All the Way to Shore
By CJane Elliott
Jonathan Vallen has never felt good enough. A gentle musician who loves to garden, he’s woefully unsuited to running Vallen Industries, the family business. When his father hires a hotshot executive, Marco Pellegrini, to save the company, Jonathan moves away and leaves his humiliation behind. A year later and forty pounds lighter, Jonathan runs into Marco on an LGBT cruise. Marco doesn’t recognize him, the sparks fly, and Jonathan pretends to be someone else for the week—Jonah Rutledge—someone good enough to be loved.
Marco Pellegrini has always been driven. He rose from poverty to the pinnacle of business success, and he’ll do anything to protect his reputation—including hiding his bisexuality. Having saved Vallen Industries, he’s weary of the rat race and ready for a more meaningful life. When Marco meets his soul mate for that new life—Jonah Rutledge—on an LGBT cruise, he prepares to stop hiding and start living.
Back on land, the romance crashes when Marco discovers his perfect man is not only a lie but the son of his boss, Frederick Vallen. Jonathan resolves to win Marco back, but Frederick takes vengeful action. Jonathan and Marco must battle their own fears as well as Frederick’s challenge to get to the future that awaits them on the horizon.
Table of Contents
Blurb
Dedication
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
CAPE COD—January 2016
PART ONE
Chapter ONE
Chapter TWO
Chapter THREE
Chapter FOUR
PART TWO
ONE YEAR LATER
Chapter ONE
Chapter TWO
Chapter THREE
Chapter FOUR
Chapter FIVE
Chapter SIX
Chapter SEVEN
Chapter EIGHT
Chapter NINE
Chapter TEN
Chapter ELEVEN
Chapter TWELVE
Chapter THIRTEEN
Chapter FOURTEEN
Chapter FIFTEEN
Chapter SIXTEEN
Chapter SEVENTEEN
PART THREE
Chapter ONE
Chapter TWO
Chapter THREE
Chapter FOUR
Chapter FIVE
Chapter SIX
Chapter SEVEN
Chapter EIGHT
Chapter NINE
Chapter TEN
Chapter ELEVEN
Chapter TWELVE
More from CJane Elliott
About the Author
By CJane Elliott
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Copyright
This one’s for Charley, who keeps me going on the twisty writing path!
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
BIG THANKS to Dreamspinner Press for creating the Dreamspun Desires line. The call to write a trope-tastic romance sparked my creativity and I had the best time writing this story. Thank you to Lynn West for letting me publish this novella way earlier than if I’d waited for my Dreamspun Desires slot! Thank you to Ione, my fantastic senior editor, and to L.C. Chase, my extraordinary cover artist.
As always, thanks to my guys, Michael and Nathan, who keep me sane and fed and loved.
CAPE COD—January 2016
JANUARY IN Cape Cod could chill a man’s soul.
And other parts, Jonathan thought, gazing at the stormy ocean while Cantata chased the waves back and forth. He kicked sand into a listless arc that quickly thudded back to earth. Just like he had—from enchanting dream to grim reality in one week. At least the enchantment part had lasted a few days. Because when reality struck, it was like a karate chop—quick and ruthless. One evening he’d been in Marco Pellegrini’s arms, floating on kisses and champagne in the warm tropical breezes, and the next morning….
Jonathan winced and turned back toward the house, calling for Cantata, who bounded up to him. No use reliving it for the hundredth time. He’d been graced with a chance at love, and in true Jonathan Vallen fashion, he’d blown it.
“Come on, girl.” He ran a hand over Cantata’s shaggy fur. “Time for lunch.”
Get over it and move on.
BOSTON—January 2016
MARCO’S JOURNAL
SO REMIND me not to drink Courvoisier while listening to Debussy. Turns me into a complete wreck. I should have known better. He and I drank Courvoisier while listening to Debussy. That was the night we…. Yeah. Like I said, no more of that. It’s time to decide what to do with the rest of my life. I’m ready to make some major changes. Maybe I’ll buy some of that art I’ve been considering. That abstract piece would be great on the living room wall. Jonah’s right—I need more color in my life. Wait. Stop thinking about what Jonah—no, Jonathan—thinks. And what he looks like. And how he felt, and smelled, and… fuck. Need another Courvoisier.
PART ONE
Chapter ONE
BOSTON—December 2014
“I’M HAPPY to introduce to you our new acting CEO, Marco Pellegrini.”
Father actually tried to crack a smile as he surveyed the Vallen Industries staff crowded into the conference room. At age fifty-six, he still cut a commanding figure with his height and handsome features, his body kept in reasonable shape by regular exercise. But forcing a face perpetually set on “fuck you” to look pleasant was beyond even his abilities. He managed a weird grimace, after making sure to scowl in Jonathan’s direction to let him know he was still in the doghouse.
Message received, sir, Jonathan thought, pushing his Coke-bottle-thick glasses up his nose and acting politely enthusiastic as Father and Pellegrini bumped fists.
Pellegrini wore a grin that was more supercilious than shit eating, although to land the Vallen Industries CEO spot at the tender age of thirty-two was quite a coup. Never mind that Jonathan had been groomed for the job since he was twenty-four, ever since James’s death in a car accident. A familiar twinge shot through him at the thought of his older brother, so much more fitted to take over the family business. Way more fitted than Jonathan was or ever could be. Father finally seemed willing to acknowledge that truth, after trying and failing to beat business-executive smarts into him over the last four years, with a steady decline in company profits the only result.
“Thank you for the welcome, everyone. I’m certainly not here to replace any of your current leadership. I’ll be working closely with Mr. Vallen and Jonathan in the days to come.”
The mention of his name jerked Jonathan out of his moody thoughts. Marco Pellegrini stood at ease, exuding confidence from every well-toned pore. Jonathan gave him a once-over as he continued his little speech. Okay, he could admit the guy was easy on the eyes. Truthfully? Pellegrini was extremely handsome. Tall, long-limbed, broad shouldered, dressed in an elegant suit. His curly black hair had a sprinkling of premature gray that gave him a sexily distinguished air, and his horn-rimmed glasses made him look smart. Add to that his big brown eyes, chiseled cheekbones, and temptingly full lips—Marco could have had a second job as a cover model for GQ.
He was everything Jonathan was not. Well, Jonathan was tall also, but his body type was most charitably described as “stocky.” He wore glasses too, but Jonathan’s thick lenses made him look like a dork, at least according to his stylish cousin, Anthony, who was forever urging Jonathan to get contacts, complaining that his glasses hid Jonathan’s “dreamy blue eyes.” Jonathan’s straight hair was a nondescript brown, usually too long and hanging in his face because he couldn’t be bothered to get it cut regularly. As for his clothes? Jonathan pulled the hem of his trusty sweater over his gut and stared down at the Hush Puppies that Anthony despaired over. They were comfortable and familiar, so what was the big deal?
“Okay, troops, back to
work.” Father’s voice had reverted to its usual impatience, and the staff scattered. “Jonathan.”
While Jonathan had been studying his shoes, Father had crossed the room to him with Marco Pellegrini in tow.
“Yes, Father?”
“How about you and Marco plan to meet after lunch? I’m taking him to the club to introduce him to some of the board members.”
“Sure.”
Marco put out his hand and took Jonathan’s in a firm grip. “Nice to meet you, Jonathan. I look forward to our working together. Three o’clock okay?”
A bit dizzy from the force of Marco’s attractiveness—the man even smelled great—Jonathan nodded. “Uh, yeah, sure. Three o’clock.”
“Excellent. See you then.” After a dazzling grin and an extra squeeze of Jonathan’s hand, Marco took off with Father, who never invited Jonathan to eat at the club. At least not these days.
“JONNY, WAS that divine creature I saw Uncle Frederick leaving with the new CEO?” Anthony leaned forward, eyes alight. “Marco Pellegrini?”
“You’ve heard of him?”
“Absolutely. He’s—quick, flag down our waiter or we’ll be sitting here for the next hour. My God, this place is the pits!”
Anthony complained about the service every time he met Jonathan for lunch at the sandwich shop, but it was close to the office and about the only place that wasn’t playing Christmas music incessantly. This December was already hard enough for Jonathan, being the first anniversary of Mother’s death, without having to contend with chestnuts roasting in every bad musical arrangement possible.
After giving their lunch order to the sleepy-eyed waiter, Anthony jumped back to the topic of the new CEO like a dog pouncing on a bone. “Marco Pellegrini is one of those rising stars in the industry, doll. And gorgeous? Oh my God!” He fanned his face. “Did you see his suit? I’m sure it was Armani.”
Anthony sat back and adjusted his lapels, a faraway gleam in his eyes, like visions of Armani suits were dancing in his head. Anthony loved clothes and always looked sharp. The charcoal suit he was wearing today appeared expensive and well cut, and it would have been downright subdued for Anthony had he not paired it with a bright crimson shirt and rainbow-striped bow tie. He’d even added a green streak to his blond hair for the full holiday effect. Father probably would have balked at some of his more outrageous ensembles, but Anthony didn’t work for Vallen Industries, the lucky dog. He was a creative director at an advertising agency where general fabulousness seemed to be a job requirement.
“Yeah, great.” Jonathan took a grumpy sip of hot tea. “I’m meeting with him at three.”
“Lucky you! Hey, you’re not upset about this, are you? Being replaced? I mean, you’re the one who’s about to skip town.”
A frisson of happiness shot through Jonathan at the reminder of his secret plans. “I know. But first I’ve got to pretend to be interested in what this Pellegrini guy has to say. Father said he’s going to ‘coach’ me.”
“God.” Anthony gave a sympathetic shudder. “So Uncle Frederick still believes you’re going to become a business executive one day? Give it up, man!”
“I wish he would.”
“Still, meeting one-on-one with that hunk isn’t the worst thing you could be doing.”
“If you say so.” Jonathan squeezed more honey into his tea, trying to quell his nerves about meeting with Marco Pellegrini “one-on-one.” God.
“I mean, the man’s obviously gay.” Anthony squinted across the room. “Where on earth is our lunch? I hate this place.”
“Relax. You had to order the french dip, which always takes forever.”
Anthony huffed in annoyance.
“And you think everyone’s gay,” Jonathan continued. “I overheard clerical talking about his girlfriend.”
“Oh, honey, of course he has a girlfriend. Some blonde named Ashley Henshaw. Her dad is president of the city council or something. And I heard a rumor he’s joining the board of Vallen Industries.”
“Well, then? And here’s our food, oh ye of little faith.”
“Finally!” Despite his prior annoyance, Anthony batted his eyelashes at the taciturn but rather handsome waiter. “Thanks, doll.”
The waiter nodded, face red, and beat a hasty retreat.
“You’re impossible.” Jonathan sighed at his salad, then stole one of Anthony’s steak fries. “So if he’s got a girlfriend, why are you saying he’s gay?”
“Probably just wishful thinking. But maybe he’s a closet case and Ashley’s his beard. Yes! And when I drop by to visit you and Uncle Frederick one day, Marco’s going to see me across a crowded room and the stars will move! Right?”
“Yeah. Right.”
“Of course, you have first crack at him.” Anthony waggled his eyebrows. “Get it? Crack?”
“You’re such a preteen.” Jonathan felt his cheeks warm, which was ridiculous.
Anthony giggled. “I made you blush! Speaking of closets, my dear, isn’t it about time you came out of yours? You’re going to be out there on the Cape, away from your father the homophobe, and I bet there’ll be some devastatingly bearish fisherman to sweep you off your feet!”
Right. Like that will ever happen. Jonathan ignored his cousin’s prattle and his own dearth of a love life as he stared out the window at the sleet slicking the street. He hated being in Boston this time of year, him and Father rattling around in the big gloomy house. He’d give anything to be at the cottage for Christmas. After James had died and Mother lost the heart for lavish parties, she and Jonathan used to spend the holidays in Cape Cod while Father stayed behind in Boston and worked. Their small cottage a block from the beach had been in Mother’s family, the Rutledges, for over a century. Jonathan would play the antique piano while she trimmed the tree with old-fashioned Rutledge ornaments, and then they’d share a meal cooked by Jonathan, who enjoyed trying out new recipes.
Although Mother had always meant to pass the cottage on to Jonathan, neither of them had any idea she would succumb to cancer at age fifty-four, leaving Jonathan to inherit the cottage much too early. But thanks to her, he could escape his wretched life in Boston. He was so ready to decamp to the Cape he could taste it. He’d surround himself with music and books, spend time in the garden, and take walks on the beach. Anthony couldn’t imagine living that way without going stir crazy, but to Jonathan it sounded like heaven.
“So let’s talk about me moving to Cape Cod. When should I do it? It’ll have to be after Christmas, but I want to be moved in by New Year’s.”
Anthony’s eyes lit up. He loved a good scheme, as Jonathan well knew. Leaning forward, he started in. “Well, here’s what I think you should do….”
“EXPLAIN TO me your thinking on this, Jonathan.”
Marco swiveled in his chair, frowning at one of the charts they’d been studying for the last… Jonathan stole a glance at the conference-room clock. Thirty minutes? No way. It seemed like several long hours since he and Marco had started their meeting.
“Thinking?” Jonathan tried not to cringe at the exasperated look Marco shot him over the top of the chart. Ugh. Encased in his too-warm sweater, sweat dripping down his sides, he wished he hadn’t eaten all of Anthony’s steak fries at lunch. He felt like a stuffed sausage. Marco, of course, appeared cool and crisp in his fancy suit. His fingers were long and tapered holding the cursed chart, and a gold signet ring glinted on his right hand. Elegant. That was the word for—cripes, focus, you fool! “Um, I… can I have it?” He pushed up his glasses, held out a clammy hand, and took the paper, trying to concentrate. “Th-this, let’s see, this was our fiscal year 2014 forecast.” Jonathan began to loosen up as he studied the neat columns of numbers. Numbers, he could do. It was people he had a hard time with.
“I know.” Marco’s impatient voice cut into Jonathan’s perusal. “My question is, how did you come up with that forecast, based on the 2013 fiscal year’s performance? It seems wildly out of whack.”
“I don’t k
now.” Jonathan knew he sounded sullen, but it was the truth. He didn’t know. Father created the business plans. All Jonathan did was generate the pretty charts. “Father—uh, Mr. Vallen—comes up with the forecasts.”
“I see.” Marco tapped those long fingers of his on the table, and when Jonathan stole a glance at him from under the bangs that fell in his face, the crease between his eyebrows had deepened. He pinned Jonathan with an intense gaze. “Tell me something. Is this—being a Vallen Industries executive—what you want to be doing?”
Hell, no. Are you kidding me? A sense of shame prevented Jonathan from blurting those thoughts out loud. James’s death had about killed his parents, and Jonathan had had no choice but to step in at Vallen Industries. But Jonathan was no James. He’d hated every minute of trying to run Vallen, and it had shown in the company’s downturn. A year and a half ago he’d been poised to quit and put the company out of the misery of his inept leadership, but then Mother had gotten sick, and six months later, she died. He couldn’t desert Father after that, so he’d soldiered on despite his almost crippling grief at Mother’s loss.
He squared his shoulders. “Of course. Vallen Industries is a Boston institution. It’s been our family business for over fifty years. Mr. Vallen isn’t getting any younger, so once my brother d—, um, due to family considerations, I’m being groomed to become CEO.”
“I know that.” Marco appeared skeptical, or was that disdain? “And how long has this grooming been happening?”
“A… a few, uh, years.”
“Okay.” Marco pushed back from the table, his expression unreadable. “How about we stop here? I’ll take the rest of these reports and review them tonight. Then let’s meet again tomorrow. Say, ten o’clock?”
“Um, sure.”
“Thanks. I know it can be difficult when someone new is brought in. I’m here to help you and Vallen Industries reach your goals. I’m sure we can do it.”
All the Way to Shore Page 1
