Chapter 50

CHAPTER 50

SIMON

I stared out the window, leaning back in my chair and tapping my fingers on the desk. I wanted to be anywhere but where I was. Sometimes, I thought selling the company to another oil company would be a better option. I could retire with plenty of money. I could run away and travel the world. I knew that was something Rylee would appreciate.

"What does this mean?" I asked, a little short.

"There have been both positive and negative responses," she said.

"That's expected," I replied. "We knew that was going to happen, right?"

"I didn't," she muttered. "I believe my statement would have been a quick end to this, but your statement has thrown this whole thing into a bit of a—pardon my French—shitstorm."

"Katarina, I've been in a shitstorm for the last couple of weeks," I said. "This is nothing new. What are we dealing with?"

"It seems like most people are willing to hear you out," she said begrudgingly. "A council of representatives is being selected by the residents to represent their requests."

"That's good news," I said, feeling a small sense of relief. "Right?"

"However, there's also a small group that seems to be even angrier. They're livid that their neighbors are even entertaining you, calling you a gaslighting narcissist."

I couldn't help but roll my eyes. "Everyone is being called one of those things these days. If you piss someone off, you're a narcissist. If you say something they don't like, you're a gaslighter. You can't win. I told the truth."

Katarina sighed. "Just be careful, Simon. Keep your wits about you. Do not answer any calls. Do not talk to any reporters. Do you hear me?"

"Katarina, I'm a grown man, few people tell me who I can talk to, and fewer people tell me what to do."

"I'm telling you I've been busting my ass on this situation," she said, just as snarky. "You pay me well, but I'm the best in my business. Do not make me look bad by screwing this up."

I took a deep breath. I knew she was looking out for my best interests. "I have zero intention of talking to a reporter or anyone else," I said. "I'm leaving it to you. If I'm ambushed, I'll keep my mouth shut."

"Just keep your cool," she said, a hint of pleading in her voice.

"Always," I assured her before ending the call.

I took a deep breath and got up from the desk. I knew what I was risking when I gave the press statement. I gambled. It might not have been the right decision for the business, but I did feel better. I liked being able to just speak from my own heart. I hated everything being so scripted. It didn't feel natural, and I wasn't a Hollywood actor. I knew anything I said that wasn't my own words came off as disingenuous. People knew I was lying. I thought that might be why they were so pissed at me. Turned out, I was damned if I did and damned if I didn't.

With that call over, Dana walked in with a look on her face that said my day was about to get worse.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"What now?" I sighed.

"The Houston office needs to talk to you," she said. "Something about a walkout."

"A walkout?" I asked.

"Some of the corporate staff walked out," she said, her face twisted in regret.

"Why?" I asked.

She shrugged. "The spill and the company's response."

"Seems like everything's falling apart at the seams," I said, pinching the bridge of my nose. "Alright, patch them through."

Dana nodded and left just as quickly as she'd come in. I leaned back in my chair and closed my eyes. Today was just another boulder on the mountain of stress that had been building up over the past few weeks.

"Simon?" A voice echoed from the speaker on the phone.

Opening my eyes, I sat up straight and cleared my throat before pressing the button. "Go ahead."

"It's Robert from Houston. Some of our staff walked out this morning because they're not happy with how you're handling the spill. They're saying they won't come back until you do something."

I exhaled slowly. "What are they upset about?"

"Well, a lot of it is centered around your press statement," Robert explained. "They feel like you're not taking it seriously enough."

I sat back in disbelief. "They think I'm not taking this seriously? Christ, do they think I enjoy having my company dragged through the mud, our stock prices plummeting and protestors at our gate? Of course I'm taking it seriously!" My voice echoed in the quiet room. The silence that followed was deafening.

"Simon, I understand," Robert began tentatively. "But they want to see more proactive measures. They want to see clean-up crews, apologies, compensation plans. They want action."

I let out a hollow laugh. "And how do they propose we pay for those clean-up crews when our revenue stream is drying up and our stocks are worth less than toilet paper? With what money should we compensate?"

There was silence on the other end of the line. "We could pool resources," Robert finally suggested. "Cut down on some of our larger projects temporarily."

I sighed deeply. "I'll think about it, but in the meantime, I'll talk to HR. Their jobs will be filled. I don't do blackmail."

I ended the call. I was contrite, but I wasn't about to let anyone threaten me. I leaned back and closed my eyes.

No sooner had I ended the call than my cell phone rang. "Fuck me," I groaned.

Some days you were just the guy at the bottom of the hill with all the shit rolling down on top of you. When I looked at the screen, I saw it was my mom.

"Hey, Mom," I answered.

"Simon, you sound tired."

"It's been a long day," I answered. "What's up?"

"If you're not busy, I wanted to invite you for lunch," she said.

Normally, I would say no. But I wanted to get out of the office. And I wanted to work on my relationship with her.

"Sure," I answered. "I'll be there in thirty minutes if that works," I said.

"We'll look forward to seeing you," she said.

"We?"

"Marsha is coming," she said.

"I'll head over in a few," I replied.

I was determined to support Marsha and help her heal her relationship with our mother. I hoped this lunch with the three of us would be the beginning of a new relationship.

"I'm going to lunch," I told Dana. "Do not forward my calls. They can go to voicemail or take a message."

"Will you be back?"

"Unless one of these assholes gets to me," I muttered.

I drove out to my mother's house, looking forward to time with my family. That wasn't something I ever thought I would say. But Rylee changed me.

I got to the house and found my mom and Marsha on the back patio. The housekeeper nodded as I strolled through the kitchen.

I took my seat at the table and poured myself a glass of iced tea.

"You look like you've had a rough day," Mom said.

I leaned back in the chair and ran my fingers through my hair. "Yeah, you could say that."

"The oil spill," Marsha said.

"I could use less of some people and more of others," I said with a weary grin. "But right now, I'm just happy to be out of the office and here with the two of you."

"We're worried about you, Simon. You always seem so burdened."

"I'm fine," I said. "How are you, Marsha?"

My goal was to make sure Marsha felt like Mom loved her as much as she loved me. Marsha had been feeling left out for all these years. I didn't want my mom focused on me. I wanted Marsha to feel like the star of the show.

"I'm feeling adrift," she answered.

"What does that mean?" Mom asked.

"I've been feeling unsatisfied with work," Marsha answered. "I feel like I need a change but I'm not sure what direction to go."

I nodded, completely understanding her feeling. "Do it," I said.

Mom immediately dismissed the idea. "That would be a mistake after how hard you've worked. You can't throw away something that gives you such stability. A job is a job. You don't have to love it."

Marsha looked to me for support. "Mom, Marsha has worked hard for years, maybe she needs a break. The daily grind is tedious."

"I've put in the time, Mom," Marsha added. "But lately I've been thinking about what kind of legacy I want to leave behind. Is it really just stacks of paperwork and more money for the bank?"

Mom sighed and took a sip of her own iced tea. "What will you do instead?" she asked. "You don't exactly have any hobbies."

"That's not true," Marsha started, looking at me like she was asking for help.

"Mom, Marsha has always had a passion for painting," I said. "She's been so busy with work that she hasn't had time to pursue it as fully as she might like. But now, maybe she could give it a real shot."

"And what about money?" Mom argued, looking at Marsha again. "Painting isn't known for its financial stability."

Marsha clenched her jaw, staring down at her hands where they were folded in her lap. It was clear she was struggling with what to say. Marsha was single and lonely. Bynx wasn't exactly a companion.

"I'll make sure her rent is paid," I said.

They both looked at me like I was crazy.

"Oh," Mom said. "You two have talked about this."

"No, but I understand why she would want to try something else." I shrugged. "My trip to Europe was brief, but it was so needed." I turned to Marsha. "You should travel or do whatever you want. I'll take care of it."

"I don't need you to support me," she said. "I have plenty of money but thank you."

Our lunch was brought out a minute later. My phone buzzed in my pocket just as I was reaching for one of the sandwiches. I glanced at the screen and saw Rylee's name.

"Excuse me for a second," I said and stepped away from the table. "Hi," I answered.

"Simon, I need you," she managed to say on a shaky breath.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"Protestors. They were here. They threw eggs at me."

"What?" I practically shouted. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, but I don't know what to do," she whispered. "They know where I live. They're after me because of you."

My heart dropped. "I'm on my way," I said, dropping everything. I bolted out of the house, barely saying goodbye to Marsha and my mother.

"Simon!" Mom shouted as she chased behind me. "What's wrong? Is everything okay?"

"No," I replied. I stopped at the front door. "I have to go. I'm sorry. Listen to Marsha, Mom. Support her. That's what she needs. She deserves a break. All she wants is for you to be in her corner, okay?"

She frowned and nodded. "Okay. Call me. I'm worried about you."

"I will." I stepped outside and then paused. "Mom, keep the gate closed and your front door locked. These people are out for blood—my blood. I don't want you at risk."