Love You So Sweetly

by Tara Lain

  “Oh, right. The whole self-made billionaire myth. The Hoag grandfather didn’t exactly leave Sylvan hanging in the wind when he started Hoag investments.”

  “Yes, but since Julius Hoag was an industrialist and Sylvan’s an investment banker, people forget how much money he gave his grandson to jump-start his business.”

  “And how many times he had to siphon in more money to keep Sylvan afloat.”

  “Yes. Anyway, as you say, it’s always interesting to hear his ideas.”

  She paused, and the quiet inside the big car folded around Remy. He could easily close his eyes and drift.

  “Any good news?”

  His heart slammed against his ribs, but he tried not to look stressed. “Nothing concrete.”

  “I know you think that online grocery shopping is inevitable, Remy, but the facts are dismaying. Not even Jeff’s been able to really make it a going thing.”

  Remy shook his head and smoothed his frown at her casual reference to the richest man in America. “We’re better set up to make a huge success of it.”

  “I understand the principle, darlin’, but so far the results defy your confidence.”

  “The algorithms—”

  She held up a hand. “Buyin’ food’s not about algorithms, darlin’. It’s about pinching the peaches to be sure they’re ripe and trustin’ the butcher to get you the cut of beef you prefer.”

  They went round and round with this argument. She said she believed in his vision for the future of food shopping, but she challenged him at every step—no, make that inch—of the way. Of course she hadn’t gotten to be the queen of big-box retail by being easygoing.

  The limo pulled into a line of cars that crawled up to the front of the yacht club where the Economic Development Association had their meetings.

  As they drew closer, Mama said, “Isn’t that Felicity?” She pointed out the tinted window toward a slim figure with dark hair pulled back in a tail, wearing a maroon floor-length skirt and a severe white blouse.

  Remy glanced. They could only see her from the back, but it looked like Felicity.

  His mama said, “Interesting who she’s talking to—speak of the devil and he answers.”

  Sylvan Hoag’s iconic white head of hair was bent toward Felicity in what appeared to be a serious exchange. Remy frowned but said, “They’re both in investments, I guess.”

  As they watched, Sylvan nodded, glanced around, and walked into the club. Felicity stared after him.

  The limo stopped, and moments later Federico opened the door.

  Remy helped his mama out, and she was instantly mobbed by friends and admirers. Before Remy could get caught up with them, he walked across the pavement to Felicity, who stared into space.

  “Hi.” He kissed her cheek, and she jumped a foot.

  “Oh, sorry. I guess I was a million miles away.”

  “Something Sylvan Hoag said?”

  She blinked a couple of times. “What? Oh no, not really. He has a new fund he wants me to consider.”

  Remy grinned. “Wow, getting stock tips from the big guns. Isn’t that like having Warren Buffett manage your 401K?”

  “Oh yeah, I guess. Are you ready to go in? Where’s your mother?”

  He cocked his head over his shoulder. “Meeting her adoring public.”

  “Can we go inside?” She looked superstressed.

  “Sure. Are you okay?”

  She smiled tightly. “Busy day.”

  “I’ll tell Mama we’re going to find our table.” He walked over to where a group of people clustered around his mother and touched her shoulder. “We’re going inside. Come find us when you’re ready.”

  “Be right there.” She kissed the air.

  When he got back to Felicity, she was staring into the front doors of the club, a crease between her eyebrows. He took her arm, and he swore she jumped again. He wrapped an arm around her waist. “Hey, seriously, is there something wrong we should talk about?”

  Her smile got bright. Too bright. “Of course not. I’m just letting my schedule get to me. Come on. Let’s get some wine.”

  She was clearly lying, but hell, he wasn’t exactly a come-clean guy himself. Wine sounded good.

  He got a lot of nods and handshakes as they made their way to the registration table for their boutonniere nametags, grabbing champagne glasses from the tray of a passing waiter in transit.

  Felicity, who was usually fastidious about everything, including how much she drank, downed her glass of bubbly and was scanning the crowd for another before he took his first sip.

  Remy said, “I’m really looking forward to hearing Sylvan Hoag tonight.”

  “You—you are?”

  “Sure. Mama and I were saying on the way over how he has interesting ideas.” They got their nametags, and he pointed toward the banquet room. “Let’s find our table.”

  People were milling around the room, looking for their seats and shaking each other’s hands. The Merced Enterprises tables would be close to the front since the company contributed a lot of money to the organization and they’d bought a bunch of tickets so his mama could invite friends and supporters.

  They found their tables and staked out a couple of seats. Remy waggled a finger at a waiter and secured two more glasses of champagne, then tucked in beside Felicity. “So did Sylvan give you any hints on what he’s going to talk about while he was lobbying you?” He gave his laugh a jolly sound to reduce his level of curiosity, but all she did was shake her head tightly.

  A lot of laughter and noise behind them signaled the arrival of Mama and her guests. She clasped his shoulders. “I’ll sit at the other table and you host this one, okay?”

  “All right, Mama.”

  She took a seat but was back to back with Remy. She leaned back in her chair and tickled his neck.

  People threaded around the two tables and snagged chairs. Practically the second butts hit seats, waiters were moving around with salad service. At the entrance, people were still streaming in.

  His mama leaned back in her chair and said, “Isn’t that Harry Edelman? I’ve been wanting—”

  Remy glanced toward the front door of the banquet room—and gasped.

  His mother turned. “What’s wrong?”

  Remy barely heard her. He stared at the single figure in the inky tuxedo whose shining eyes in dark-rimmed glasses surveyed the big room.

  “Remy, what is it?”

  “Uh, the boy, guy, you hired. Harper Treadwell. He’s over there.”

  She followed his gaze. “Where? Oh my. That young man with the glasses?”

  Remy nodded.

  “Well isn’t he just too adorable. I’ve got to go introduce myself and—”

  Sylvan Hoag separated himself from the crowd near the entrance and hurried to Harper—and kissed him. Fast, but on the lips.

  Ice water cascaded over Remy’s head, or at least that’s what it felt like. Why? Was it because a member of his staff obviously had a very close relationship with a major investment banker whom his brother didn’t like? Or was it because he now knew that the man with the beautiful eyes and the beautiful dick was gay? Gay and obviously attached to Sylvan Hoag.

  “Remy? Remy!” His mother had twisted in her chair and was staring at him with a crease between her eyebrows.

  “What?”

  “Did you know Harper Treadwell had a relationship with Sylvan Hoag?”

  He spun on his chair so they were face-to-face. “Mama, I barely know the man. You’re the one who said”—he raised his voice to falsetto—“what a fine young man Nora Mae Treadwell’s son has to be.” He met her eyes. “And you’re the one who hired him.”

  “Yes, yes. Point taken. Nora Mae told me he wanted to move to California for personal reasons. Some unpleasantness, I thought. She said he was looking for a job to help him do that.”

  “Clearly the personal reasons were Sylvan Hoag.”

  “Umm. So it would seem. But one wonders why Sylvan didn’t hire him.�
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  “Maybe to avoid the appearance of nepotism.”

  She raised her eyebrows slightly. “Or maybe, as your daddy used to say, to keep from shitting where he eats.”

  Remy snorted. “But it’s not a problem, right? I mean Sylvan’s not a competitor or anything.”

  Mama gazed across the room to where Sylvan had escorted Harper to the head table and was sitting beside him with their heads close together, talking. “He’s not a competitor. I can’t exactly say ‘or anything.’”

  “What do you mean?”

  The president of the association, Bill Nevis, tapped the mic. “Good evening, everyone.”

  His mama whispered, “Nothing to worry about. I’ll tell you later.” She turned back around.

  Remy glanced at Harper’s slender back, then rotated to his salad.

  Felicity said, “Is everything okay?”

  “Yes, fine.” He took a bite and chewed as Nevis welcomed everyone and told them to keep eating while he talked. That was an excuse for the diners to start chatting again until the entrees were served and Nevis stopped making announcements.

  After she’d finished her salmon salad, ordered specially, Felicity said, “Your mama looked concerned.”

  Remy glanced at Felicity. “It’s nothing. Just surprised at seeing an employee here.”

  “Oh, who? Someone I know?”

  Remy shook his head. “The son of a friend of Mama’s. She hired him.”

  After desserts were on the table, Nevis returned to the dais and introduced Hoag, who walked to the mic, smiling in his silver-foxy way.

  Remy glanced at Harper, who gazed at Hoag with wide, admiring eyes.

  Hoag launched into his subject for the evening—the certainty of continued brick-and-mortar food sales in the midst of the precarious future of retail. Interesting choice. Remy glanced at his mama, who gave him a look over her shoulder.

  According to Hoag, the move to organic and the specialty retail sector would remain a solid investment in what was otherwise a losing market.

  Man, if John Jack were here he’d be grinding his molars to dust.

  Hoag told a joke, and everyone laughed, including Harper who rocked back, looked up, and met Remy’s eyes. He dimpled, and then he must have seen something on Remy’s face because his smile faded and a corner of his lip disappeared between his teeth.

  Remy glanced at Hoag, who suddenly stared back at him from his spot at the podium. Hoag looked at Harper, then Remy again with a slight frown. He cleared his throat and plunged back into his topic. As he moved on to the investment viability of other market sectors, Remy drifted.

  How do I feel knowing that Harper Treadwell’s gay?

  His brain screamed back at him, What’s it to you? He’s not even your assistant. It’s kind of good, right? He’s attached. To a man. I’m attached—kind of—to a woman. We can work together with nothing on it. Pure business associates.

  After all, no one knew that Remy had always had certain yearnings. His mama had asked him once if he liked guys, and he’d bitten her head off. That night he’d gone out to a club, picked up a woman, and fucked her into the mattress. Well, kind of. She’d come three times, and he’d jerked off in the bathroom after she was done. She never knew. In fact, she’d spread rumors of his sexual prowess for months, which had allowed him to focus on work and not have to worry about dating for a while. Eventually, though, people always asked about his love life, and if he wanted any peace, he needed an acceptable answer.

  Currently, Felicity was his acceptable answer. She fit all the things people expected in his girlfriend and at the same time was undemanding, socially and sexually. They’d never talked about it, but he got the feeling she used him to satisfy the people who asked her the love-life question. The arrangement worked for both of them. If he sometimes felt like he had a huge hole in his chest, it was a problem he’d face later, after he’d found a way to assure the future of the company his mama and daddy had worked so hard to create. The future that rested on his shoulders.

  People started clapping, so he joined in.

  Felicity leaned over. “Interesting, don’t you think?”

  “Yes, Hoag always has well-considered ideas.”

  “Do you agree with his evaluation of the grocery market sector?”

  His gaze crawled to Hoag’s table where he’d slid back into his chair beside Harper and placed a proprietary hand on his shoulder. With an effort, Remy looked back at Felicity. “Uh, somewhat. No one’s successfully been able to pry shoppers away from the hands-on experience so far.”

  Her eyes widened a bit. “You said so far.”

  He opened his mouth, then remembered he was talking to a stockbroker, even if she was his girlfriend. “Well, Jeff Bezos is trying to crack that nut, and we never want to count him out.”

  Maybe she looked a little disappointed. “Do you think he’ll succeed?”

  Remy grinned. “He hasn’t yet.”

  Nevis was prattling on about the association and increasing support, yada, yada.

  Remy sipped his cooling coffee and pushed the bad cream puff away from him. That earned him a smile from Felicity. He said, “What do you know about the man with Hoag? I don’t remember ever seeing them together before.”

  She shrugged and drank a mouthful of herb tea—she carried her own teabags. “It’s newish, I gather. Sylvan was investigating markets in the South and met the guy at some event. It progressed rapidly, and Sylvan brought him back here to live with him.” Her eyes narrowed. “I’m not sure I get the attraction. I mean, the guy’s adorable, and they say he’s a real prodigy in business, but come on. What’s Sylvan Hoag doing with some postadolescent hillbilly?”

  Interesting that she knows so much about Hoag. Remy gazed across the room where Hoag’s arm now rested lightly on top of Harper’s shoulders.

  But her question—that’s exactly what I’d like to know.

  Chapter Five

  JUGGLING THE pile of reports he’d printed so he could lay them out on his floor to try to find patterns, Remy bumped the half-open office door with his butt. Some tiny piece of his brain had tried to drag him to the morning Pilates class, but since he’d never once attended it, showing up could be noteworthy to office observers. Hell, he’d question his own motives.

  He stopped. Oh my God. The smell of coffee filled the entire room, and that not only made his taste buds wake up, it gave a little nudge to his dick. He was pretty damned sure Eartha was not in the office, which meant said coffee came from….

  He dumped the papers on his desk, reached for the cup, and stared into its depths. Perfect creamy whiteness. Oh my. He sucked in a mouthful, closed his eyes and let it linger on his tongue, then swallowed a tiny bit at a time. Make it last.

  As he settled behind his computer, he glanced through the glass walls but saw no sign of Harper.

  After a couple of distracted moments, he settled into work and didn’t look up again for hours.

  A tap on his door finally made him raise his head, and he caught his breath. Harper stood there holding a plate and a cup.

  Remy blurted out, “Oh. Tell me that cup is some of your amazing coffee.”

  “Well, sir.” It sounded like suh. “I don’t know about amazing, but it is coffee with the amount of cream I believe you prefer. I also brought you a ham and cheese sandwich on rye with mustard since you seem intent on not leaving your desk.”

  “I’m starved.” The words fell out.

  “Well, I’d better give this to you fast.” Harper walked to the desk with his cute, rapid-fire movement and set the plate beside the computer and the cup right next to Remy’s hand. He turned and started toward the door.

  “Harper?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He swallowed. “Do you have a minute?”

  “Sure.”

  “Please close the door.”

  Harper’s deer eyes got even wider, but he closed the door softly.

  Remy waved a hand toward the chair opposite him, and Har
per lowered himself into it. His white shirt that he’d tucked into black jeans showed off his creamy skin, pink cheeks, dark hair, and blue eyes.

  Remy looked away and stared at the computer as he sipped the coffee. “Damn, this is good.”

  “I’m so glad you like it.”

  “How do you happen to know how to make it so well? Nobody else does.”

  Harper glanced at the floor, then back at Remy. “Your mama said you liked your coffee hot and white, so I interpreted that the way I’d want it if I drank coffee that way.”

  “Well, it’s a miracle.” He sipped and let his eyes drift up to that cute face.

  “I’ve been working on loaves and fishes, but so far, no luck.” His teeth appeared for a second, then vanished.

  Remy glanced at his computer.

  Harper fidgeted on the edge of his seat. “May I ask what you’re working on so hard?”

  “Just a problem I can’t seem to solve.”

  “Can I help?”

  Remy inhaled and stopped. He set down his coffee cup. His mama and he had decided he should do this, but he was pretty uncomfortable about it. “Harper, my mother and I noticed that you and Sylvan Hoag seem to be in a relationship.”

  “Uh, yes, sir.”

  Remy smiled tightly. “Look, we’re probably not that far apart in age, so no need to call me sir.”

  “I’m from Arkansas. I call the postman sir.”

  Remy barked a laugh.

  Harper’s smile faded. “Is my relationship a problem, sir?”

  “No. Not necessarily. It’s just that Mr. Hoag makes investment recommendations, and his receiving any, shall we say, insider information on Merced would be—”

  “Bad. That would be bad.”

  “Yeah. That’s a good word. Bad.” Remy gazed at that face. What had Eartha called him? Adorable?

  “Honestly, Mr. Merced, I haven’t said anything to Sylvan, and I’ll be even more careful from here on. As I listened to him speak last night, I realized that he has a lot riding on his predictions, and some of those are related to Merced’s industries. So as far as I’m concerned, from here on I might as well be an attorney, and all I learn from you is privileged.”

  Remy kept staring at him.