by Tara Lain
When his phone started ringing, Harper winced a little at Sylvan’s long-suffering expression. Still, a quick glance at the phone screen made him smile. He clicked the phone and perched on the edge of the bed. “Hi, darlin’.”
“How’s my boy?” Frankie Ritter, who everyone called Mama Two, spoke with the distinctive twang/drawl of rural Arkansas, and right then she sounded stressed.
“I’m really good, Mama Two. How are things there?”
“Oh, okay. I just wanted to be sure you’re liking your circumstances.” She hadn’t been wildly enthusiastic about Harper taking up with an older man from California whom he’d only known for weeks. In fact, leaping into a relationship had been a very unHarperlike move.
Harper glanced at Sylvan, who was sorting through his tray of jewelry on top of his dresser. Harper said, “Yes. I’m happy.”
“Well, good, then.”
“But I need to know what’s going on there.”
She inhaled loud enough for him to hear the shudder. “Just a bit of bad news. Two MercedMarts closing.”
“On top of the poultry factory shutdown.”
“A lot of jobs lost.” Her inhale shook a little.
“Damn. I, uh, have some connection with Merced Enterprises. Maybe I can put in a word.”
“I think it’s too late, dear. I’m sure they’re only closing the stores that don’t have enough business to stay open. But….” She breathed deeply. “Well, we’ll carry on as we always do. No worries. I just wanted to be sure you’re fine.”
“Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”
There was a slight pause, and then she said, “You know everyone here loves you, and, well, they’re sorry. I mean, they got the wrong idea.”
He spoke more sharply than he meant to. “I know.” After a slow inhale, he echoed, “No worries.”
“Okay. I’ll call again soon.”
He glanced at Sylvan, who was giving him impatient side-eye looks. “All right, dear. We’ll talk really soon. Love you, Mama Two.”
“Love you, dear.”
She hung up, and he stared at the phone. “Damn.”
“Those people in trouble again?”
“Just more bad news economically.”
“Pity. But sadly that’s part of the changeover to the information society. Those people need retraining for the new economy.”
“There have to be companies with jobs to be retrained for. Windy Pines has about run out.”
“Windy Pines.” Sylvan barked a laugh. “I can never believe there’s a place really named that.”
“It’s real.” To him maybe more real than anywhere else.
They walked together down the curved stairs of Sylvan’s Mediterranean townhouse. To Harper’s Arkansas-trained brain, getting used to the multimillion-dollar price tags of homes without any acreage or even a yard was a tough transition, but the biggest mansions in Southern California were so close together, you could practically touch your neighbors’ walls from your own property. It strained his brain.
In the kitchen, Harper opened the warming drawer below the oven and found a covered plate of grilled fish and steamed broccoli, staples of Sylvan’s current diet.
He set the plate on the table in the breakfast nook as Sylvan poured a glass of white wine for each of them, though he knew Harper would rather have sweet tea.
When they were settled at the table, Sylvan said, “So how was your first day as assistant to Remy Merced?”
Harper chewed. He’d been dreading the question. “Unexpected.”
“Why, was he a cruel taskmaster?” Sylvan grinned and sipped his wine.
“Uh, no. No kind of taskmaster at all. He said he doesn’t need an assistant.”
A frown swooped onto Sylvan’s face. “You got fired on your first day? I thought this job was a sure thing.”
“Uh, I thought so too, but I guess there was some mix-up. His mama actually hired me, and I guess she never checked with Remy.”
“Well, that’s a crock of shit.” His expression stayed stormy, and it gave Harper an uneasy feeling.
“It worked out okay, though. A lot of other people need help, so they had me reviewing regional revenue statements and evaluating purchasing patterns most of the day. It was great. I barely had time to catch a lick of breath.”
“I see.” Sylvan stared at his wineglass as he slowly turned it. “I guess that’s almost as good.”
Harper cocked his head. “I just wanted a job so I wouldn’t feel like a kept man.” He grinned.
Sylvan stared at him blankly for an instant, then laughed. “Right. We wouldn’t want to give your mother the right impression.” He laughed, and it had a little edge. “But you’re still working in Merced’s office, right? I mean, that silly fishbowl environment of theirs?”
“Yes. I was all over that floor all day.”
Sylvan stared at the wine again and smiled slowly. “Good. Good.”
“Why do you care where I work?” Harper wasn’t sure why he asked that.
“I don’t want the Merceds taking advantage of you. Making promises they don’t keep.”
“Not a problem. Remy Merced made sure I had a job even though he didn’t need me.” He chewed the last of his broccoli and watched Sylvan from under his lashes.
“Yes, well, the Merced offspring haven’t got the stones to cross their mother. She’s got a much bigger dick, I mean stick, than either of them.” He laughed.
“She’s certainly made a success of that company.”
Sylvan put a hand on Harper’s arm. “A company’s only as good as its current balance sheet, and retail’s a declining market. I suspect they pay their employees too much to be able to continue to compete in a downturn.”
Harper shrugged. “Could be.” He got up and poured himself a glass of sweet tea, leaving the wine largely untouched on the table. “If that’s true, why did you want me to work for Merced Technologies?”
Sylvan leaned back in his chair. “You know I wanted to avoid the appearance of nepotism, so you couldn’t work for me.”
“Lots of businesses in Southern California.”
He smiled. “Yes, but no others with that lovely Arkansas connection. It was a natural.” He pointed toward the huge built-in refrigerator. “I think Maria bought your stupid ice cream bars.”
Harper clapped his hands. “Yum. Want one?”
“Not if hell were freezing over, darling.”
Harper laughed and pulled the box from the freezer, stripped the wrapper from one bar, and took a bite. He closed his eyes at the perfect combination of orange and vanilla flavors, the creamy texture, and the right touch of sweetness. “Some organic things are the best.”
“I’ll take your word.”
“It only has eighty calories.”
“So does a glass of chardonnay.”
They both chuckled.
Sylvan said, “So what did you think of Remy Merced?”
Harper shrugged as he chewed. Choose your words carefully. “Nice enough. Very stressed.”
Sylvan’s gaze snapped up. “Oh really? Why?”
“I guess he works very hard from what I heard people saying.”
“At what?”
Harper’s forehead tightened between his eyebrows, unintended, and he smoothed it then pushed up his glasses. “He runs a pretty bigass company.”
“Oh right, of course. I just wondered if there was anything in particular worrying him?”
“No idea.”
“Um. So you found him nice.” Sylvan walked his glass to the sink as Harper rinsed his plate and put it in the dishwasher.
“Nice enough.” Harper kept his back turned in case his memory of brushing coffee from Remy Merced’s hard ass and thighs inspired the same embarrassing response as it had that morning.
SWEAT DRIPPED into Remy’s eyes as he glanced at the timer on the treadmill and reduced the speed from a fast run to a medium walk for cooldown. A couple of employees from the retail sales division walked out of the locker
room for their morning workout, looked surprised at seeing Remy, nodded, and moved over toward the cycle studio.
Remy wiped off the sweat and breathed deeply. He had a treadmill and a weight machine at his mama’s home, so he didn’t use the company gym too often, but that morning at five, he’d suddenly decided he needed to run away from his troubles and made a detour. He was glad he did, even if it squeezed his morning. Hell, he was just going over the same crap in his mind a hundred times. Expecting to find a solution in that maze was the definition of insanity, but he kept hoping he’d forgotten something and it would leap out at him.
He pushed Stop, walked the belt to its end, and stepped off. Laughter and some high-pitched voices signaled the end of the Pilates class, which was always a hit with some of the female employees.
Remy pushed open the door to the locker room, the warm, humid air hitting him. Employees could keep their own lockers, and his was back in the last bay where he got a little more privacy.
After stripping off his shorts and T-shirt, he wrapped a towel around his waist. He should really get to work, but the lure of hot eucalyptus-scented steam was too much for him. He succumbed and walked into the steam room.
The jets were still on, and the cloud of vapor was dense and hot. With a hand out, he felt his way across the open room to where the tile benches were situated, and when his right thigh brushed against the edge, he turned and sat. It was hellaciously hot, and the steam valve was still running. The fog was so thick it was hard to catch a breath. When the door to the room opened and closed, a little steam escaped, but the system wouldn’t stop. Okay, enough. It wasn’t really relaxing. Gasping, he rushed across the room and out the door. Whew. Wiping his face on one end of his towel, he hurried into the locker area and toward his bay.
Like some well-rehearsed vaudeville act, Remy rounded the corner just in time to see a towel flash through the air toward the hamper. Behind the towel stood Harper Treadwell, all six willowy feet of him, stark naked.
“Oh.”
“Oh.”
Neither of them moved. Well, except maybe for the long, low-hanging dick in a nest of dark curls at Harper’s groin that might, just might, have given a little hop. From the direction of Harper’s eyes, it seemed the towel Remy had used to wipe his face was no longer covering his lower regions.
Weirdly, his first thought was that he hoped his cock looked as good as Harper’s.
Harper seemed to shake himself, which set up tremors in his private parts. He grabbed for a towel from the rack beside him and whipped it in front of him, clearly trying for nonchalance and missing by a mile. “Uh, hi. Sorry. Nearly hit you with that towel. I was trying for a three.”
Remy blinked. “Three?”
“Points.” Harper grinned, and it was like every cell in Remy’s body smiled back—except his mouth. Harper said, “I scored.”
Remy slowly pulled the towel down to cover the essentials, which were expressing uncertain feelings at that moment, and equally slowly walked to his locker. “So you were in the gym?”
“Yes. I did the Pilates class. Man, it’s terrific. I don’t have my own reformer, so I’m thrilled to be able to use the equipment here. The instructor’s great, just great. Well, excuse me, I need to take a shower.” He bolted from the lockers.
Remy collapsed on the bench. Part of him wanted to laugh. The guy had looked like Bambi escaping the wildfire, all long legs and huge eyes. But the part of Remy that had practically swallowed his tongue at the sight of those wide shoulders, lean hips, strong, long thighs and strong, long cock didn’t want to laugh at all.
Shit. This wasn’t a distraction he had time to deal with right then. Or ever. Why does this happen? It had been a long time—years in fact—since he’d been seriously intrigued by some guy’s equipment. Yes, that was partly because he forced himself not to look, but he kind of thought his odd attractions were behind him. Double shit.
He headed for a shower stall at the opposite end of the bathroom and waited long enough to be sure Harper Treadwell would be gone when he got back. Sure enough, the locker Harper had been using stood open and empty. Obviously the guy didn’t plan to use that locker as his own.
Remy’s disappointment disturbed him.
He dressed quickly, almost ran to his office, and buried himself in work. Eartha brought him coffee, and he tried not to compare it to the cup Harper had made for him the day before. At lunch, she put a tuna salad sandwich on rye on his desk, and he kept working.
Every few minutes, he’d look up and notice Harper somewhere in the big open office, talking intently to people, carrying papers back and forth, and looking serious behind his dark rims.
In the afternoon, Eartha knocked on his doorframe. “Here are the regional sales comparisons you wanted.”
Remy stretched. “Thanks.”
She set them on his desk and left.
Remy rubbed his eyes and started scanning the list of numbers. In the margins, notes had been added. Reevaluate inventory for this territory. Not skewed to the demographic.
Another one said, How many sales personnel are focused on this region? Sales should be higher.
He texted Eartha. Who did the evaluation on the regional numbers?
She replied, Harper. Beside it she had placed a large smiley face.
His cell rang, and he didn’t even look he was frowning so hard. He barked, “Yes?”
“My, my, aren’t we the very representation of the Merced-brand attitude of cheerful service.”
He released a breath. “Sorry, Mama.”
“Challenging day?”
“You could say that.”
“I wanted to remind you that we’re obliged to attend the Economic Development Association’s dinner tomorrow night. Black tie. Social.”
“Oh right. I forgot to tell Felicity.”
“I’m sure she’ll regard it as a prime business opportunity, so she’ll make time.”
She said that with the little edge she often gave her comments about Felicity. Mama never criticized his choice of girlfriend, but he sometimes got the feeling she didn’t like Felicity. That was odd since Felicity was attractive, smart as hell, business savvy, and made good money, so she wasn’t even a gold digger. His mama generally loved bright women, and he’d never gotten up enough nerve to ask her what the problem was.
He said, “I’ll call her now.”
“So how’s Harper Treadwell working out?”
He caught his breath. He’d tried to forget that this moment was bound to occur. “Okay. Uh, more than okay, actually. He did some regional sales evaluations that added real value.”
“Well, good. I felt sure that Nora Mae wouldn’t have steered me wrong. And I’m so pleased that you’re finally getting some help.”
“Um. See you tomorrow night, Mama. Shall we arrive together or meet there?”
“Why don’t I come get you in the car?”
The car was her favorite limousine. “At the house?”
“If that’s where you’ll be. Or are you dressing at the office?”
“No. I’ll be home. See you at six?”
“See you then.”
He hung up with clichés about dodging bullets ringing in his head. He dialed Felicity’s number.
Chapter Four
REMY SAT on the edge of the mattress and attached his cuff links against his tuxedo-clad knee. He slid on his patent leather formal shoes and stood. He didn’t dare walk far in his socks since the unfinished floors were covered in splinters and carpet tacks. He kept bedroom slippers beside his mattress at night to make it to the bathroom.
The mattress he slept on sat on top of a box spring directly on the unfinished floor. He didn’t want to choose a bed frame until he knew what floors he was going to have installed, and he couldn’t make up his mind what he wanted. Maple? Oak? Saltillo tile? It was like he used all his brainpower at the office, and there was none left over for his home.
Huh, some home. He’d bought the rundown sixties-modern place o
n the side of the hill in south Laguna nearly a year before. It still looked pretty much the same as when he’d closed escrow. Worse, actually, since he’d ripped things out and never replaced them.
He slid on his jacket and walked into the big living room with the vaulted ceiling and two-story fireplace—that didn’t work. A leather sectional he’d forced himself to buy to have someplace to sit stood in the middle of the room, and a fifty-five-inch TV was mounted on the wall in front of it with wires hanging since he wasn’t sure if that’s where he wanted it to go permanently.
Headlights flashed across the uncovered windows, and Remy glanced out to see the limo in the driveway. He waved a hand, grabbed his wallet and keys from the TV tray he kept by the door, and walked out to the car.
His mama’s chauffeur, Federico, held the back door for him. “Evening, Remy.”
“Hi, Federico.” He slid in.
His mama gleamed in a floor-length gold sheath dress with a jacket covering what must otherwise be a pretty bare top. She glanced at the door. “Where’s Felicity?”
Remy leaned over and kissed his mama’s cheek as the limo pulled away from the curb. “She had to work late. She’ll meet us there.”
“She knows it’s black tie?”
“Yes. She took a dress to work—just in case.”
“No, dear. Leaving a dress at home would have been just in case.”
He snorted. “Where are John Jack and Trudy?”
“Trudy’s on a shopping trip.” She grinned since that’s what she called it when Trudy went out to twist the arms of the rich and famous to get them to contribute to the foundation she worked for. Just as Mama had suspected, it worked great to get one rich person to persuade another rich person to give away money. “And John Jack’s in Fayetteville. Just as well. He’s not too fond of tonight’s speaker.”
“Oh? Who?”
“Sylvan Hoag.”
Remy shrugged. “Sylvan’s usually got interesting ideas.”
“There’s a lot of rivalry between him and John Jack. Sylvan always manages to point out that John Jack didn’t make his own money.”