Up to Me (Shore Secrets) (26 page)

Ah. Inexpensive flowers filled in the missing puzzle piece. “It doesn’t pay well, does it?”

“That’d be an understatement. But it makes her happy—finally—so it’s the perfect job.”

“You’re covering most of her bills, aren’t you?”

“Yeah. The mortgage, utilities, cable and phone. All of them deduct straight from my bank account. She never sees a bill.”

Ella didn’t need to hear any more. Didn’t need to torture Gray any longer by exposing his soft and tender heart to her interrogation. Even though she still wanted to ask him the most basic first-date question—what
was
this job he hated so much—now wasn’t the time. She knew all she needed to about this man. This caring, wonderful man. This man she’d do anything for to put a smile back on his face. Which meant lightening the mood again considerably.

She pulled his hand to her lips, and dropped a soft kiss right below the big, knobby, utterly masculine bones of his wrist. “I’m so very proud of you, Gray.” Then Ella sat back. Picked up her wine and drank deeply. “You’re right. I don’t want to have a somber first date. How about you tell me something fun and silly? What was your first Halloween costume that you begged for, that you loved?”

Gray cracked his neck, rolled his eyes. “I don’t know. You might not want me anymore if I divulge
that
secret.”

Was he insane? “Trust me.” Ella pointed at the water, now mirroring the streaks of orange and pink in the sky. “I could jump in the forty-five-degree lake right now and still burn for you. No matter what you tell me, I’ll still be ready to knock this table over and jump on you. Just say the word.”

Gray dropped his head, then craned his neck sideways that gave her a flash of the adorable young boy he must’ve been. “Promise not to laugh?”

“No,” she said, already primed to giggle. And glad that he’d so easily rolled out of his pensive mood.

He reached back to retrieve the bottle and top off their glasses. “Come on, if this was a real first date, you wouldn’t laugh at me. You’d be too busy trying to figure out how soon you should slip that sweater off your shoulder. Now’s a good time, by the way. So cut me some slack.”

Happy to oblige, Ella twitched her shoulder and felt the slither of her sweater dip down her arm. “Okay. No laughing. I’ll even put my wine down so I’m not tempted to do a spit-take.”

“Thanks.” After a big sigh, Gray spread his hands. “When I was six or seven, I was Prince Eric from
The Little Mermaid
. I liked to re-enact that scene where he skewers Ursula with his ship. I wore my black rain boots, jeans, and tied a red sash around my waist.”

Oh. Oh my. It was Fate. Maybe. Maybe she was reading too much into it. But Ella had to tell him. Because this tiny coincidence shook her straight to her core. “I was Ariel. Once as a little kid, and again in high school. I adore that movie.”

“Maybe we’ll have to watch it together one night.” Standing in a half crouch, he leaned over the table to drop a line of kisses along the edge of the shoulder she’d exposed. Moving up to her ear, Gray growled, “Or better yet, pretend to watch it while we neck.”

“I’m good either way.” The tingles running through her weren’t just from his kisses. It was
possibility
shimmering across her body. They were great together. She and Gray meshed. They challenged each other. Even though she hadn’t admitted it to him yet, they were both crazy for each other. So why not pursue a relationship that lasted past the end of his vacation? Why not make him a permanent part of her world? It wasn’t desperate. It wasn’t irrational. When two people were so perfect for each other, it would be foolish
not
to find a way to stay together. Ella just had to figure out how to make it happen. And she had absolutely no idea where to start.

The only thing she knew for certain was that this was a question she definitely wouldn’t be writing in the mailbox journal.

Chapter Fourteen

Gray whistled as he stuffed shirts into a laundry bag for the maid to take. Kept whistling as he changed into shorts to do yoga with Ella. Snickered when he realized he was whistling a song from that Disney movie. How weird was it that his dream girl, his princess in an honest-to-God tower, liked the movie as much as he did?

He froze with his fingers tangled in the drawstring at his waist. Ella couldn’t be his dream girl. No way, no how. Because he’d never bothered to visualize a future with a perfect wife in it. Gray traveled more days than not out of a year. Worked way more than forty hours a week to not just support his mother, but also build up a good safety net for her. For both of them.

Women were a happy indulgence, like going out to a restaurant for good pizza instead of tossing a frozen disc into the oven. Or blowing the extra dough to see the latest sci-fi blockbuster in 3-D. They were fun. They scratched his sexual itch. But he’d never looked past the daily grind to think of a woman with any permanence.

Shit. Gray sat on the bed. Fisted his hand around the edge of the pale green duvet. This thing with Ella had a life of its own. Feelings first, hormones second, common sense not even registering as a blip on his radar. Being with Ella defied logic. Defied practicality. Even imagining it was a waste of time.

It was a freaking miracle she hadn’t asked more about his job last night. The more time they spent together, the less inclined Gray was to lie to her. But once he revealed that he was in town to potentially help strip her inheritance away, it’d be all over. She’d never want to see him again. So they sure as hell didn’t have any shot at a future together. Something he’d already thought of—and dismissed—at least a handful of times in the past few days.

The only saving grace was that he’d been upfront from the start about leaving after two weeks. They were living in the moment. That was no secret. They just happened to be the best moments of his entire thirty-one years.

Gray shoved up, stalked to the window overlooking the midmorning, blinding brightness of Seneca Lake. His fingers curled into a claw against the glass. Then a fist that he thumped against the frame. Why now? Why her? Why’d he have to fall for the one girl who, on paper, was the worst woman in the world for him?

His computer chimed. It was a video call from Martin. Something almost unheard of in all the years he’d worked for Ruffano & McIntosh. So as much as he didn’t want to, Gray slipped on a plain black tee and linked up.

Martin’s scowling face—and more to the point, his toucan-like nose—filled the screen. “Is that a canopy bed behind you?”

“Yeah.”

“Graydon, I can’t have a serious conversation with you near that thing. Feels like we’re conferencing on a porn set.”

The lace canopy and floral wallpaper looked a lot more like the rooms of an aged British spinster to Gray than a bordello. But he picked up the laptop and moved out to the desk. This call was off to a great start. He didn’t bother to hide his annoyance. “You’re the one who chose the surprise video call instead of using the phone.”

“The brain trust in Human Resources suggested I do this face-to face.”

Invoking HR sent a spear of fear down any employee’s spine. Just because Gray didn’t like his job didn’t mean he wanted it stripped away. Especially when he hadn’t done anything wrong. What the hell could this be about? He grabbed for a bottle of water and chugged a third of it down. The preliminary report on Mayhew Manor wasn’t due till the end of the day. Final one not for another week, and he’d planned to deliver it in person at the company retreat.

“Do what? Check for bags under my eyes to be sure I’m working hard?” he joked weakly.

Martin poked at the bridge of his wire-rimmed glasses. “Graydon, are you ready to send your report?”

Nope. He’d never turned a single one in late. But he damn well wasn’t required to do it early, either. Not to mention the fact that he still hadn’t decided what to put in the damn report. The more he dug, the more Gray leaned toward putting his faith in Mayhew Manor. With the right person running it, and a few fresh ideas, it could easily turn around. Okay, not easily, but it could happen. That assessment would royally piss off the man currently glowering at him. So Gray intended to be damn certain of his conclusion before sharing it.

“Why?” he hedged.

“I told you, I want this one wrapped up fast.”

Something didn’t feel right. Even though Martin was pressuring him to deliver a takeover verdict, he’d never been one to micromanage the process. “What’s the rush?”

Martin leaned back. Fiddled with a pen before tapping it against his own laptop. “I’m accelerating the schedule. I need you to hand in your final report prior to the board meeting.”

“Why?” he asked again.

“Because you’re not coming to the retreat anymore. I had the travel office cancel your ticket an hour ago.”

What the fuck? Gray had earned that trip. And what about the promotion supposedly in the works? The one they’d anoint him with during the retreat? Yeah, it came with more strings than volleyball net, but he still wanted the chance to decide whether or not to accept it.

This made no sense. Why was Martin dancing around the point? He was always a pain in the ass, but usually a straight shooter. “Tell me why I’m grounded. Tell me just what the hell is going on, and tell me right now.”

“Your father’s up for parole.”

Gray wasn’t surprised he hadn’t known. Mail usually gathered for weeks in a dusty pile in his apartment. Anything from the Federal Bureau of Corrections he generally shredded without opening, anyway. He also wasn’t surprised that he didn’t care. What did surprise him was both that Martin knew and that he gave a flying rat’s ass.

“Since when do you monitor the inner workings of the Elmhurst Federal Correctional Facility?”

“Since the day I became a partner in R&M two years ago.”

Not what he expected to hear. Totally out of left field, in fact. But he was beginning to think that HR was wrong. This conversation—whatever it turned out to be—shouldn’t be a video conference at all. When somebody admitted to monitoring your fucking life? That warranted an actual sit down.

“Back up.” Gray began to tick off his points on one hand. “I’ve never hidden the fact that my father’s a convict. I didn’t have to tell you. I consulted with a lawyer. There’s nothing in the employment process that requires I divulge what is or is not messed up about my parents. But I did. I didn’t even wait until I was hired. I sat in front of the firing squad of the third-round interviewers and came right out with it.”

Martin nodded. “True. Unfortunately, I didn’t sit in on those interviews, or you never would’ve been hired.”

There it was, out in the open. Finally. It had been obvious for years that Martin didn’t like him. Even though Gray busted his balls for the company, Martin always had treated him as more of a minion than a co-worker. Gray never knew why. Everyone else at R&M liked him. The lead partner, old McIntosh himself had trained Gray and routinely sung his praises. But when Mac retired and Martin took over, that praise vanished. Now at least Gray knew why.

“When I became partner,” Martin continued, “I reviewed all the personnel files. That’s when I discovered your dirty little secret.”

Martin was so wrong it was almost funny. How much easier Gray’s life would’ve been if he’d been able to keep the truth of his father’s epic fuck-up under wraps? “It’s not a secret.”

“It is to the people who matter. To the board. Most of the company. Above all, it’s a secret to our clients. For now. And I intend to keep it that way.”

“Trust me, I’m not exactly hiring skywriters to share the news.” Aside from that fateful third-round interview, the only person he’d leaked his shit storm of a past to in fifteen years was Ella.

“Are you truly that naïve, Graydon? This is the twenty-first century. Information leaks.”

“He’s come up for parole before. No chance he’ll get out, though. There’s always a parade of victims who go in and protest against his possible release.” Gray’s own mother had gone twice, to insist the system keep him locked up in the interest of public safety. Powerful testimony, coming from his own wife. She’d never let Gray go, though. “Then the parole board leafs through the file, realizes he’s nowhere close to a model prisoner, and they send him back to his cell for another five years.”

“This time is different. I have it on good authority there’s a story on the dark side of small towns being written. Your hometown is profiled, and your father’s story is the lead. Since you’re no longer a minor, they won’t bother to try and hide your identity. I know this because the reporter already called our office trying to dig up information on you.”

Damn it. Gray assumed that leaving his hometown had slammed the door shut on his past. “I’m sure you won’t tell them anything. I won’t. So where’s the problem?”

“They have enough to run your name, your title, your employer. Being tied to this frankly twisted crime, this perverted criminal, would reflect badly on both you and the company. We can’t avoid the PR hit, but we can minimize it.”

Plastic crinkled its protest as Gray’s hand tightened around the water bottle. He knew his rights. “You can’t fire me.”

“So I’m told. But I can keep you under wraps until the media furor passes. Your hometown is a mere forty-minute drive from our headquarters. The local angle will be impossible to suppress. I don’t need reporters following you to the retreat and asking questions in front of our board.”

“Thanks for worrying about how this will affect me.” Could that really happen? Reporters jumping out from bushes to ambush him? Would they go away faster if he gave a quick statement? Would they give up after his fifteenth
no comment?
How was he supposed to handle this? Sixteen fucking years and his father still managed to turn Gray’s life to shit.

“Why should I? You obviously didn’t worry about how your past would affect Ruffano & McIntosh.”

Gray wasn’t the convict. He damn well wouldn’t be treated as one by association. Not again. He’d earned his position. Hell, he’d earned the partnership. His father had nothing to do with it. Nothing to do with him. “That’s not fair.”

“It’s not my job to be fair. I’m responsible for the good standing of this company. That’s what concerns me.” Martin looked at something just off-screen. “Today’s Friday. I’ll expect your report by Wednesday. HR tells me you’ve got more than four weeks of unused vacation. I’m ordering you to use some of it. Keep a low profile, and stay far away for two weeks. That should be enough time for the dust to settle.”

His screen went black.

As did Gray’s mood.

He grabbed his keys, wallet, phone. Looked at the clock. His private yoga session with the sexily spandex-clad Ella started in two minutes. Gray slammed the door shut behind him. Deliberately ran down the hidden, back stairs to avoid the spa. To avoid being seen by anyone in it. There was no way he could see Ella right now. No way he could pretend to be anything less than frustrated and fuming.

If she saw him in that frame of mind, she’d want to help. Want to know what upset him. Her tender compassion would make everything spill out.
Everything.

Caught up in the maelstrom in his head, Gray was across the parking lot and running on asphalt before he realized it. He did realize that he was tired of being a corporate hit man. Sick to death of crushing people’s livelihoods, dreams, and sometimes entire towns. And for what? A company that turned its back on him because of his father’s crimes, just like his hometown had?

Yeah. He couldn’t tell Ella any of that. At least, it wasn’t the place to start the conversation. He’d have to come completely clean with her. Tell her the whole, unvarnished truth of why he was in town. What he did for a living. That he was an integral part of the evil, faceless corporation trying to take over Mayhew Manor.

Or at least, Gray had
thought
he was integral. Thought they valued him. Thought that even if Martin didn’t like him, the man at least respected the hard work he did for the corporation. The money he brought in, the way he did more than his fair share to add to the bottom line. But if none of that mattered? Maybe he should give in to temptation. Just quit. At least then he’d be able to avoid telling Ella...well, anything.

A horn honked. Son of a bitch. Gray lost his footing and stumbled into a bush. A large bush with needle-sharp thorns to help break his fall. He wrenched his back to avoid going any deeper into it and landed on his ass in the mud. Next to a frog. Or a toad. Something small, green and slimy-looking Gray was glad his hand hadn’t landed on.

The door slam coincided with a deep roar of laughter. “Nice moves,” said Ward as he came around the front of a shiny black truck.

“Did you honk at me?”

“Yeah.”

Gray looked down at his right arm, now streaked with thin red cuts to resemble a Picasso-esque version of a tic-tac-toe board. “Why the hell would you do that?”

He scratched at his beard with one hand. “To say hi.”

“Next time, use words. A word. A one-syllable word. Hi. Is that so damn hard?”

“What crawled up your ass?” Ward snarled.

“Half of this damn bush, apparently,” he yelled back. The frog ribbited at him, hopped right across his thighs and into the lush tumble of vegetation. The absurdity of the whole damn thing hit Gray and he laughed. He laughed so hard he wheezed. It didn’t take long before Ward joined him. Just in the laughing, not in the mud.

When Gray finally caught his breath, he said, “Sorry. For biting your head off.”

“Sorry I tried to be neighborly. Should’ve known a big-city type like yourself wouldn’t take kindly to it.” Still chuckling, Ward extended a hand to pull Gray up.

He grabbed on right below the frayed cuff of the red and black plaid flannel shirt. And said, “Bite me,” as he rose from the mud puddle with a squishing, squelching sound.

“You okay?”

“Yeah. Stupid to run on a road and not pay attention. Lucky I didn’t run right into a deer or something.” Gray shook out each leg and ankle carefully, checking to be sure he hadn’t twisted anything with his idiocy.