To Steal a Weeping Widow

Chapter Fifteen: A Diplomatic Approach

"Madeleine Leaning on her Elbow with Flowers in her Hair" by Pierre-Auguste Renoir (1918), stolen 2011 - value $1 million

Chapter Fifteen

"Late night working, huh? Museum isn't about to be robbed again, is it?"

I dropped my pen, staring tiredly and apprehensively at the man in the doorway. Even in my exhaustion, my heart picked up its unsteady pace. I'd like to say it was solely because of his unspoken accusation, but if lies were rocks, that'd be too much of a mountain to move.

"I hope not, considering how much we're paying you to protect it," I responded.

My voice felt gawky from hours of disuse, but it seemed he almost granted me a smile at that. In the dark I couldn't quite tell.

"Would you like anything?" he offered. "I'm heading to the break room."

He stepped a little more into my office, yet still kept a respectful distance. Although I wondered if it wasn't respect at all, but caution and vigilance. I had quite the reputation. He had no reason to be afraid of me, but plenty to fear of being associated with me.

I ignored his question and focused on my own. "What are you still doing here? You've been here all day."

"So have you."

"Well, I would think a CEO would have someone else pulling doubles, or doing patrol."

The remark was born from confusion, but as soon as it left my mouth I realized how downright rude it was. I had no idea why he was there, and he certainly didn't need my snark. It sounded like an intentional jab laced with taunts. "Sorry, I didn't mean—"

"A boss shouldn't give work they're not willing to do themselves," Simon pleasantly interrupted. He did so seamlessly, with hardly a ripple in the conversation. He didn't seem at all bothered by my blunder, but I felt embarrassed, nonetheless. In truth, he'd caught me unawares, tired and overwhelmed, and I was tilted off my axis with no sense of my bearings.

"That's a good philosophy to have."

Simon's head tilted, and he stepped even further in. My heart picked up a little more; a skip, hop, and a jump away from a cardiac event.

"I'm surprised you're still here, if you don't mind me saying. Considering current events," he said. 

Current events. That's a diplomatic way of saying 'considering what happened last time'.

"You're right," I admitted, resigned at the revelation things had truly changed. "It's probably not a good idea to be here late anymore. I didn't realize what time it was. I'll get going."

I stood, brushing off the weariness draped across my shoulders before closing my laptop and gathering my stuff. I could feel my pulse in the base of my skull, my fingers, and in every tensed muscle I silently scolded for being too wound up. Simon watched quietly. I could sense him, surveying my desolate demeanor and tight movements with thin detachment, until he teetered and rocked on his heels. With a subtle glance I noticed he suddenly looked to be wrangling his own words, and my hands paused on my bag without my permission. I could feel the suspense rocketing in my body like caffeine in my blood. If my heart didn't knock it off, there'd be a real medical concern on his hands.

"You know, if you ever need my team to help keep things... quiet around here, we can do that," Simon finally said. His tone was still calm, but his onyx eyes stuck on mine knowingly.

It'd be ridiculous to think his team hadn't heard the gossip and backhanded comments made by my fellow coworkers; both the ones said to my face and the ones whispered behind my back. Even if they hadn't by some blissful gift of ignorance, the internet was open in their disdain for my continued employment. It was clearly an offer based on the traps laid out for me every day. So I smiled. Relief and an odd dose of disappointment soothed the knot in my stomach.