under a cowboy hat. A friend on his floor in Cromwell Hall who could belch “March On You Fighting Sycamores,” Indiana State’s fight song. He didn’t know if Hunter was listening, but he sure smoked a lot.
“Doesn’t all that smoking interfere with your cycling?” Derek asked.
Hunter gave him a look he couldn’t read, stubbed out his cigarette, and said, “I gather you have no interest in the tool and dye business?”
“Not much,” Derek admitted. “That’s okay with my dad. He’s already handpicked someone he’s going to sell the business to when he retires.”
“Your father sounds like a reasonable man.” Hunter was silent a while, then said, “What if I could offer you a job at the hotel? Our athletic club has a smoothie bar. You’ve shown your skill at satisfying your customers.”
The slight irony in his tone made Derek wince, and he said, “It’s not like I make a habit of this. It was my last day. I was feeling bold.”
“That’s not an answer,” Hunter said.
“I don’t have a place to live. And I don’t think my parents will go for it. They sure won’t pay for me to stay here to work in a smoothie bar.”
“Call your father and tell him you’ve found another way to get home,” Hunter said. “I’ll take you to Evansville in a few days.”
Derek sat up and looked at him, saying, “You’re used to getting your way, aren’t you? Do you do the hiring for the hotel, or what?”
This elicited a faint smile before Hunter said, “Congreve.”
“Right. The Hotel Congreve.”
“You asked for my name. It’s Hunter Congreve.”
So began Derek’s association with one of the descendants of a family who not only routinely made Forbes’ list of wealthiest Americans, but as far as Derek knew, had erected their first hotel within view of Plymouth Rock just after disembarking from the Mayflower.
When Hunter had left him in Evansville a few days later, Derek tried to convince himself that his sinking mood would pass; that before the end of summer, Hunter would be nothing more than a sexy memory. Hunter hadn’t asked for the Andersons’ number, nor did Derek call Hunter at the hotel. His parents seemed to notice his uncharacteristic silence, as well as his lack of enthusiasm about getting in touch with old friends, but they asked no questions.
He’d been in Evansville less than two weeks when he rode home from work with his father one night to see the silver Jaguar parked in front of their house. When they went inside, it had taken all his self-control not to run into Hunter’s arms. Hunter had calmly repeated his offer of a job, but one look at Derek’s face told his parents the whole story.
They’d disguised their shock at the realization that he was gay with protests that a job at the hotel—or anything at the hotel—might derail Derek’s education. Hunter made it clear that as far as he was concerned, finishing college was Derek’s top priority. He displayed an attitude that Derek would come to know well; when Hunter wanted something, he persisted until he got it. The Andersons finally gave in, perhaps believing that a relationship between two people of such disparate backgrounds would quickly fizzle out. They’d been wrong. Although the health club job had never materialized, the Hotel Congreve became Derek’s home.
In the beginning, Derek tried to maintain the pretense that he was a hotel employee who just happened to use the extra bedroom in Hunter’s luxurious apartment. Each morning after Hunter left to go biking, Derek would mess up the extra bed before Juanita, the only member of the housekeeping staff who took care of Hunter’s residence, arrived. She always smiled and nodded with a cheery “Buenos dias,” and Derek assumed she spoke little English. Until one day, as he was leaving to wander the mall while she was there, she gripped Derek’s arm and pulled her wallet from her apron pocket, flipping it open to a photo of a lovely young woman with coal black hair and a gorgeous smile.
“Consuela,” she said. “My other half. Stop forcing me to change two beds, please.”
“I’m sorry,” Derek stammered, blushing.
“Don’t be sorry. I’m just letting you know I don’t care where you sleep. You make Mr. Hunter happy. When he’s happy, it’s better for everyone.”
“You’re a big fraud, too, you know, pretending you couldn’t speak English,” Derek complained.
“You assumed,” she said. “Let’s be friends, you and me. We both take care of Mr. Hunter. He was very unhappy before you came.”
Over time, it was Juanita, not Hunter, who gave Derek some of the details of Hunter’s life. He was the youngest of five children and apparently had an overbearing father. He’d been uninterested in the hotel business. His passion was competitive racing, until an accident irreparably damaged tendons and ligaments in one of his knees. His cycling career finished, he succumbed to his father’s wishes and agreed to manage the mall hotel. He rarely talked about his work, but as Derek came to understand him better, he recognized that Hunter’s genius was in knowing whom to hire and how to delegate.
Hunter asked very little of Derek, not even monogamy, although Derek was faithful. Hunter occasionally traveled for work, and Derek thought there might be other men, but they didn’t talk about it. There was a lot they didn’t talk about, and sometimes it maddened Derek. Hunter could be aloof, noncommunicative, and moody, but he also had a wonderful sense of the ridiculous and knew how to make Derek laugh.
Derek made himself useful to Hunter in any way he could, and Hunter made regular deposits to Derek’s bank account. It was like Pretty Woman, only Richard Gere owned the hotel and Derek didn’t have Julia Roberts’s dedication to flossing. Whenever Derek got uneasy about the money, Hunter reminded him that his focus should be on finishing college. He’d have the rest of his life to work; in the meantime, Hunter was simply investing in Derek’s future. It was Hunter who suggested that Derek’s innate love of storytelling made English the perfect major for him. Derek wasn’t sure what he’d do with a degree in English, but Hunter had been right. Once Derek began taking more literature classes, he became a better student.
Hunter also insisted that Derek travel to Evansville regularly to see his parents and spend holidays with them. Hunter never went with him, nor did he ever invite Derek to go to the Congreve family home. Any of the Congreve family homes. Only once had Derek suggested spending Christmas in Massachusetts with Hunter, who’d given him a sardonic look and said, “We don’t exactly roast chestnuts, Derek. I get my performance appraisal and my bonus check from the old man. Then we all go our separate ways to drink heavily and pretend he doesn’t own us.”
Derek had breaks from school other than Christmas. During these, he traveled with Hunter to places like Fire Island, Palm Springs, Key West, and Provincetown, where he felt a little overwhelmed among Hunter’s A-list acquaintances. He was never sure why they went. He liked exploring new places with Hunter, but he was less enthralled by the bounty of drugs and bodies they were offered. All those beautiful, pumped-up men intent on pleasure made Derek feel that he was being presented with an excess of rich desserts when what he really wanted was meat and potatoes.
Or more honestly, all he really wanted was Hunter. Even though Hunter remained something of an enigma to him, Derek was completely in love. Since Hunter was not the kind of man who expressed his emotions, Derek didn’t feel free to vocalize his own feelings, but he told himself it didn’t matter. He learned to read Hunter’s moods and knew his lover wasn’t unhappy, which seemed almost as good as knowing he was happy.
Sexually, Hunter preferred quality over quantity, and Derek adjusted his expectations accordingly. He loved going to bed with Hunter even when they didn’t make love. He liked lying in his arms and telling him stories in the dark. He liked waking up to the sound of Hunter getting ready for work. In the winter months, Derek would get up and make breakfast for the two of them. During good weather, when Hunter got up earlier to ride, Derek would order from room service and linger over his morning coffee until Hunter’s return, giving