Sometimes in life, you meet someone you can just naturally talk to. The barriers come down, and you find yourself telling them things you’d never tell your friends.

That’s how Evan felt right now…except Simon shouldn’t be that kind of person to him. He glanced over at Simon, who was being all industrious with a stack of files. It was ludicrous that a man that hot should be stuck down here in the dungeons of Cray Reliable. And Simon didn’t even realize it. As he turned and twisted, lifting stacks of folders or bending down to slide them onto shelves, his body seemed to cry out for far fewer clothes, and pounding music, and sweat, and…

Whoa there, cowboy, snap out of it, Evan told himself.

He was going to have to restrain himself. He had almost busted out The Truth to Simon, and that was dangerous. No matter how innocent-yet-hot Simon was, the fewer people that knew the truth about Evan’s life, the better.

He’d never been in this position before. When he wanted to sleep with somebody, he’d just do it, get it out of his system, never see the guy again. Emotional entanglements were boring, he’d tell his friends. Who wants to be tied down? Life is too short.

But there was something about Simon that made Evan want to talk and talk. To open up. To explain all his bad choices, which had all seemed good at the time.

Seriously though, come on: Long, long talks into the night? That was right up there with candlelit dinners and walks on the beach, the sort of stuff ordinary people liked. He wasn’t writing a damn personals ad, he was trying to save his future. He had to get these romantic notions out of his head.

Need I remind you of all the reasons you can’t have a boyfriend?

Of course, he didn’t need reminding.

Reason one: They worked together. Uncle Archie probably had spies everywhere in the building. You couldn’t get away with a thing here. (Or was that just being paranoid?)

Reason two: Reg, who might have been reasons one, two, on out to reason one million. You have a son, he reminded himself. Even if he couldn’t claim Reg to the world as his son, Reg was his, and Evan had to act responsible, couldn’t just gallivant around and risk losing the money that would support his child.

He looked over at the records room, which was positively bright and shining compared to the darkness of the sub-basement. Thinking of Reg had gotten him thinking about the trust as well.

“Let me ask you something,” he said to Simon.

Simon slid a drawer shut and looked over at him. “Of course.”

“My trust fund must involve a lot of records and paperwork. Do you think all that stuff would be stored here?”

Simon glanced back at the record room and squinted, as though he could see all those files with his x-ray vision. “Well, sort of. Official company correspondence about the trust is probably here, as well as any notes your dad took. There’s accounting information that might involve the trust. But, you know, I imagine your lawyers have a lot more information about it. Why don’t you ask them?”

“Pff,” said Evan. “They’re all in Archie’s pocket, they’re not looking out for me. Nobody’s looking out for me.”

Simon rolled his eyes—literally rolled his eyes—and laughed. “Self-pity isn’t a good look on you,” he said.

Evan straightened up. “Holy hell, was that self-pity?” He wasn’t the blushing type, but how awkward to be caught out like that.

Simon pinched the air with his finger and thumb until they were half an inch apart. “A leeeetle bit,” he said. “Just a soupcon of self-pity.”

“Damn. I didn’t mean it that way. But I guess that’s part of it, isn’t it, having all your self-determination taken away.”

Simon was having none of it. He came over and sat on the edge of the desk next to Evan, a sympathetic but still serious look on his face.

“Nobody can take your self-determination away,” Simon said to him. “Sure, they can take your luxuries away, all the toys, the stuff that made it look like you were setting the course for your own life. But I think you know that there’s more to you than the toys.”

Evan looked away. “Yeah, I know.”

“I’ve known guys before that gave up. It’s a dangerous thing, to let go of your power over your own life.”

He scowled and looked at Simon. “Don’t you ever feel that way, though? Like things are out of your control?”

Now it was Simon’s turn to look away. Color came to his cheeks. God, he was beautiful. Evan didn’t know whether he wanted to fuck him, or just hold on to him, putting kisses on his cheeks and chin. Stop that, he told himself.

“Sure,” Simon said finally. “Everybody feels like that. It’s a fact of life, that some of it isn’t under your control. Maybe even a lot of it. A meteor could fall on you. We could all die of the plague.”

“Optimistic!”

“My point is just, you have to take control of the parts of life you can. You might think being sent down here to my little world was a mean trick on the part of your uncle, but if you look at it the right way, it’s an opportunity, too. The important thing is never giving up. Grab hold of what you can, and don’t let go.”

Evan laughed quietly. “How do you do that? How do you just come up with something motivational on the fly like that? I feel better already. Not great, because man I miss my apartment and cars. But, yeah, you’re right. I can do this.”

* * *

The trust documents stretched way back to before Evan was even born. There was a huge amount of information here, and it looked like it might take years to go through.

Simon was back in the main office. After his speech, Evan had felt revved up…but also like he needed a minute away from Simon, a little time to compose himself, because all that take life into your own hands talk made him want to take Simon into his own hands. And for his part, Simon had seemed relieved when Evan said he was going to search out the trust materials himself.

That’s because Simon feels it too, and needs to cool down. He likes you, you like him, why don’t you—

Enough.

The file he had spread out now was from just a few years ago. Memos flying back and forth between his dad and Archie, with input from the lawyers. Archie was clearly furious—his mood came through, even in the terse business-language of memoranda and official correspondence. The trustees were worried about Evan dropping out of college, after the trust had poured tens of thousands of dollars into his education.

This shows a clear lack of concern for the furtherance of the family interests, Archie had written. In response, we should put strict limits on trust distributions, and perhaps set goalposts for Evan to reach before further monies are paid out.

Evan’s father—his father, of all people, that sainted worshipper of knowledge in all its forms—had put his foot down. No business-language for him: We’re not putting the brakes on the damned fund. That’s my money, Archie. Not yours. Never forget that. If Evan doesn’t feel like college is right for him, let him drop out. Evan’s going to make something of himself. He’s smart, he’s capable, and he’s going to make the right decision. He’s young, and deserves to get through his youthful indiscretions before he settles down.

He had to read that one a few times. His dad thought he was smart and capable? Really?

He had that pang again, the one that had come up every few weeks since his father died. I wish you were back with us, Dad. You were the only one who ever saw anything in me.

Now there was one other person who saw something in him: Simon. Maybe his father had talked about Evan more than he would’ve thought.

There was more, of course, in the thick file. Archie’s icy response: My own sons Ash and Callum had no need for these youthful indiscretions. They have seen what value they could add to the family business, and gotten right to work.

But Leonard was ferocious: Allow me to remind you whose patents have made this company its millions in profits, Arch. If it weren’t for me, we would be managing a second-rate mining operation at quarries that had long since dried up. So hopefully you’ll also credit me with a little inside knowledge when it comes to my own son. Evan has a soul. He’s his own person. Say what you will about him, at least he didn’t turn out to be a sadistic little toady like Ash and Callum.

Evan was dumbfounded. He’d always known there was tension between his dad and uncle. Their partnership had been as rough as it was profitable, but he’d never realized the depth of animosity between them, where he was concerned. Hell, he’d known Archie disapproved of him, even when he was still in short pants, but the idea that Archie had been trying to cut him off since college? So strange.

When Evan looked up from the file, he was shocked to see it was nightfall. The thin windows lining the reading room were dark, with tiny stars just visible outside.

A rustling from the doorway made him turn his head. Simon was there, leaning against the doorjamb, looking in on him.

“You’re still here?” Evan asked him.

Simon shrugged. “I didn’t feel right leaving you here all by your lonesome. What if you’d accidentally set something on fire?”

“I guess I got a little wrapped up,” Evan said. “Sorry if I kept you late.”

“Nah, it’s fine. I got caught up with work, so tomorrow should be a breeze. I should burn the midnight oil more often.”

Evan’s eyes went wide. “It’s midnight?”

“Well, the 8 p.m. oil.” He walked into the record room. “Are you okay, though?”

He put his hand on Evan’s shoulder, and it was such a natural move. Just one of those things you do when you’re concerned about someone.

“You seemed so deep in thought,” Simon said, “it didn’t seem right to disturb you.”

The hand on his shoulder was going to drive Evan wild. He couldn’t take it. He was in too emotional a state. Alone with Simon in this quiet room…oh god.

He put his hand on top of Simon’s hand.

They both froze in place. Shit.

“I… We should probably talk about this,” Evan said.

“Yes,” said Simon. “Probably we should.”

“I mean, we need boundaries. We need definite, clear boundaries.” So all these feelings will go away.

“Huge boundaries,” said Simon. “Great wall of boundaries.”

Evan felt like he couldn’t fight it, all the desire that was welling up inside him. The moment was perfect: the evening, the silence, the way he felt so emotionally open with Simon.

In the end, though, that’s why he couldn’t do it.

He had to show himself he was in control, that he wasn’t at the mercy of his appetites. This whole turn his life had taken was about showing he was a grown-up in control of his own actions and thoughts.

He didn’t know how to explain that to Simon, but he had to try.

“The thing is,” he said, “this just isn’t something that can happen right now. As much as I might want it to.”

“No, no, of course not,” said Simon. His hand did not leave Evan’s shoulder.

“I mean, it’s not you. That’s what everybody says, right? It’s not you, it’s me. But it really is! You’re great. But I’ve got something to prove here. It’s my chance to show that I’m responsible, that I’m not a hopeless mess. You and I stripping down and christening the reading room here would prove everything bad the world thinks of me.”

Simon nodded sagely. “Yes, we should definitely not strip down in the reading room.”

Evan couldn’t help but notice Simon was hard. Quit noticing it, he told himself. It was all he could do to stand up, revealing his own thickening bulge, to pull himself away from the conversation.

He wished he could think of something witty to part with, but he knew if he said one more word, he would be throwing himself at Simon.

Instead, he went home to his tiny new apartment for a very lonely date with his hand.