Chapter 6 #3
I wasn’t na?ve enough to think that sleeping with my boss would lead to a promotion or a diamond ring.
I didn’t want a boyfriend. Most of the guys my age were either intimidated by my job or too busy building their own empires to return a text message.
While my friends were cycling through first dates with guys more obsessed with their fantasy football draft than with romance, I was finally being seen by someone who mattered. And it felt like a drug.
The only thing I ever asked Simon for was discretion, something that protected us both.
I knew how it would look if word got out about us. I would be a walking cliché. But our arrangement didn’t feel cliché. Simon was sharp, magnetic, and hot. And I liked pillow talk that bled into conversations about work and industry events.
So a few nights a week, I stayed over at his place in Bel Air. And in the morning, we split back into our work roles—no affection, no lingering glances. It wasn’t cold. It was professional. Strategic. Like everything else in our lives.
“Hey, can you look into InfoSynth for me?” he asked as he walked me out.
“I think I have something on that,” I said.
A few weeks ago, I had read a piece on the AI technology Beau Walker was developing at InfoSynth.
Over the next weekend, I had gone deep into a research spiral—compiling notes on filings, interviews, and anything else I could find on the company.
I beamed at the thought that I could slide my research to Simon tonight.
Making it look like I had read his mind yet again.
Later that night, in Simon’s bed, I flipped my phone around to show him my InfoSynth notes. “Here’s everything I’ve found.”
The dim evening light cast soft shadows across the room. I let my eyes drift over his bare chest and the chiseled lines of his profile.
He was sitting beside me in pajama pants. In the evenings I slept at his place, I got Simon’s full attention. He would ask my thoughts on who he’d met with that day or what new tech start-up was catching his eye, and we would sift through our phones, clearing out emails.
“The founder is a little aloof—probably working overtime to create the illusion of being hard to get to,” I said as he looked over my screen.
Simon passed my phone back to me, looking skeptical. “Like he’s holed up in a Bahamian compound somewhere?”
“No.” I shook my head at the conjuring of Bitcoin bros.
“Beau Walker is the real deal. No fancy degree or pedigree—only honed raw talent. Barely thirty, Walker has earned a reputation for having a special sort of alchemy—both architect and strategist. And with the adaptive pattern recognition tech of InfoSynth, he’s poised to be a market disrupter.
Think, smart disaster response. Even in-home support for people with medically complex needs.
In-home systems could anticipate when residents might need help. ”
Simon’s lips curled into a wolfish grin. “It’s sexy when you pitch a business proposal.”
“Don’t swoon just yet. I still have to tell you James got you an interview on CBS News Sunday Morning, but I turned it down. You’d be better off being a bartender on Watch What Happens Live with Andy Cohen! At least his viewers know how to work their phones.”
“You watch Bravo?”
“Literally when would I have the time to do that? The most downtime I’ve had this month is when I got my highlights done last week, and I spent most of that appointment fighting with James about his advertising budget.”
“I heard. I think you made him cry.” Simon gave a breathy laugh that told me he was kidding.
I pulled at a stray strand of hair. “Well, he ruined my shampoo-conditioner scalp massage, so now my hair looks like this.”
Simon tucked a few loose tendrils behind my ear, and his gaze lingered, softening in a way that undid me more than the grin. “Your hair is perfect. You’re gorgeous.” He landed a warm kiss on my bare knee. “And smart.”
He thinks I’m gorgeous. And smart.
Dopamine surged through my system at the words. But I couldn’t let him change the subject yet.
“InfoSynth is the right play. I’m sure,” I countered. “But getting to Beau Walker is going to be the complicated bit.”
“I can be very persuasive,” he said. The hand he had on my knee skated toward my thigh now, and heat rushed in right along with it. And like it often did when I had Simon’s attention, it felt like the universe was bending to my pitch.
As he leaned in to kiss me, I pulled out my phone and set my alarm. “You’ve got that Wired interview in the morning. The journalist will be calling on East Coast time. We can’t stay up too late.”
“I can be fast, slow. Whatever you want.” He smirked and started trailing kisses down my shoulder.
Sex with a side of business strategy. I liked this. I was good at this.
This was what loyalty in my twenties looked like—eyes closed, feetfirst.
I should have asked more questions, should have slowed down long enough to see the cracks. But I didn’t want to protect myself. I wanted this.
My body downshifted from dealmaking, and as he pulled my shirt off, I let myself lean into the heat of his touch.