Page 8 of Embrace Me Forever

2

SIMON CILLIAN BLAKE

Newport Beach, California

The thud of my fists against the heavy bag is the only sound I hear. The light above casts shadows on the already dark walls, turning the gym into an underground arena. Sweat stings my eyes as it drips down my face, but I keep going. My muscles strain with each punch, a release, a way to tame the fire that threatens to consume me—a ritual I rely on when the past comes out to play.

My knuckles scream, but the familiar burn keeps me grounded. Fighting fire with fire. Every hit, every swing, feels like I’m punishing my own heart. And hell, do I need it! Time might heal wounds, but what on Earth can cure regret?

I’m panting as my fists drop to my sides. I can feel the relentless thudding behind my ribcage, the dull ache in my bones, and the emptiness that no amount of physical exertion can fill.

Suddenly, a solitary clap breaks the silence. “Energy to burn or just showing off?” Clayton Hartley, one of the owners of Hartley Marine and an ex-Navy pilot, strides into the gym in hiscrisp suit. His smile is as sharp as his attire. Apparently, bad days are for the rest of us.

“Workload’s been thin on the ground lately, tasks too tame. When are you going to toss me something meaty?” I shoot back, catching my breath.

Clayton chuckles, rubbing his chin. “World’s gotten a bit too serene, hasn’t it? You’re scaring all the trouble away before it finds us.”

My work here is shadow play. Few even know I exist. I’m the chameleon, seamlessly blending into any scene to snatch what I need. Officially, I’m a PI—Personal Investigator. But really, my job description might as well be ‘whatever the hell needs digging up.’ Personal matters included. Before the Hartley brothers hung up their bachelor hats, my skills were often tapped to vet their dates. Not exactly the high-glam life, but necessary with everything they had on the line.

Clayton adds, “Looks like you’re a victim of your own success, Blake. Feeling like a restless hound, all cooped up?”

I smirk. “What can I do for you?”

“Rob wants us.” He appraises my sweaty face. “Boardroom in fifteen.”

“I’ll see you there,” I say, unwinding the boxing wraps from my hands. “So, what’s the catch this time? Another heartbreaker or a lost cat?”

“Might be a project for you, but perhaps the subject isn’t your favorite.”

“Who’s getting married?” I ask.

“Nobody.” Clayton winks at me as he leaves.

After a quick shower, I step into the sleek, glass-walled boardroom. Rob and Clayton are already there, seated at the long conference table. This morning, the usual business atmosphere is lightened up by the impressive array of pastries.

“Morning, gentlemen. Did I miss a memo about turning this into a bakery?” I eye the spread with a grin.

“It’s the catering guys’ business anniversary, and apparently, they’re trying to fatten us up as a thank you!”

“Good thing I’m wearing chinos,” I quip. Unlike my bosses, who always show up in impeccable suits, I prefer to keep it low-key with smart casual attire. Neutral tones that blend into the crowd. I save the suit for when it’s absolutely necessary.

Rob stands up and pours me a cup of coffee.

“Thanks, Rob,” I say, appreciating his humble gesture.

Meanwhile, Clayton offers me a plate of chocolate croissants with a grin. “I know you’re all about keeping that ripped physique, but trust me, this one is totally worth the cheat,” he says.

I accept the plate from him. Biting into the pastry, I mumble, “Oh, wow.” Clayton is right—pure bliss. The flaky, buttery layers melt in my mouth, the chocolate filling oozing out with just the right amount of sweetness.

As we enjoy the morning treat, Rob steers the conversation toward business. “All right, gents. Next on the agenda is Georgia-May Williams.” He passes me a set of printouts. “She claims she has a prototype software that could revolutionize sailing navigation.”

I stifle a scoff. We’ve had plenty of companies promise revolutions only to repackage the same old ideas. “What did Rocky say?” I ask.

Rob leans back, meeting my gaze. “Rocky doesn’t know yet.”

I gape, taken aback. “How?” I frown, still processing. Rocky is the alpha of Hartley Marine’s engineering team. He’s been with the company since it was just Rob and his father, back when they were crafting bespoke forty-footers. A far cry from the massive luxury yachts Hartley Marine builds these days,complete with helicopter pads and basketball courts, priced in the hundreds of millions.

“Ms. Williams sent the proposal directly to me,” Rob shares.

---