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Simon knew his job sounded boring to most people, knew that an accountant immediately drew up images of a zombie-like minion, mindlessly punching numbers and hating life. But Simon loved it, loved the predictability of numbers and besides, most people didn’t understand the power Simon had. He had unlimited access to the finances of DuMort Industries, one of the fastest-growing companies in New York. One word from him and entire programs could be placed on hold; departments could go from essential to non-existent.
At least, that’s what he had thought. That’s what the CEO, Camille had told him when he settled into his cramped office in the corner of one of the building’s lower levels. But it became clear, very quickly, that she had lied, that he was here for her amusement or, at the very least, she was much more interested in making him feel extremely uncomfortable than useful.
Now, he just couldn’t figure out why he was there anymore, what the purpose was of hiring him. Whenever he tried to set up a meeting to talk to Camille about the abysmal state of the financial records, she’d be “far too busy” and claim to have her assistant reschedule. But then she would appear unannounced in his office and sit on his desk, which caused the already scandalous slit in her dress to become positively indecent with a cross of her legs, putting the pale expanse of her skin directly at his eye level. She would lean uncomfortably close and trail her hand along his arm as she spoke in hushed tones laden with innuendo, though the words were all entirely innocent.
“You should report her,” Clary insisted one night over drinks. As a graphic designer for the Institute, the rival company of DuMort, and as the girlfriend of one of its young CEOs, Clary was technically the enemy and Simon supposed he shouldn’t talk to her about work. As his best friend, he didn’t have anyone else to tell about Camille’s increasingly unnerving actions.
Simon snorted into his drink. “Report to who? She owns the company! Besides, is the first real job I’ve had since college and I can finally pay all my bills.”
“Simon!” Clary exclaimed. “Is your dignity, your well-being worth sacrificing for money?” Simon clenched his jaw from saying anything. Clary had gone to college on a full-ride scholarship and had only a few bills, easily paid off by the end of this year. Simon hadn’t been as lucky – and she didn’t understand, couldn’t understand what it meant to be thousands of dollars in debt and how life-saving a job like this could be. Even so, he was scrambling to hold on to that excuse much longer.
He scanned the room to buy himself time to answer her without causing a fight and his eyes landed on Alec, the other CEO of the Institute, as he flirted with a bartender with glitter in his hair and an inordinate amount of rings on his hands. Something like jealousy (or perhaps longing) clenched in Simon’s gut as he looked back at Clary. It had been too long since his last breakup if he was jealous of Alec Lightwood.
Some of his thoughts must have filtered through his gaze because hers softened and she sighed. “Fine, if you don’t want to leave then you have to get her out.”
“And how exactly do you propose I do that?” Simon with a disbelieving laugh. He knew Clary could be optimistic and idealistic, almost to a fault, but there was no way she seriously thought he could take on Camille Belcourt.
Clary rolled her eyes. “You have their finances at your fingertips, dummy.” She grinned before turning more serious. “Jace got an anonymous tip last week that Camille’s been skimming money,” she said as soft as possible. “He’s been working overtime trying to figure out a way to catch her.” Simon’s gaze flickered back to the bar, where the blonde in question now stood beside his best friend. “Alec and I practically had to drag him down here tonight. He’s been working himself ragged, Alec too; if DuMort beats the Institute in earnings this quarter then the Lightwoods are taking control back.”
Simon looked back at his best friend as she worried her bottom lip between her teeth. “He said someone inside has been trying to bring her down for years and they’re probably the one who sent the tip but he and Alec haven’t been able to find anything more.”
“Who is it? And why haven’t they looked at the finances themselves?” Simon asked, leaning closer toward Clary across the table. She shrugged and clasped her hands around her glass before taking a fortifying drink.
“Maybe it would be suspicious if they looked at the finance reports. Maybe,” she smirked slightly at Simon, “they aren’t the genius you are at numbers. All I know is Jace is frustrated and spends more time at work than with me. And you know how jealous I get.” The joke was poor, untrue and was a clear attempt to lighten the mood and transition to another subject. But Simon’s mind was already spinning with possibilities of who tipped off Jace. Who hated Camille that much?
Sensing the topic wasn’t finished Clary leaned in, mimicking the hunch of Simon’s shoulders. “I bet if you dig something up on her, whoever called Jace would help you.” Simon nodded absently, his mind still paging through a mental list of employees. Coming up empty he finally leaned back, Clary doing the same as the tension eased away from both of them.
“There you are!” Izzy’s sudden shout startled them both and Simon turned to see her rushing toward them with Alec and Jace in tow. He also noticed the glittery bartender standing near their table. “Simon, Clary, this is Magnus – he owns the bar!” She grinned as she grabbed Magnus, who gravitated toward Alec. Izzy had clearly had a few drinks more than her friends, but her excitement was contagious and Simon couldn’t help but grin back at her.
“You are very welcome to my establishment,” Magnus said with a wave of his hands, eyes skittering over Simon in an almost guilty manner. “And any friends of Alec are friends of mine – drinks are on the house!” Ignoring all their protests – especially Alec and Simon insisting they weren’t friends – Magnus the coerced them all onto the dance floor with Izzy’s help, Simon and Clary’s conversation forgotten in a fog of alcohol and music.
Forgotten, at least, until the next morning when Simon sat in front of his computer, mouse hovering over secure documents that he had been afraid to touch until now. He had asked about them when he first started – Camille insisted with a provocative grin and sharp glint in her eye that they were nothing, and in fact, the files had disappeared from his computer. Until this morning, along with a passcode written on a single slip of paper with a demand to destroy it as soon as he had opened the files.
Whoever called Jace would help you. How did they know? Was it just a coincidence that he and Clary had their conversation the night before? Was it even worth it, risking his career and possibly his life just because Camille didn’t understand that no meant no?
Perhaps it was dramatic to fear for his life – but he had heard enough of Jace and Alec’s rantings and conjectures on the DuMort company and its leader to think it possible Camille could ruin him if she found out. If he even did this.
“Bored, Lewis?” The sudden voice made Simon jump and he turned in his chair quickly to see Raphael Santago, Camille’s second in command, standing in his doorway. They had met once, when Simon first started, and it had been both brief and awkward. Simon assumed Raphael had forgotten he existed – everyone but Camille seemed to give him no notice.
“Bored?” Simon squeaked out as his heartbeat slowly returned to a normal pace.
“I assume since you’re staring at your computer and not working that you’ve run out of things to do.” Raphael glanced at his wristwatch. “Nine in the morning and you’re already done for the day? Either you’re too good for this job or we need to reassess your hours.” He looked back at Simon with a condescending smirk.
“N-no sir,” Simon stammered as he turned fully in his seat. He supposed he should have stood, but the longer the conversation continued the more awkward it felt to do so. “Just, just getting focused before really digging into my work. You know, like when people do yoga or Thai Chi or when Luke’s about to destroy the Death Star and he just-”
Simon snapped his mouth shut at the incredulous look on the other man’s face and he blushed as his brain caught up with his mouth. He tended to babble when he was nervous, anyone who had spent any amount of time with him could attest to that, but it was a rare person who could get him so flustered he babbled about Star Wars at work.
They remained in painful silence for several agonizing minutes, Simon all the while trying desperately not to fidget. And by the look on Raphael’s face, he failed completely.
“Is there something you needed me to do, sir?” Simon asked, finally breaking the silence. Raphael stood straighter and tugged on his jacket, as though preparing himself.
“I simply wanted to let you know that if you felt the need to…start a new project outside of Camille’s purview that you should bring it to me first.” He chose his words carefully, Simon thought, and gave the accountant a significant look.
Simon could only blink in surprise, his body frozen and his mind screaming HE KNOWS. Raphael somehow knew what Simon was about to do - that he had spent the last hour staring at his computer trying to gain the confidence to do. Did that mean he knew too that it was only a matter of time before Camille cornered Simon somewhere secluded and he wouldn’t be able to stumble away?
“Thank you, sir,” he heard himself say in a shocked tone. “I didn’t know you had an interest in me – in my work, I mean.” He blushed harder as Raphael only stared at him in response.
“Any department worth so much of my leader’s time is, of course, of interest to me,” Raphael returned smoothly. “Have a good day, Lewis.”
“You too sir,” Simon said faintly but the other man was already gone. Still shocked, Simon returned to his computer and sighed, still debating with himself. He imagined, one last time, the hell that Camille could bring down on him, his family, his friends if he were to go after her, and he nearly gave up.
Instead, he forced himself to remember the red shade of her predatory smile; the way she learned in too close as she spoke; the purr she managed to put to his name and the fear that clawed in his chest every time he saw her. He thought of every alternate route he had to take to avoid her, every moment he spent planning around her schedule so they wouldn’t meet, and the constant sick anticipation that she would show up at any moment.
He fantasized then of her in handcuffs, being led away by police through a throng of reporters, the feeling of freedom that she would be out of his life and the look of humiliation on her face as she was carted away.
He opened the files on his computer with a decisive click.