Page 32 of The Temptation (Executive Suite Secrets #4)

PIERCE SUTTON

Something was wrong.

I hadn’t heard anything from Simon since Wednesday night, after he’d returned home from the office party.

When my parents flew to Boston on Thursday, I’d thought to text Simon and tell him that he was now off the hook, but that had struck me as an insensitive dick move considering how determined he was that we actually date. So, in the end, I’d sent nothing.

On Friday, I’d gotten up the courage to text him, wanting to schedule a time to have drinks and dinner. We could talk like adults. I could convince him that we didn’t have a romantic future together.

Except he wasn’t answering my texts or calls.

By late afternoon on Saturday, all my texts had gone unread, and now all my calls were going straight to voicemail.

I’d called Rome and asked if he’d talked to Simon recently, and he’d admitted to seeing him on Thursday.

Everything had seemed fine to him. I hadn’t wanted to press it on Saturday.

It was Valentine’s Day, and it felt stupid to step on that obvious land mine.

Demanding to see or talk to him that day might have given him the wrong impression and gotten his hopes up.

He hadn’t performed with the orchestra over the weekend, but I’d learned from another member of the orchestra that Simon had been scheduled to have this performance off so he had time to work on his concerto.

It was now Monday, and I’d heard nothing from him, despite my efforts.

I couldn’t stand by for another second. There was no way he would do something drastic, but I couldn’t relax until I saw him with my own eyes.

After lunch, I had Marie clear off my schedule yet again, and I drove straight to Simon’s condo.

If he refused to let me in, I planned to call the police and demand they conduct a welfare check.

Thankfully, it didn’t come to that. After less than a minute of pounding on the door, it cracked partially open to reveal Simon in a ratty, oversized T-shirt.

His hair was a greasy mess, and his face was frighteningly pale, with dark circles under his eyes, which made them look even bigger than normal.

“Pierce? What are you doing here?” he demanded, his voice rough as if he were sick.

“I’ve been trying to reach you for days, but you haven’t returned any of my calls or texts. What the hell is going on?”

“Huh? Oh…nothing. I’m working.” He paused and blinked against the rare show of sunlight breaking through the near-constant gray skies that blanketed the city. “What day is it?”

“Monday.”

He grunted, but I couldn’t tell if the information surprised him. He slowly turned his gaze to me. “Was there something else you wanted?”

For a breath, I could only stare at him in shock. After weeks of clinging to me and doing anything to get my attention, he was ready to toss me aside. None of this was making any sense.

“Yes,” I hissed at him, placing my hand on the door to keep it open. “What’s going on? Are you sick? You look like death warmed over. I’m coming in.”

That got Simon to wake up quickly. Life sparked in his eyes, and he straightened from his slouch.

“No! You can’t! I’m fine. I’m just working.

Go away.” He shoved on the door with both hands to shut me out, but he didn’t have a chance.

I was bigger and stronger than he was. Nothing was keeping me from going into that house.

Putting my shoulder against the wood, I pushed with all I had, forcing Simon back. His sock-covered feet slid across the floor, and he had no choice but to retreat, allowing me to pass. Otherwise, I was willing to chuck him over my shoulder as I strode inside.

This was my first time in his house, and I was not prepared for it.

The condo was a rental with wood floors, tall windows, and white walls. There were no furnishings. None had been provided when Simon moved in, and he’d never added any.

In what I guessed was the living room, I found a twin-sized mattress on the floor and a twisted mound of blankets as though he’d built himself a nest. Scattered around the floor were music sheets with notes scribbled on them, along with two violins, a flute, and even a small keyboard balanced on some books.

And the walls were covered from floor to ceiling with acoustic foam. Windows, walls, everywhere I looked, there was foam used to dampen outside noises.

This made no sense. The condo had no place for him to rest and relax. There was only work as far as the eye could see. Even as he slept at night, his violin and sheet music were at his fingertips. How was he living like this and none of us knew it?

My frown grew deeper as I charged through the rest of the condo. There were some clothes neatly hung up in the bedroom closet, and the bathroom was messy but normal. Takeout boxes cluttered the kitchen counters while the fridge held water, cheese, and milk.

“Are you done being nosy?” Simon snidely asked as I shut the fridge. “I’d invite you to stay, but as you can see, I don’t normally entertain here.”

“No, you don’t entertain at all here. You don’t even live here,” I snapped.

Simon glared at me for a heartbeat, then spun around and marched into the living room. He flopped onto the mattress and covered himself with his blankets so that only his head was poking out.

“This is not how this argument was supposed to go. I’m the one who’s supposed to corner you and make you talk about Sawyer and why the fuck you’re so dead against us dating when we both know that we’re perfect for each other.”

My entire body locked up at his words. That was a conversation I had no intention of having.

“But no! You had to barge in here and nitpick about how I’m living my life!” Simon continued, glaring at me.

I started to shout at him about his obvious inability to take care of himself, but the first word became lodged in my throat. Shouting about how he was scaring me to death wouldn’t fix a goddamn thing.

This couldn’t be a money thing. In the past couple of weeks, I’d received plenty of paper work from his agent about his bookings, fees, award winnings, and even a copy of the contract he’d signed to be an artist-in-residence with the Cincinnati Symphony Orchestra.

Between his retirement savings and other accounts, Simon had several million dollars stashed away.

This…this was something else.

“Simon, please talk to me. I’m worried about you. If you needed help in getting this house furnished or making it more comfortable, you could have asked any of us. Have we made you feel you can’t come to us?”

“No.” He mumbled that single word, the sound low and petulant.

“Please help me understand. I’m scared for your health.”

Simon growled and threw off the blanket.

He shoved to his feet and paced away from me, moving to the far end of the living room.

“You don’t get it. I don’t need anything else.

I just need a place to sleep”—he paused to wave a hand at the mattress—“and I need a place to work.” He motioned to all the instruments and sheet music.

“That’s it. All my focus has to be on my work, but nothing I write is ever good enough. ”

“I don’t believe that. You’re so talented. Of course it’s good enough. Why don’t you play something for me?” I walked to where there were several sheets filled with notes and picked them up.

Simon rushed to my side and ripped them out of my hands, pressing them to his chest so I couldn’t see.

Tears glistened in his bright eyes. “No! Don’t!

You don’t understand. It’s not good enough.

” He backpedaled, lifting his gaze to the black foam covering the walls.

“It’s why I put these up. To keep noise from outside the house blocked, but also to make it harder for people to hear my work.

No one’s allowed to hear it before it’s perfect. ”

His fingers clenched the paper, and it crinkled in the room’s silence. My heart broke for him. This was a side of him I didn’t think anyone had ever seen. He was so scared and unsure, as fragile and beautiful as ancient stained glass.

“It doesn’t have to be perfect.”

“It does! Don’t you get it? Everything would be ruined if it wasn’t perfect.

My whole life I’ve been this prodigy. The prodigy of my generation.

Every competition I entered, I won. Every show I played was sold out.

I’ve always been the best, and everyone expects me to write music, so they’ll expect it to be perfect, just like my playing.

” His voice broke, and the tears he’d been fighting streaked down his cheeks.

“But I can’t make it perfect. No matter how hard I try. ”

I slowly closed the distance between us and pulled him into my arms. His slender body shook as sobs racked his frame. I tightened my arms until I was afraid of breaking bones, but I couldn’t absorb his pain into my body.

“You put too much pressure on yourself. You don’t have to be perfect. Mozart was a prodigy, and you bitch all the time that he was an overrated hack. Even if you’re no better than Mozart, is it really that bad?”

“Yes,” Simon moaned into my chest, and I had to stifle a laugh.

“Simon, I can almost guarantee that you’re going to be a wonderful composer if that’s what you want. You know so much about music. I feel like the only thing that’s stopping you is your own fear.”

His crying had slowed, and he was clinging to me, his face pressed into my chest. “Maybe,” he mumbled.

“Will you play something you wrote, just for me? No one else will hear it.”

“No!” Simon tried to push away, but I refused to release him. He lifted those wounded eyes to me. “Your opinion matters most of everyone. If you don’t like it, I think it would kill me. I’d never want to play again.”

“I struggle to believe I wouldn’t like something you’d written. We have very similar tastes in music. The reason I know anything about classical music is because of you. And if I were insane enough to not like something you wrote, would you let me help you fix it?”

As I spoke, the panic receded from his eyes, and he relaxed so that he was no longer attempting to escape my grasp.

“Now, I want you to pack up your violin and your sheet music. Put your shoes on. I’ll pack your bag. You’re coming home with me.”

“What?” Simon gasped.

“You’re going to live with me while you write this concerto for the CSO.”

“But-but you’re trying to get rid of me.”

I sighed. “We’re putting our problem on hold for now.

You’re destroying your health over this concerto.

You’ve tried it your way in this place ,” I said, the word twisting in my mouth.

“There’s been no progress made. I think you’ll get more work done in a warm, beautiful home where you feel comfortable.

Stay with me for a week. If you don’t feel like it’s helping you write, you can return here. I won’t fight you.”

Simon roughly wiped the tears from his face and blinked at me as if he couldn’t quite believe what I was saying.

Yes, it was probably inviting so much fucking trouble, but Simon’s well-being meant more to me than my own sanity.

If he were living with me, I would know he was getting three good meals a day and sleep.

Not to mention, if he started pushing himself too hard, I could intervene.

“Go pack your shit. You have two minutes.” I released Simon and marched into the bedroom that held his clothes.

I didn’t bother picking up the suitcase I saw on the floor.

Proper packing would take too long. There was a laundry basket against the wall that looked as if it held his undergarments and some T-shirts.

I grabbed a giant stack of clothes hanging in the closet and draped them over the basket.

As I left the bedroom with the basket gripped in both hands, I found Simon slowly gathering up the papers scattered around the room. “One minute,” I barked as I continued through to the front door.

“You’re crazy! It hasn’t been a full minute yet!

” he shouted at my back, but I ignored him as I walked to my car.

After shoving the basket into the rear seat of my sedan, I pulled out my phone and shot a quick text to my housekeeper, Hilda, that Simon would be living in the house for the next week.

She rarely had to do much to keep up with me, but adding a second person would impact her schedule.

She’d also have the chance to update Mrs. Cantrip, who had joined my staff as the chef only a couple of months ago.

At least she could make sure that he ate something other than cheese.

When I returned to the house, Simon sat on the mattress, pulling on a pair of sneakers, a scowl on his face. However, his violin case was closed, and a stack of sheet music was resting on it. I crossed the living room and picked up both as Simon yelped.

“No! I’ll carry it!” He reached for the sheet music, but I held it out of his reach above my head.

“Simon, I can’t read musical notes. It’s fine. Put your coat on.”

As soon as he slipped on his long black wool coat and wrapped my scarf around his neck, I handed the sheet music to him, which he pressed to his chest inside his coat.

We paused long enough for him to grab his wallet, keys, and phone. Only after we were on the road heading to my house did Simon speak to me again.

“Why are you doing this? Your parents are gone. I’m not your boyfriend—fake or otherwise. And I’ve told you I don’t need you taking care of me out of pity or obligation because I’m Sawyer’s little brother.”

“This has nothing to do with Sawyer,” I replied, more sharply than I’d intended.

My hands tightened on the steering wheel, and I forced myself to take a deep, cleansing breath before I continued.

“I know you don’t want to be my friend, but that’s how I see you.

I would do the same damn thing if you were Rome or Sebastian. ”

“Not Declan?”

“Declan has more sense than this…usually. Parker, though, knocked some of that good sense out of his head.” Simon made a noise that sounded like a laugh, and I took that as a good sign. “The point is that I take care of my friends. You’re hurting. I hope you’ll let me help you.”

“And you’re not hurting? The thing with us? Whatever happened with you and Sawyer? You expect me to let that go and not help you?”

My stomach tried to knot, but it felt like a halfhearted effort.

He was pressing more and more, tying our problems back to his brother.

He wasn’t wrong, but he was getting too close to the truth.

Common sense said that I should keep my distance, but maybe I was tired of running and hiding.

It might be better for the truth to come out and have him reject me once and for all. But not yet.

“One problem at a time,” I murmured. Once I got Simon steady again, I could blow up my own life.