“Absolutely not,” said Archibald.

“Okay, but hear me out,” said Evan.

“Absolutely not, Evan. I think the letter from the attorneys was very clear. I’ll admit, for a moment I was heartened that you came in today. I thought, he’s really going to do it, he’s going to straighten up. Not an hour later, you’re in my office telling me you can’t work here.”

“Not that I can’t work here, that I can’t work with that Simon guy.”

That Simon guy. Oh, jeez, what had he gotten himself into? It was bad enough that they’d had their encounter. Forget working directly together, though, even knowing he was in the same building was a problem. Simon was one of those guys who didn’t realize what he had going on. You could tell, the way he held himself, the way he seemed shy and deferential, that he didn’t realize he was gorgeous. Evan still couldn’t shake the way Simon had danced from his memory, so lost in the rhythm, his body suggesting other rhythmic movements…

Uncle Archie brought him back to the present. “This endeavor isn’t about making everything soft and comfortable for you, it’s about getting to live here in the real world.”

Evan pressed his lips together. He couldn’t say what he really needed to say about Simon. Hell, he couldn’t say anything true to his uncle, not after this morning’s conversation with Maura. Why was the truth so much trouble for everybody? Wasn’t honesty supposed to be a virtue?

If there was one thing Uncle Archie would understand, though, it was Evan feeling like he was too good for something. Time to pretend to be shallow again.

“But Archie, the records department? It smells like mice and mildew. Do you know what happens there? Literally nothing. Simon’s the only guy there. How am I going to learn the company in a room full of folders and file cabinets?”

A grim smile spread over Archibald’s face. “The records department was your father’s idea. I always thought it was a bit old-fashioned, keeping everything on paper. But he insisted. Every invoice, every patent application, every memo and correspondence makes it way into that room. I had to draw the line at his suggestion that we print every email and file it as well; there have to be some trees left for the rest of the world.”

Evan began to feel a sense of panic. How could he get out of this? More especially, how he could get out of it without having Simon kicked out too?

“That’s my point,” he said. “It’s a department stuck in the past. I want to learn where the company is today, not thirty years ago. Let me try sales, or maybe—”

Archibald harumphed. “If you want to understand where we are today, you do need to know about the past. Perhaps you’ve forgotten your heritage, with all your flitting off to tropical resorts. You’ve forgotten the way we began with a land grant from King George in the 1700s. Our discovery of mineral wealth. Our mining concerns, that allowed us to branch into technology. When your father and I started Cray Reliable Electric, it wasn’t out of nowhere; the Crays had a long, long history of business, and you can draw a straight line from that first quarry from centuries ago, to our latest supply catalog.”

Oh god, it was worse than when his dad would get a little tipsy on holidays and talk about the family’s great mining days.

Those quarries were abandoned now; over the decades, they had become lakes. It would have been picturesque land to build neighborhoods around, but of course the Crays held the family land close, and would never let it go; it had become wild and abandoned, some of the only untouched land in the county.

And none of this was getting him any closer to separating himself and Simon.

He could sense Uncle Archie’s impatience, which meant he was running out of time. He had only one more chance to get out of this.

“I’ll be honest,” he said, lying. “After talking to Simon this morning, I think he deserves a better spot in this company, even if I don’t. The guy knows everything about how we work, everything about the structure of the company. What if I took over Records, and you gave him a better spot? Surely with his experience he could manage some employees.”

Archibald’s eyes narrowed. “Is there something particular about working with Simon that bothers you?”

Evan fought down the urge to blush and look away. “No, not at all. I think he’s more impressive than people give him credit for. He’s just—”

“Then he’s perfect to train you.”

“No, I mean, you should give him a much better—”

Archibald raised his hand. “I don’t know what you’re playing at here, Evan, but clearly you do not understand the situation. The decision has already been made. It is non-negotiable. You will work in the records department, with Simon, and you will show that you have gained the skills necessary to become a valuable member of the company. If you cannot show to the Board’s satisfaction that you have gained those skills…then you’re out.”

It was almost like they were setting Evan up for failure. He didn’t like to think like that. But it sure felt like it. He stood slowly from the deep leather chair.

“Thanks for considering my objections, then,” he said, his voice subdued.

Again that grim smile on Archibald’s face. “Dear boy, I never considered them for a moment. Now go to work.”

* * *

“I think we just can’t talk about it. That has to be rule one,” said Simon.

Back down in the records department, into the quiet and shadows, Evan had arrived with his bad news: They were stuck together.

“That’s right,” said Evan. “Ground rules. That’s what we need. That’s so professional of you.”

Simon gave him a lopsided grin. “That’s me, Mr. Professionality.”

“Is that a word?”

“I think rule two follows naturally from the first one,” Simon continued. “We can’t tell anyone else about it, either.”

Evan narrowed his eyes. “I haven’t told anyone. Who would I tell? I mean, my friend Mathieu was there, but he’s a flake, I wouldn’t tell him anything. He probably didn’t even notice. Probably.”

Simon looked away. “I guess I told my brother. But he doesn’t know it’s you, so that doesn’t matter. I think.”

“Excellent,” said Evan. “So nothing at the club ever actually happened, we’re agreed. Should we shake on it?”

He extended his hand, and Simon stared down at it.

“Maybe we shouldn’t touch each other either,” said Simon.

Evan laughed. “Oh, come on, a handshake? It’s not like we’re all out of control of our torrid passions or something. A handshake won’t awaken some undeniable lust—”

“Maybe don’t use the words passion or lust either,” said Simon. “Just to be safe.”

“Okay. Good. No bad words. We’re just two guys in an awkward situation, and we can make the best of it. I trust us.”

At that, Simon smiled, and took Evan’s hand. Nice firm grip. Warm hand. Strong fingers. The kind of hand that might feel good as it—

Oh stop it, Evan told himself.

“Now, show me around this dungeon,” he said to Simon.

“It’s quiet, at least,” said Simon, walking between two rows of file cabinets. They stretched upward, a head taller than Simon.

“Yeah, you must get to goof off a lot down here,” Evan said.

Simon gave him a disapproving look. Ooh, he was so responsible, it was crazy. “No, it’s actually quite busy,” he said, “and it’s important work. That’s why it’s good that it’s quiet, so you don’t get a lot of interruptions.”

It was a little hard for Evan to see the importance of the work down here, but he tried to keep an open mind. Simon took a sheet of paper from a tray and showed it to him.

“Perfect example right here,” Simon said. “Look at this request. They need a letter regarding a lawsuit from back in the 1980s, something involving one of our old patents. Now, since they’re asking for a correspondence, we’d begin to look over here for it…”

As Evan followed Simon back deeper into the cavernous room, he realized that the department didn’t just consist of the office he’d seen so far, but stretched back, and back, and back.

“Holy shit,” he said, “all of this is yours?”

Simon shrugged. “This is some of it. There’s more in the basement. And the subbasement. But you don’t want to go down there, I promise, unless you have to.”

“Agreed,” Evan said. “It sounds spidery.”

“So while the lawsuit was from the 1980s, the correspondence itself was dated in the mid-90s, and—”

“Oh god,” said Evan, watching Simon reach for a file drawer almost without looking at it, like he’d memorized the layout of the entire place, “this is so complicated.”

“Complicated, but not impossible,” said Simon. “It’s actually very well organized. I’ll show you the chart when we get back to the office. There’s a map of where everything is, by topic and by decade.”

Memorizing a map. The exact opposite of every life goal Evan had ever embraced.

“But…but this would be so much easier on a computer,” Evan said. “I mean, you see that, don’t you? We’re not in the 1950’s anymore. Computers are everywhere. Couldn’t we just digitize this stuff?”

Simon leaned against the cabinet, his prize in hand. “Oh, sure, I agree. It’d make life easier. But your dad was really harsh on this point, and I think he even got it written into the company bylaws. He hated computers. Hated them.”

“Yeah, but—”

“He thought they were frail in comparison to paper and microfiche. The few times he had to use one, he got me to do it for him. He’d inevitably forget his password, but then he’d always pick something easy like password so I was able to get into his computer to do whatever it was. Then listen to a big lecture about how evil they were afterwards. Every time a big hacking story was in the news, he’d clip the story out of the paper and put it in this big file he called The Failure of Ephemera.”

Evan shook his head. So much about his dad he’d never known. And yet Simon knew all about it. He didn’t know whether that made him feel sad or jealous. Simon’s face had certainly brightened, talking about it.

“The failure of…ephemera…?” Evan asked.

“Did he really never talk to you about this stuff? He was thinking of writing a book about it, about how any industry that relied on computers was doomed. It sounds funny, I know, but I bet if you looked in his personal papers—which are down in the subbasement, by the way—you could find a draft or two of the book. He hated computers, hated cell phones, really hated smartphones.”

“Okay, I knew that one!” Evan said, feeling like the dumb kid in the back of the class who finally gets an answer right. “The smartphone thing…I bought him one every single year for Christmas, and then, about a week later, every year, I’d get a little box in the mail, with the phone and a little card saying thanks but no.”

It hurt his heart a little bit, thinking of those cards, with their tiny, precise handwriting. The first couple of years he’d thrown them away, but then he’d begun collecting them, almost a tradition.

Simon laughed and shook his head. “It’s so weird that we never met. I actually know that about you. We’d talk about it every year: Well, Evan sent me another of these devil phones with all the CIA spyware,” he said, in a pretty good imitation of Evan’s dad’s voice.

Evan shrugged. “Yet another failure as a son, I guess.”

“Are you kidding? Evan, he loved you. He loved the fact you kept trying to pull him into the 21st century. I think he enjoyed the tug-of-war.”

“Yeah, but I managed to fail him in every other way,” started Evan, but he stopped. Why the hell am I talking to Simon like this? He’s practically a stranger.

Simon was scowling, like he was uncomfortable and wasn’t sure what to say. Evan hoped it wasn’t going to be something awkward and terrible and judgmental.

“I think he just didn’t understand why you had all your…adventures,” Simon said finally. “Like, did you actually wrap a Porsche around a tree?”

“What? No, of course not, that’s not true at all,” Evan said.

“Oh, see, that must have just been gossip.”

“It was the Tesla. The Porsche is safe at home. Or was safe at home. It’s owned by the trust, so for all I know, Archie’s repossessing it as we speak.”

Ugh, there was a horrible thought. Swank apartment gone, cars gone. At least Archie would let him keep his clothes. He hoped.

“Look,” said Simon, “in any case, look all around you. This is all your dad’s work. Every patent he ever filed for is here. All the ideas he didn’t patent are here. It’s like being inside his brain, organized in the way that made sense to him. After they shuffled me around from office to office, I was glad to finally settle here in records. It’s like being close to him.” He paused, and his voice went quiet. “I really liked your dad. I respected him a ton.”

Evan looked away. “I respected him too.” I wanted to be him, growing up, he thought, but he couldn’t say the words aloud. I never understood how to do that, though. I never understood how to be responsible, intelligent, creative.

His shoulders slumped. Talking about this wore him down. He was never serious. Seriousness was something to be avoided, to be cured with alcohol and music and trips to nice places. He needed sunlight and a pool. Maybe a beach.

And someone with him.

He looked back over at Simon, who had decided to fill the silence by getting back to work, and was checking over a list. He had turned his back to Evan. That back. The way it tapered down to a trim waist, and that rounded ass… Evan swallowed and looked away. All this turmoil was making it hard to keep his hands to himself. Hell, he’d just bared his soul to Simon. It was like he needed to bare more, after that.

I could take him right now, he thought. I know he’d go for it. He feels it too. He’s too good to act on it, but he feels it. Such a preposterous image, doing Simon here in the middle of all these ancient files.

When he felt himself starting to get hard, he knew he had to clear his head. It would do him no good to stand here with a bulge in his trousers, for all the world to see.

“Uh…I think I’m going for another coffee,” he said.

Simon looked up. “But we have work to do!”

“Yeah. See you soon.”