathaniel pops up like an Irish springer spaniel, waving a menu that I just know has a whole host of cheeses on it. “Coffee?” He brandishes another menu. “Or more dessert?”
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 think about 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.
His family 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 is he won’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.