Like Because, Love Despite, Chapter 3. PG-13, Set It Up AU, Wille/Simon, romance/fluff/slight drama.
Wilhelm and Simon— a pair of overworked, underpaid assistants— team up to gain their supervisors' favor by bringing them together for a joint venture while making them think it's their idea. Their plan may not work, but there's much more to gain from it than just a promotion and some downtime. There is also love.
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As much as Wilhelm had hoped to see Simon again soon, he hadn't expected their "some other time" to be the very next day. Needless to say, he was surprised to see the curly-haired man approaching his desk shortly before noon, an open laptop in his arms.
"Hey!" Simon greeted him with a bright grin Wille couldn't help but reciprocate. "I need to show you something."
He set the laptop down on Wille's desk right beside the keyboard, turning it slightly so Wille could see the screen. On it, there was an Excel spreadsheet full of text, the cells carefully color-coded in at least seven different, distinguishable shades. "I made a table of Englund's likes and dislikes."
Wille stared at the spreadsheet, his eyes almost crossing. He worked in finance, so he was very familiar with Excel, but even for him, this was a bit... much. He looked up at Simon. "You are that kind of person who really liked school, aren't you?"
Simon frowned down at him. "You say that like it's a bad thing," he commented. Shaking his head, he went back to his previous, more enthusiastic stance and prompted, "So? What do you think?"
"It's... nice?" Wille responded, completely baffled as to a) how this had anything to do with him, and b) why Simon seemed so excited about it. No one should be this excited about Excel spreadsheets. It just wasn't a thing.
Simon rolled his eyes. "You don't know what this is for, do you?" Wille shook his head, clueless. Simon let out a huff. "For our plan! Remember? To get Englund and August to do business together so we can get them to cut us some slack?"
Wille frowned, confused. "Wait, I thought that was a joke."
"It was," Simon conceded. But then he leaned closer, conspiratorially, and lowered his voice, making Wille's traitor heart start nearly beating its way out of his chest. "But... what if it wasn't?" he asked, pronouncing the words very slowly.
Wille knew this should be an immediate no, but fuck, he was so close and smelled so good, and his brain could barely formulate a thought, let alone speak it out loud. "Um... I don't..."
Much to Wille's eternal relief— because he feared he was about to do something stupid, like lean forward to kiss him while at the office— Simon pulled back until he was standing upright again. "I'm serious. We can totally pull this off. Like, say..." He snapped his fingers like something interesting had just occurred to him. "Wille, what's August's favorite food?"
"The sirloin with smoked eel from Frantzén," Wille answered almost automatically.
"Where's he scheduled to be at 2 pm?" Simon threw out right away, almost like he was playing some kind of trivia game.
"The Finance Under Forty luncheon with Mark Cuban," Wille rattled out quickly without even having to check August's calendar. It was only the one thing his cousin had been raving about for the last month or so. Well, apart from all the women he was hooking up with.
"And what does August hate?" Simon asked rapid-fire again.
"Refined carbs, not being number one at anything, and... socialists," Wille admitted grudgingly. He hadn't outright asked Simon how he labeled himself politically, but he'd heard enough rants about capitalism from him to know he gave off those kinds of vibes.
As if confirming his suspicions, Simon glowered at him. "Yeah, that dude's a dick," he said, deadpan. Wille just shrugged helplessly; it's not like he could disagree.
"Anyway..." Simon pulled himself back on track. "You see what I mean? We know everything about them: what they like, what their priorities are. We control their schedules. We're like the Wizard of Oz— except younger and better looking." Wille's stomach did a little jump at that, which was silly, honestly; being told he was better looking than a 50-year-old man in a 1930s movie was hardly the compliment his infatuated mind seemed to think it was.
Simon didn't seem to notice the sudden redness in Wille's cheeks, thankfully. "If we plan this out carefully, we can get them to do anything we want them to do," he insisted, impassioned.
Wille frowned. "That seems a little... underhanded?" he said, unsure. "Almost like we'd be manipulating them." He didn't like manipulation. In his family— with his mother, particularly— that kind of thing was the order of the day. He knew what it felt like to be manipulated; he didn't want to do it to anyone else. Even August.
Simon shook his head. "Okay, I may have exaggerated a little there. We can't make them do anything they don't want to do; they're not dumb. But we can open the door, you know?" He signaled to the spreadsheet on his computer screen. "We can give them a little nudge."
Wille wasn't quite sure he was following. "So why the likes and dislikes?"
"So we can see what they have in common," Simon explained. "If we can get them to be friendly with each other, then there's more of a chance that a business conversation comes up organically, don't you think?" He shrugged. "How's that saying go? 'Be sure to be friends with someone before you do business with them' or something?"
"Actually, it's 'Never go into business with your friends,'" Wille corrected. He could feel himself drawn in by Simon's zeal— partly because he wanted so badly to get a promotion, and partly just because it was Simon, and Wille would take any opportunity to spend more time with him. But there was a trepidation also pooling in the pit of his stomach.
"I don't know," he admitted his hesitation out loud. "If August finds out, I'll be worse than fired."
"Why would he ever find out?" Simon retorted. "He isn't even aware of half the things you do for him. He wouldn't even know where to begin looking." Wille had to admit that was a good point. August couldn't even do his own groceries.
But still... "I'm a terrible actor," Wille insisted with a wince. "I'm no good at pretending. He'll see right through me."
Simon gave him an unimpressed look. "Are you kidding me? You're in finance. All you people do is pat each other on the back and pretend your small talk is way more important than it actually is. I'm sure you're at least halfway decent at putting up a front."
Wille was caught somewhere between a laugh and a self-deprecating cringe. For a guy who detested capitalism, Simon sure had some ideas of what people in finance were like. And to be fair, he wasn't wrong, but just because that's the world Wille had to navigate his life in, that didn't mean he liked it. That sort of thing just didn't come to him naturally.
This time Simon did notice his struggle. "Look, just think about it, okay? I can email you the Excel file, you can look it over... just don't dismiss the idea outright," he requested evenly.
Wille wasn't sure if he should even be entertaining this crazy plan. "I don't know..."
Before he could throw out his next weak objection, though, he was interrupted by August walking out of his office. "Hey, are you ready? I want to get there early," he said, to which Wilhelm immediately nodded, standing up to put his suit jacket on. Seemingly only noticing Simon's presence just then, August then asked, "Who's this?"
Wilhelm cleared his throat. "Uh, that's— Simon. He's a friend."
Simon moved as if to extend a hand to August in greeting, but August only gave him a (blatantly fake) smile and a nod. "Nice to meet you," he said, before turning back to Wille, impatient. "Come on, man."
"Yeah." Wille glanced at Simon. "Um, I'll... get back to you later, okay?" Simon replied in the affirmative, but he was visibly uncomfortable. Wille wished he could say something to diffuse the awkwardness, but August was already walking with long, determined strides toward the exit. All he could do was look at Simon over his shoulder and hope he wasn't too disappointed.
"That guy," August commented as they got in the elevator, "he's not in finance, is he?"
It was probably pretty obvious from Simon's much more casual attire (not that there was anything wrong with that— it's not like Simon looked bad or anything; he would probably still look great in a burlap sack— he just wasn't wearing a suit, like most guys in finance did— though he would probably look amazing in a suit, too—), but Wilhelm still shook his head. "He works for a nonprofit here in the building."
"Hmm," August said. There was no inflection to the sound, but August seemed to have the same uncanny ability as Wilhelm's mother to take a neutral gesture and make it sound disdainful without any effort. "You might want to rethink who you hang out with."
Wilhelm frowned. He knew August was snobbish, but he hadn't imagined he'd be so overt about it. "What do you mean?"
August shrugged. "Well, being friends with him is not going to help you get ahead in your career, right? Don't waste your time on random people when you could be networking in the right circles."
"Right." Wilhelm tried to keep his expression, but inside he was revolted. That's how August viewed friendship, wasn't it? The only people worth associating with were those he could get something from. There was no mutual respect, no joy, no empathy. Everything was just one big transaction for him.
Wille couldn't be like that. And he wasn't going to stop speaking to Simon. That was for sure.
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Two hours later, Wille sat by himself at a small round table in a large, empty banquet hall. Well, the place wasn't fully empty: servers and organizers were milling about in the background, preparing for everybody's arrival. But as far as guests went, Wille was the only one around, trying not to make eye contact with anyone.
Thankfully, he had his phone to distract him. He'd texted Simon as soon as he got a chance, apologizing for the uncomfortable moment with August, which Simon promptly dismissed as not Wille's fault. Once that was out of the way, they went back to lighter topics, joking around and exchanging dumb memes to pass the time.
He was smiling down at a photoset Simon had sent of a puppy and a piglet cuddling, when he heard someone come up beside him. "Well, that's a soppy smile if I've ever seen one."
Wille looked up to see Madison pulling out the chair beside his. "Hey! You made it." He was the one who had told her about this luncheon. It was ostensibly for people in finance, but it was also open to entrepreneurs who were looking for investors, and since Maddie had her own business, he thought he might as well pass on the tip.
"I did," his friend replied, sitting down. She poked at his arm with clear interest. "Who are you textin'?" she asked in a sing-songy voice.
Wille just knew he had to be blushing. "Just a friend from work," he tried to deflect, turning his screen off. Maddie gave him an incredulous look, and Wille could almost hear the "Since when do you have friends at work?" even though she never said it out loud. "Not at the office, just... someone who works in the building. We met a couple of days ago and have been hanging out."
Maddie grinned and poked him in the arm again. "You like them, don't you?"
By this point, Wille was certain his face was as red as a tomato. "He's... pretty cool, yeah," he admitted. Maddie squealed. Wille shook his head and added, "But it's not like that."
"Yet!" Maddie corrected eagerly. Wille was so abashed that he was so absolutely transparent, he covered his flaming face with his hands. Maddie bumped his shoulder with hers. "It's okay to like someone, you know?"
Wille tried to relax, knowing that Maddie wasn't going to judge him. Well, not about this, at least. "It has to be said, however: I know sitting here chatting with your crush—" Wille groaned at the word— "seems like the most important thing in the world right now, but you are paying for this luncheon. You know that, right?" She nudged him again. "Why aren't you out there mingling with your colleagues?"
"Oh," Wille said, probably sounding like such a possibility hadn't even occurred to him, though it had. "Uh, August asked me to save him a seat. He wants to have the best view of Mark Cuban when he speaks." He signaled to the small, elevated "stage" right in front of their table, where a standing microphone had been placed earlier, presumably for the man himself to use.
Maddie frowned, all her mirth fizzling out. "August made you sit here on your own while he's out there networking?" Wille nodded. Maddie scoffed. "That is such bullshit!" Wille didn't disagree, but what else could he do? He was just an assistant.
Madison was plenty angry for both of them, though. "You realize what he's doing, don't you? He's not preparing you for a promotion; he's holding you back." She shook her head, ruffled. "I mean, he's, what— two years older than you? Two and a half? And you've been working at the firm for three years. You should be at least halfway to where he is by now. But you aren't, because he's been dangling that carrot on a stick in front of you this entire time, but never letting you grab the carrot."
Wille wasn't sure what to think of her making a cartoon analogy out of his life, but he did get her point. She leaned back in her chair with a huff. "You shouldn't be the one saving his seat, Wille. If anything, you should have someone saving your seat."
He winced; although he agreed with that on principle, he was uncomfortable with the optics. He didn't want to be like August. And even if he did, there was more to it than just his cousin being an asshole. "It's not that easy, Mads..."
Before Maddie could insist, however, the rest of the luncheon guests started entering the room en masse. August made his way to their table. "Hey. This my seat?" At Wilhelm's affirmative, he pulled out the seat on Wilhelm's other side. "Madison," he greeted her before he sat down, but his tone was clearly not pleased. August didn't particularly like Madison, but she was Felice's best friend and roommate, so it wouldn't pay to get on her bad side.
Of course, his best intentions of civility were moot, anyway, since Maddie already didn't like him. "August," she greeted back. Her tone was perfectly diplomatic, but she was giving him the stink eye at the same time. Wilhelm was half afraid they might reenact the "jungle fight in the school cafeteria" scene from Mean Girls any minute now.
They remained cordial for the moment, though. Well, except for the moment when August complained about his seat— "Did you have to put us right at the front? I'm gonna get a crick in my neck having to look up the whole time Mark Cuban is speaking"— which prompted another glare, a darker one, from Madison.
Wilhelm tried to stay out of it, even though he was literally sitting between the two of them. He should've probably paid more attention to what Mark Cuban was saying, really, but his mind just kept going back to Maddie's words. As uncomfortable as it was, she'd given him a lot to think about.
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Simon was washing the Tupperware container he'd brought his lunch in (chicken empanadas from a care package his mother had sent them from Bjärstad) when he heard someone come up behind him. "Hey." Simon looked behind him at the sound, only to find Wille standing there, suit jacket open, hands in his pockets. Right there. In Simon's office.
"Oh, hey," Simon said, putting the container down and turning off the tap. He was about to ask Wille what he was doing at HSF, when the man took a quick breath, preparing to speak.
"August likes tweed blazers, too," was what he said. It came as a non-sequitur, and for a second Simon was confused as to why that would be so important that Wille came downstairs just to tell him. But then it clicked, and a smile started tugging at his lips.
"While they're busy preening, we're free, right?" Wille added, bouncing a little on the balls of his feet. "If we can make it seem like it's their idea, then I'm in."
Simon was full-on grinning now. "Good." Wille smiled back. "I was about to go get coffee for the team," Simon added, eager to start on their new project as soon as possible. "You wanna come with?"
Wille frowned, his turn now to look confused. "I have a coffee machine at my desk," he reminded Simon, pointing above his head in the general direction his office would be. "You know that. You saw it just last night."
He seemed so befuddled. It was adorable. Simon couldn't help but laugh. "You're too cute," he muttered under his breath between giggles. He said it mostly to himself, but clearly Wille heard it as well, because he chuckled sheepishly, his ears going red.
"I guess, uh," he started, a little shyly, "some variety wouldn't hurt." He smiled again, with a quick shrug. Simon smiled back.
They went down to a small café nearby where Simon usually went to pick up coffee because there was never a long line, which meant no one yelled at him when he took his time ordering half the menu. Wille very gallantly offered to carry half of Simon's way-too-many caffeinated beverages, so they walked out of the café holding one four-cup carton drink holder each, Wille's complete with a sugar-free fruit salad for August, and in his other hand, a paper bag with a couple of donuts inside.
"So, where should we have them meet?" Simon asked as they made their way back to their office building. It was time to start planning in earnest.
"August holds most of his business meetings at Sällskapet," Wille replied after thinking a bit. "Is Englund a member, by any chance?" Simon gave him a stony expression, one eyebrow raised high, and he seemed to get right away how silly that question was. "Sorry," he said with a wince. "I keep forgetting your boss isn't..."
"...Disgustingly rich?" Simon finished the sentence for him. He shook his head. "It's a terrible affliction, I'm afraid."
"I didn't mean it like that," Wille responds with an amused smile.
Simon waved it off, his point made already. "They should just meet at our building," he suggested easily. "They're both going to be there at the same time at some point. The logistics are easier." He thought about it for a couple of seconds. "We should make it like a meet-cute."
Now Wille was the one giving him a skeptical look. "This is a business deal, not a rom-com."
"Right, but the principle is the same," Simon explained in what his sister would call his "lecturing" tone. It always annoyed her, but Simon couldn't help himself. He hoped it wouldn't bother Wille. "Their first meeting has to make them memorable to each other, otherwise there won't be a second meeting to lead to a relationship. A business relationship, of course, but a relationship nonetheless."
Wille took a moment to process that. It must've made enough sense that he didn't raise any objections. "Okay, I kinda get what you're going for." He pursed his lips, contemplative. "So what do we do, get them stuck in an elevator or something?"
Simon scoffed, amused by the random suggestion. "Do you know how to remotely stop an elevator?"
Wille shrugged. "Not personally, no. But I could always ask Henry."
Simon didn't get it. Was that code for something? Was it some obscure search engine where people could learn technology hacks or something? 'Cause they could just as easily Google "how to stop an elevator remotely," but he didn't think that would be very useful, anyway. "Who's Henry?"
"Oh," Wille said when he realized Simon had no idea what he was talking about. "Henry. He went to school with me. His family owns the building we work in."
Simon stared at him in disbelief. He'd been joking about the boarding school thing on the day they met, for fuck's sake! "You know the owner of the whole building?"
"I mean, technically his father is the owner," Wille explained further. "But Henry handles all the on-site stuff for him, pretty much. He has an office on the top floor. We can just stop by if you want."
"Well, I'll be damned," Simon commented, caught off-guard by this as they made it to the main entrance to the building. Maybe this whole "having rich boy contacts" thing would pan out after all.
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Convincing this Henry guy to let them mess with the elevators in his building was... considerably easier than Simon had thought it would be.
"Sure," the strawberry-blond man said when Wille asked his question. Simon wondered if he'd even heard the question at all. He was leaning back in his (very expensive) office chair, feet up on his desk, hands behind his head.
Wille nodded as if satisfied with that. Simon frowned. "You're not going to ask us why we want to do this?"
The man gave him an unconcerned shrug in response. "Kinda sounds like a prank," he rationalized. "And if that's what it is, then I'm in. Nothing fun ever happens in this fucking building. Go with my blessing."
Simon still didn't get this blasé approach to building management, but whatever. He was just about to turn to Wille to ask if they were good to go when Henry pulled his feet off the desk— they made a thud as they hit the polished floor— and sat up straight.
"I do have one condition, though," he added casually, like whatever he was about to ask was no big deal. Then he leaned his elbows on the desk, leaning forward, chin resting on his joined hands. "You can do this, no questions asked... if you get me a date with Stella."
Wille frowned. "Stella? From school?" He thought about it for a moment but then shook his head. "I haven't seen her in ages. Is she even still working here?"
"As far as I know!" Henry replied, bewildered. "What are the odds that neither of us has seen her even in passing? I'm this close to just looking her up on the security cameras— but maybe I'll leave that as a last resort. Don't wanna come across as desperate."
"...Or like a crazy stalker?" Wille tacked on, appropriately reminding his oblivious former classmate that more than it just being a bad look, what he'd just suggested was also most likely illegal.
"Wait— Stella?" The name finally clicked in Simon's mind. "Blonde, blue eyes, rich parents, really into feminist theory?"
"That sounds like her," Wille conceded.
"Can't imagine there's more than one Stella who fits that mold," Henry agreed.
"She works with me," Simon disclosed. "I can talk to her." He wasn't about to play matchmaker here, but surely mentioning Henry in front of Stella some day at work couldn't hurt. "I won't guarantee a date— I don't even know you, dude," he added, throwing Henry a distrustful look. "But I can talk you up a bit."
"Deal," Henry said, extending a hand for Simon to shake. Simon side-eyed it a bit before finally reciprocating the gesture, and they shook on it, Henry's grip firmer than Simon had expected from someone so nonchalant.
The redhead grinned at him. "And hey, even if it turns out she's not our Stella, give her my number anyway. She sounds hot." He pushed himself to his feet and signaled for both of them to follow him toward the offices in the back. "Walter's our systems manager, so he's the one who can do this for you. Come on, I'll introduce you."
"Walter's here now?" Wille asked as they made their way down the hallway. Clearly, he didn't need an introduction. "Last I heard he was still working with your father."
"Yeah, I stole him from Dad when the previous systems manager retired," Henry explained.
Simon tried to follow the conversation like one would follow a mildly interesting table tennis match. "Does everyone from your boarding school work in this building?" he asked, starting to get a little exasperated.
Wille grinned at him, amused. "Not everyone."
"Only the cool people!" Henry added without even turning his head back to look at them.
Simon had to bite back a groan as Henry led them into this Walter person's office. He was glad their plan was more-or-less up and running now, but he was also starting to feel a little outnumbered with all these rich boys suddenly converging into his life.
Hanging out with just Wille was one thing; he seemed pretty down-to-earth when it was just the two of them. But Simon knew from experience back when he was still living at home how these boarding school snobs seemed to egg each other on and bring out the worst in each other. He hoped that wouldn't happen with Wille.
They'd only known each other for three days at this point, but somehow Simon knew that would really hurt.
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It took a few days for the schedules to match, so when they finally did, they had to jump on it right away. Simon had one of the security guards at the lobby tip him off, and as soon as he got a text telling him Englund had walked into the building, he ran into Walter's office. "Englund just got in," he told the other three men, whose gazes were fixed on the computer on Walter's desk.
"August is about to get on the elevator just now," Wille informed him, pointing at the screen. Simon moved until he was standing beside him, behind Walter who was sitting on his desk chair. The screen was split into quadrants, each of them showing the feed from a different security camera. Englund was waiting for the elevator on the ground floor, while August had just gotten in, down at one of the parking garages.
"Can you make it so they get on the same one?" Simon asked Walter.
"Easy peasy," the brunette said, tapping a few keys on his keyboard. Simon had taken to calling him "the brunette" in his head because as far as he was concerned, Henry and Walter were basically the same person. Or interchangeable, really. So he grasped onto their most obvious distinguishing feature, their hair color, to be able to tell them apart.
On the screen, they saw Englund get on the elevator car. August was already there; he was staring down at his phone. "He's not even going to look up?" Wille muttered under his breath. He shook his head. "Young people these days."
Simon snorted. "As opposed to you, grandpa?"
Wille rolled his eyes but grinned. Henry, standing on Wille's opposite side, leaned forward a little so he could look them both in the face. "Save the flirting for later," he warned. "We're on a mission here."
Wille flushed. Simon didn't, but he did feel a little splash of embarrassment: if Henry of all people had seen something like that in their interaction after only seeing them together a couple of times, then Simon was being way too obvious about his attraction to this man. He narrowed his eyes at Henry. "Yeah. You mean our mission?"
Henry shrugged. "Let me get my fun where I can, dude," he whined like a twelve-year-old. Simon couldn't comprehend how this man was the manager of a whole-ass office building, while Simon himself was still stuck walking Englund's pet rabbit twice a week. And that bunny was vicious, too.
"Oh no," Walter said, drawing everyone's attention back to the video feed. "No, who is that?" He pointed at the screen where a woman was just getting in the same elevator car August and Englund were in. From what Simon could see now that Walter had enlarged the video from that camera to take up the entire screen, the woman seemed distraught.
"Should we abort?" Wille asked, thumb up to his mouth as he bit at his nail bed nervously.
"Is she getting off before they do?" Simon asked. Walter, looking at the elevator controls, shook his head no. Simon let out a curse. "Who knows when Englund and August's schedules will match up again. This might be our only chance to do this in weeks! We need to get her out of that elevator car. Now."
"Sounds kinda harsh, but okay," Walter mumbled. He pressed the return key on his keyboard, and suddenly all three people in the video feed started looking around like something odd had just happened.
After a beat, Wille leaned down to speak directly to Walter. "Uh, he didn't mean between floors," he clarified. Simon facepalmed.
On the screen, the occupants of the car were starting to realize they were stuck. "Oh no," the woman said with a pained groan. She sounded really upset. "Oh, come on. This is the last thing I needed today."
"It'll be fine," August said, pocketing his phone for once. "Sometimes these systems just hiccup. It'll start moving again soon. Just give it a minute."
"Depends on the system, really," Englund intervened, looking up at the floor-numbering display like it could somehow give him a hint as to the sturdiness of the elevator's programming. "Sometimes the setup is just old, or hasn't been given proper maintenance."
August scoffed derisively. "This building isn't that old, and for the amount we pay in rent, I'm pretty sure it's very well maintained," he said with so much certainty in his tone that one would think he owned the damn building.
"Thank you," Henry and Walter said at the exact same time because, again, they were the same person.
Simon let out a huff. "Just get the thing going again, will you?" he told Walter. The brunette promptly typed in a command that made the elevator car resume its upward movement. The occupants of the car seemed to relax.
"Oh, thank goodness," the woman said, relieved. "I thought this would be one more punishment from God to top off a terrible day." With an awkward, uncomfortable chuckle, she looked at the men over her shoulder. "And it's only nine-thirty in the morning, so that's saying a lot."
August scowled. "I highly doubt God is up there waiting for the exact moment you got on this elevator car so he could get you stuck in here just to mess with you," he shot back. He clearly didn't think much of the woman's anxious attempt at rationalization.
"Does that make me God?" Walter mused out loud. Simon fought the urge to facepalm again.
On the screen, Englund was letting out a long-suffering sigh. "Just let her believe whatever she wants to believe. The car is moving again, and that's all that matters. We'll be out of here in a few seconds."
Like he'd tempted fate with that affirmation, once more something happened that made the occupants of the car start looking around. "What's going on?" Wille asked. He looked down at Walter. "Did you stop it again?"
"It wasn't me this time." Walter frantically started typing commands into the system. He seemed bothered by the output he was getting from it. "I think this might be a legit malfunction."
"Wait— our elevators are actually malfunctioning?!" Henry asked, alarmed. He slapped Walter on the back of the head, prompting a loud complaint from the brunette. "What the hell are you waiting for? Fix it!"
"I don't know how to do that!" Walter countered, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand.
"Well, then what the fuck do I pay you for?!"
"Come off it— it's not like you hired me for my expertise!"
"Nepotism at work, everyone!" Simon mumbled to himself in a fake cheery tone as he pinched the bridge of his nose between his index finger and thumb. He could feel a nasty headache coming his way.
In the elevator car, the freakout was back in full force. "Oh, Lord," the woman said shakily. "Oh, Jesus. We're going to die."
"No one's going to die," Englund intervened, now sounding annoyed. He moved past the woman toward the buttons on the control panel and pressed the "Emergency" button. "There. Soon they'll take our call and they'll send someone to get us out of here."
"That call goes straight to the elevator company," August complained. He pulled his phone out again. "I'll just call 112. They can get someone out here a lot faster."
"Yes, in case of a medical emergency or a fire," Englund corrected, giving August that teacher-like stare Simon detested. "Since we're not in immediate danger, they'll put us in the back of the line. And are you even getting any signal in here?"
August looked down at his phone and frowned, but otherwise did not dignify that question with an answer. "Well, I don't see your solution working, either." He signaled toward the elevator buttons with a nod of his head. The "Emergency" button was lit up, but no sound had yet made its way out of the speaker right beside it.
"If the plan was to get these two to get along, I don't think it's working," Henry commented, quite unnecessarily, at Simon and Wille, who were both gawking at the computer screen in various degrees of growing despair.
The woman, for her part, had just continued her desperate babble like no one had spoken at all. "Why is this happening to me?" she cried out miserably, her breath coming out in harsh pants.
"She's having a panic attack," Wille noted in dismay. His hands were clutching at the back of Walter's chair in a death grip. "Christ. Is there really nothing we can do?" Walter shrugged hopelessly. Other than waiting for the emergency team, which had already been called, there wasn't much they could do.
Simon could see what the woman was going through, too, but even then she didn't stop speaking. "First I get fired, then when I come here to tell my boyfriend, I find him flirting with one of his coworkers, then I got on the wrong elevator, and now this! We're going to be stuck here until we run out of oxygen and die—"
"The air conditioning in here is still working perfectly well," Englund started, once again trying to rebut the exaggerated claims from both his fellow occupants, but he was cut off by August snapping at the woman.
"We're not going to die!" He shook his head, exasperated. The woman's expression crumbled and she covered her face with her hands, muffled sobs reverberating within the contained space.
August paled. Simon thought it would've been funny if the whole thing wasn't as much of a catastrophe. "Jesus fuck. Is she crying?!" he nearly screamed, his voice breaking a little from the intensity.
"She's probably claustrophobic," Englund all but barked. The situation was clearly testing the limits of his patience, and he had precious little of that, to begin with. "And you yelling at her is definitely not helping."
"Well then, Dr. Freud, how do we get her to stop?!" August threw back desperately.
Englund scoffed. "How am I supposed to know? I'm not a psychologist." He actually backed away from the woman, trying to put as much distance between them as he could within the car's four walls.
August gaped at him like he couldn't believe what he was hearing. But then he shook himself out of it and took a deep breath. "Okay. It's fine. I actually have a lot of experience being a shoulder to cry on for insecure women," he declared.
Clearing his throat, he took a step closer to the woman and carefully put a hand on her shoulder. "Ma'am," he said, gentler than Simon would've thought he was capable of. "Please, try to calm down—"
The woman didn't stop crying; instead, she turned around and launched herself at August, clinging to him desperately. August's arms flailed at his sides like he wasn't sure what to do with them. After a beat, he brought them gently to the woman's back, patting her awkwardly with one hand.
"We're safe. Everything will be okay," he tried to console her. Simon might've bought it if he didn't also look like he was barely holding his internal freakout on the inside. The crying only became louder. August gave Englund a desperate look, which the other man just shook his head at in response.
After a minute or so, the woman's sobs finally started subsiding, and she pulled back. "I'm sorry," she mumbled, running her hand over the lapels of August's jacket as if straightening out imaginary wrinkles. "I've blubbered all over your suit."
She sounded genuinely apologetic, but then she rubbed her sniffly nose with the back of her hand and then wiped it on August's jacket. That's when the man's fake composure totally broke. "Are you kidding me?! This is Versace!" he exclaimed.
Simon snorted. He couldn't help himself. The situation was not funny, but these rich boys and their fancy outfits were. Wille turned to look at him with wide eyes. "Seriously?" he asked.
"Sorry," Simon said, but he was still chuckling a little.
On the screen, the woman continued speaking like she hadn't heard a peep out of August. "I've heard that if everyone inside the elevator car jumps at the same time, the system will think the car is empty, and that will get it moving again." She sounded more like she was talking to herself for a moment, but then she looked up at the two men. "Maybe we could try that?"
"That's a myth," Englund said, tired, as he rubbed at his eyes under his glasses.
"Well, there should be an escape hatch above us, right?" the woman tried again. She sounded more desperate with every word that came out of her mouth. "We can climb up there somehow—" Her gaze snapped to August. "We could use your tie!"
Now August was the one taking an abrupt step back. "Don't touch my tie!" he warned seriously.
Englund tried again. "The hatch is probably locked from the outside," he pointed out tensely, "and that is because it is actually safer to stay inside the car in these situations, rather than try to get out—"
The woman wasn't listening. "I need your tie!" She made a grab for August's neck and, given the limited space inside the elevator car, he didn't really have anywhere to dodge. The two began a desperate tug-of-war.
Simon's eyes were now as wide as Wille's had been a moment ago. "Oh no," he said, stunned, as Englund moved to try and pry the woman off of August. "Oh no. Someone needs to call 112 for real."
Henry rushed to pick up the VoIP phone that was in front of him on Walter's desk. He put the phone to his ear, dialed the three digits, and waited. A couple of seconds later, he pulled the phone away from his ear again and glared at it. "How the fuck do I make external calls on this thing?!" he asked Walter.
"I don't know!" Walter replied defensively. "I've only been working here for like a month! I don't even know why we even still have these things when we can just make calls on our cell phones!"
"So why is no one using their cell phone, then?" Wille pressed, pulling his phone out of his pocket to do it himself. He'd only gotten through the first two numbers, however, when the struggle on the screen suddenly halted: the elevator car had started moving again.
It only took a couple of seconds for it to reach the nearest floor, which was the one where the HSF offices were. The doors opened and the trio inside the car stood there frozen. They must've made quite the sight: the woman's hair disheveled and falling out of her previously tight bun, August's tie loose and the first few buttons of his dress shirt all undone, and Englund's glasses askew and nearly falling off his face. The camera couldn't pick up who or what they were all staring at, though, and Walter was too stunned to switch the feed.
After a beat, Englund let go of the woman and rushed out. A blink later, August was disentangling himself from her grip and exiting the car as well, probably headed toward the stairs. The woman turned to whoever was on the other side of the elevator doors, rivulets of tears and mascara trailing down her cheeks. "Um, you wouldn't happen to have some tissues, would you?" she asked with a sniffle.
Simon recognized the voice that came through the speakers as Miss Åhdal's. "Oh, you poor thing. Come; let's get you cleaned up." He could only see Miss Åhdal's hands as she extended them toward the woman to help her out of the elevator. Then the doors closed, and there was just an empty car.
The four in Walter's office all collapsed in relief to various degrees. Walter slumped back in his chair while Wille bent forward against the backrest. Simon leaned back against the edge of the desk. Henry ran his hands through his hair, breathing out in a huff.
"I'm gonna have to get that poor woman a fruit basket," Wille mumbled, though the others could hear it clearly. He looked shaken by everything that had happened. All of them were, really.
"Well, that was a disaster," Simon summed up, frustrated. He pointed at Henry. "I am absolutely not getting you a date with Stella after all of that."
Walter frowned. "Wait, you were going to get him a date with Stella if this worked?" He scoffed. "No fair! What am I getting out of this?"
"Your paycheck," Henry countered with a glare. "Which you should be thankful you still have even though you're bloody useless." Walter's frown didn't abate, but he stayed quiet. Simon rolled his eyes; it's not like the guy even needed that paycheck, anyway. Stupid rich boys.
"Okay, this was admittedly pretty bad," Wille said, pushing away from Walter's chair and standing at his full height again, "but I don't think it's a complete disaster. We can still fix things."
"What are you talking about?" Simon threw back. He'd be hard-pressed to find a silver lining after that spectacle of an elevator ride. "Didn't you see that whole mess? I'm pretty sure they hate each other."
"I mean, yes," Wille conceded. He crossed his arms. "But you said their first meeting had to be memorable, right?" He signaled at the video feed, where new people were now getting in and out of the elevator. "I think that was pretty memorable. Don't you?"
Simon wasn't convinced. Wille tried again. "Look, I have to get back to the office. August is probably destroying half the place in a fit of rage right now." Simon frowned; he wasn't sure if that was a joke. "But what we need to do is smooth things over a bit, okay? Make it like they only reacted that way because it was a stressful situation, and maybe they can look back on it later and find it funny. Think that's doable?"
Simon still wasn't sure, but if Wille seemed to believe that everything was not lost, then maybe there was still a shot. He sighed, relenting. "Fine. I'll try."
"Great!" Wille grinned at him, and Simon cursed himself for being such a sucker for this man. "I'll text you later to let you know how it goes, yeah?" Simon nodded. Wille patted Henry and Walter on the shoulder. "Thanks, guys. I'll see you around." He walked out of the office in a hurry.
Simon pushed away from the desk, putting his hands inside his pockets. "Well. Bye, then," he told Henry and Walter, cutting out the pleasantries he didn't care to have with these two dudes. He followed Wille's path on the way out.
"Hey, could you at least give Stella my phone number?" he heard Henry call out as he crossed the doorway.
"Nope!" he replied without even looking back.
.
.
.
"The flyers for the street art exhibition are at the printer's," Simon informed Mr. Englund as he handed over a mockup of the final version of said flyer. "The receipt should be in your inbox. I've also forwarded the list of speakers for the opening ceremony. I've already made preliminary arrangements with them, but if you'd like to contact them as well as a courtesy, we can do that as well."
Englund nodded as he took the folded paper from Simon's grasp. "Perhaps next week."
Simon made a note of that in his planner. "Right. I'll get back to formatting that budget from Tuesday." He turned to go back to his cubicle but then abruptly stopped— he hoped it came across as unrehearsed— and turned back to Englund as if he'd just remembered something. "Oh, by the way, one of the people you were stuck with in the elevator this morning asked security about you."
Looking up from the flyer, Englund frowned. "Was it the hysterical woman?" he asked warily.
"Oh, uh, no. Some bigwig finance guy?" Simon clarified. "I think he works at one of the venture capital firms upstairs. Apparently, he was really impressed with how calmly you dealt with the entire situation."
Englund frowned, but in a way that made Simon think he was intrigued. He cheered internally at the prospect of getting his boss hooked even after the debacle of that morning. "Anyway, I let them know we're not supposed to disclose the personal information of any of HSF's employees," he added. If this were a rom-com, this would be the "playing hard to get" phase. Eat your heart out, Kate Hudson.
From his cubicle, he could still see Englund at his desk through the glass door. He seemed pensive. Simon smiled to himself and went back to his work, just waiting for Wille's text.
.
.
.
Wilhelm trailed behind August on his way back to their office after a meeting of Krona associates. Normally he could keep up with his cousin just fine, but August was fired up today, and not in a good way. As if the incident in the elevator wasn't bad enough, now August had been one of only two associates whose investments were underperforming in the last month. On top of that, the company's PR problems persisted, and August had yet to do anything about that, too. If there was one thing August detested more than not performing well, it was not performing well in front of Wille's mother.
It was going to be tricky to rope August into his and Simon's scheme now since he was in such a bad mood, but Wilhelm knew if he left it for another day, it would be too late to smooth out his feelings on the elevator episode. He just had to be very careful.
"Hey," he said as they approached his desk just outside of August's office, "I heard one of the people you got stuck with in the elevator this morning works at HSF?"
August gave him a miffed look. "I have no idea. What the hell is HSF?"
"Ah, it's a foundation that raises money to help LGBTQ+ people in need," Wilhelm explained, paraphrasing Simon's succinct description from a few days ago. "They're a couple of floors below us, I think."
"...I don't care." August made to open the door to his office.
"Wait, it's just..." His cousin paused halfway through turning the door handle, looking at Wilhelm over his shoulder with a poorly disguised roll of his eyes. "I was thinking of switching up my annual charity donation this year," Wilhelm added, hoping the convoluted idea he'd come up with while he tuned his mother's voice out like the teacher from Peanuts during their earlier meeting wasn't too out there for August.
"And I figured," he continued carefully, "that if you already have a contact there, maybe I could parlay my donation into a volunteering certificate or something. You know, on the down-low."
"I was stuck with the guy for a few minutes. It's not like we're BFFs," August returned dismissively.
"Right. I know." Wilhelm sat down in his chair. He grabbed his mouse and clicked on the first application he clapped eyes on— the video player. It's not like August could see his screen, anyway. "I just thought, since you're always saying I should associate with people who will further my career..."
He twisted his chair around until he was facing his keyboard, and pretended (very badly) to type. "...I don't know. Might look good on my CV, I guess," he finished the thought with a shrug.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw August narrow his eyes at him. "Are you thinking of looking for employment elsewhere or something?"
"No! No," Wilhelm hurried to say, turning toward him so fast that he thought he might get whiplash. He didn't want his cousin to fire him because he thought he didn't want to be there. Or something worse. Who knew with the mood August was in. "It's just— all that stuff is up on our website, anyway. Figured it would make me look good. You know. For me."
August looked for a second like he was going to tell him off, but then his expression turned contemplative. "Yeah, it would look good," he murmured in wonder like something significant was just dawning on him. Wilhelm wasn't sure if he was speaking to him or to himself; it sounded more like the latter.
Got you, he thought triumphantly. Maybe he wasn't such a terrible actor, after all.
August didn't say anything else; he just went into his office and closed the door behind him. Wilhelm's posture relaxed in relief. He really hoped this was enough to plant the seed in August's mind because otherwise, he was out of ideas.
Shaking his head, he pulled out his phone to text Simon.
.
.
Author's notes!—
Slightly shorter chapter this time, but that's just how things shook out. I don't write a lot of comedy but I had a lot of fun writing that elevator scene, so I hope it comes across as funny! (The show does not give Henry and Walter the respect they deserve for their comedic genius.)
Excel is a spreadsheet application that is part of the Microsoft Office suite. Sirloin with smoked eel is a real meal at Frantzén, although I think they switch up their menu often. Mark Cuban is a US billionaire entrepreneur and media personality; he's the owner of the Dallas Mavericks and one of the main investors on the ABC reality show Shark Tank. The Wizard of Oz is one of the main characters of the book of the same title by L. Frank Baum; in the 1939 film (the most famous adaptation of the book by far), he was played by Frank Morgan. Peanuts is a long-running comic strip by Charles M. Schulz which has been adapted into animated TV specials and films.
Tupperware is a US brand of food storage containers; people often use the term as a generic name for these kinds of products, regardless of brand. Sällskapet is an exclusive gentlemen's club in Stockholm that has been around for over 200 years now. Membership is by application only; the current King of Sweden is a member, and Prince Carl Philip is an honorary member. 112 is the emergency phone number in Sweden and several other European countries. "Dr. Freud" is, of course, Dr. Sigmund Freud, an Austrian neurologist who was the founder of psychoanalysis and whose theories are still widely influential even though many of them have been debunked. Versace is another high-end Italian fashion label.
The cafeteria jungle is a scene from the 2004 teen comedy Mean Girls. The "walking the pet rabbit" joke was inspired by Derry Girls. The bit about jumping so that the elevator door will open is from the 1998 movie You've Got Mail. Kate Hudson is a US actress who was a darling of Hollywood rom-coms in the early 2000s, most famously in How To Lose A Guy in 10 Days. (When I tell you I'm bringing the rom-com, I am bringing the rom-com, y'all.)
Claustrophobia is the fear of confined spaces. It's a serious affliction, so if you ever come across someone who suffers from it and they are having a panic attack, even if you don't exactly know what to do, at least try to have some empathy. Don't be like these numbskulls here; they all suck (except Miss Åhdal).
Next up: Football is a sport. Yes, even when it's played by girls.
I probably won't be finished with the next chapter before season two comes out, but I actually think the events in S2 might help me with some issues I wasn't quite sure of in this fic, so it all works out alright! While you wait or the next one, though, I did upload my reaction to the S2 trailer to my vlog just today. Be sure to check it out if you're into that (be warned, however: it's nearly an hour long). I will also be uploading episode reactions for season two, but that probably won't be until the second half of November. But stay tuned!
If you can't wait that long and want to see in real time how I'm handling the release of S2 (or more accurately how I'm not handling it, as I am 98.3% sure this season is going to be the end of me), I'm at Twitter (girls_are_weird, but I'm back to teetering on the edge of leaving atm) or Tumblr (girls-are-weird), and also now on Mastodon (girls_are_weird). See you next time!