Make Me Yours(54)

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I’ve found after growing up with my dad, I’m not easily intimidated by overgrown jerks.

“Remi has never had an assistant. I wouldn’t expect him to have one like you.”

“Like me?” I smile. “Is that a compliment?”

Remi leans forward, speaking in a low voice that’s loud enough for us all to hear. “Stephen likes to think he can figure everyone out in the first five minutes.”

“I’m not wrong.” He waves to the bartender. “Whiskey up, vodka, and…” He gives me another glance. “Tequila?”

“Sunrise.” I lift my chin, unintimidated. “You’re pretty good at guessing drinks. What am I like? Or do you need a few more minutes?”

Stephen turns his back to the bar and squints. “Stubborn… smart.” His eyes graze from my head to my toes quickly. “You’re very beautiful, and most dangerous of all. Ambitious.”

Our drinks are set in front of us, and Remi puts his arm around my shoulders. “Okay, that’s enough flattery.”

“You’re not really his assistant.” Stephen grins, taking a sip of vodka. I don’t have time to answer before he turns to Remi. “I see Oakville’s working out after all. I couldn’t figure out why you stayed all those years. Why not move back to Seattle?”

Remi shrugs, sipping his whiskey. “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve considered it. Last summer I had one foot out the door… But I found a reason to stay.”

My heart sinks at the thought of Remi leaving Oakville. I quietly sip my cocktail, and Stephen winks at me. “I suppose we have you to thank for that.”

“Actually, we just met a few weeks ago.”

Stephen’s eyebrow quirks. “Remi has always been the lucky one.” He turns back to my boss. “Let’s talk about tomorrow night. Stellan will be there. I suggest you make a point to get to him first. His secure communications app is the talk of the industry. It’s going to be big.”

They spend the next several minutes discussing Remi’s business at the gala. I’m intrigued because I’ve been at the house half a month, and I’ve learned very little about what he does, other than investing in new tech.

Their conversation is partly confusing to me, partly fascinating. Remi’s watching a new surveillance app he wants to procure and pour money into with the goal of selling it to the government for military use. Stephen, I learn, is like a spy, keeping tabs on other investors looking at the same developers as Remi.

“What’s new with you?” Remi finishes his second whiskey, and I lean forward slightly, curious about the answer to this question.

Stephen is cocky and arrogant, but I can tell he cares about his friend. I can also tell he’s incredibly smart.

“I’m working on something a little closer to home.” He places his empty tumbler on the bar and signals for the check. “Two things, actually. The first has more immediate use. An app that tracks prescriptions by patient driver’s license or tax identification, similar to the way the government tracks gun sales—”

“Hopefully not as sloppily,” Remi quips.

“Nothing I do is ever sloppy.” Stephen’s eyebrow arches. “The second is more dependent on current events, politics. It’s something companies can use to facilitate healthcare enrollments across state lines. Similar to how car insurers work.”

“Both healthcare related.” The bill is paid, and Remi takes my hand as we walk toward the exit. “It always goes back to healthcare.”

He says it like it’s some facet of Stephen’s personality only the two of them know.

“It’s simply the biggest problem we have in this country. It needs a solution, and I’m prepared to develop some.”

“So you’re developing them yourself?”

“Oh, I’ll farm out the coding. Unless I get bored.”

No one speaks as we ride the elevator to the first floor. I’m thinking about Stephen being so interested in healthcare and wondering why that’s the case when he breaks the silence, turning to me. “My apologies for monopolizing the evening, Miss Banks.”

“No way, I found it fascinating. I’ve been wanting to know more about how Remi makes all his money.” I give him a wink.

Stephen lifts his chin as if he won a bet. “So I was right. Not an assistant.”

Remi chuckles, but I’m tired of feeling like the butt of his friend’s jokes. “You know, I thought I was pretty good at figuring people out, too, but I realize I’m not always right.”

Stephen pats my arm. “It’s a skill mastered by meeting lots and lots of people.”

I frown, pretending to be troubled. “Actually, I think I just made an honest mistake. I had you pegged as a conceited asshole the moment I saw you. Now I realize you’re simply an engineer.”

He laughs out loud. “You’re absolutely right, I am. Although I also pretty much hate everyone… Except Remington. And possibly you.”

We’re out on the sidewalk facing Radio City Music Hall saying our goodbyes, when Stephen grips his friend’s shoulder and points at me. “Hang onto her. She’s smart.”

Remi’s arm slides around my waist, and my heart beats a little faster. “I intend to.”