Seth Valentine

By John Harris

Greg works for one of the largest publishing companies in the world. Seth is a young rock star, living life to the fullest. The two men could not be more different. They’re also neighbors.

When Greg moves in, Seth’s constant parties is a source of contention. But as the two men butt heads, they find they may have more in common than they think. Both of the men are struggling with where they are headed, and they bond quickly. The bond grows to more, and soon the men are lovers.

But with Greg and Seth leading two very different lives, can their relationship make it? As Seth struggles with a record company that wants him to stay in the closet, and Greg pushes forward a book at his company that holds a devastating secret, everything comes to a boil, and the two men find themselves at different places in their life. Is love strong enough to conquer all, or are Greg and Seth destined to be nothing but neighbors?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Books Unite People
• Release date: Jul 27, 2017
• ISBN: 9781386029991

Book preview

Chapter One

The sky outside of Gregory Johnson’s office was orange and purple, the color of morning. He was lucky even to have a view of the sky. If his office were on any of the other sides of the building, he would see nothing but the city, gray and steel and the streak of light on windows. But there, in his office, facing out to the river, he saw the brilliant colors, and he closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair.

He came in so early only to do exactly what he was doing. Leaning back in his chair, the leather creaking with each minuscule movement of his body. The sun felt warm on his face, and he enjoyed it. Soon enough the day would begin as his co-workers poured in from the elevators, and the quiet he was experiencing would be gone, nothing but a memory as the phones buzzed and the computer keys clicked, and people rushed from this office to that.

As it stood at that moment, Greg was the vice president of acquisitions. It was a nice spot, and he made a good amount of money, and he had done well at the position for the last five years. But it wasn’t where he wanted to be, and finally, the time to move on had come. He had started out at Grandfield and Allen as an editor. The switch to acquisitions had been too nice of a pay raise to pass up, but editing was his passion. At acquisition he had overseen the incoming books, ultimately choosing which books got picked up, and which got rejected. It was an important job, and he enjoyed it well enough, but after he had agreed to take a book on behalf of the company, he was done with it. It was on to the next book in the pile.

As an editor, he could guide the book along, and he could help make it the best it could be. The novels he worked on as an editor became adopted children. His babies, raised with the author until it was time to push them out of the door and onto store shelves, or more aptly, onto Kindle apps.

And now, he was going to be going back to editing. Greg had put in the time, and he had impressed at the executive level. Sales were up across the board, and old man Raymond Grandfield (Rodney Allen, his partner, had died the decade previous) had correctly pegged Greg as the main pillar behind the growth. In a world where fewer and fewer people were reading, growing book sales made everyone in the industry take notice.

Greg was going to oversee editing. The official title he was inheriting was president of editing, simple and to the point. The previous head of editing had announced his retirement at the beginning of the year. Almost everyone in the company had known Greg was going to get the nod, but he hadn’t let himself get excited.

That was until Raymond had asked him to lunch one day, late in the afternoon. Greg had already had lunch. He almost always packed, but he had enough business savvy to know you should never turn down your boss for a lunch invite, so he went along, riding in the back of the old man’s limousine, and he had eaten lunch at an Italian place with a name he could hardly pronounce.

Do you know why I asked you here today? Raymond asked him as they sat and sipped at coffee after their meal, waiting for two slices of tiramisu.

No, Greg said, looking his boss over. Raymond was getting on in years, almost eighty, but showing no signs of slowing down. He was a broad man, at the shoulder, at the chest, and tall, standing over six feet two. Intimidating to say the least. But Greg had never seen him angry. He had never heard him yell. That had been Rodney’s job, and he had done it well, Raymond was level-headed and bright and calm. When he looked at you, he almost looked as though he was seeing you for the first time, even if you had spoken to him every day, it always seemed as though the man was learning something new about you.

Raymond smiled. I don’t believe that. Take a guess, if you really don’t know.

Greg knew he had to say something, and there was only one thing he felt the meeting could be about, so he ventured forth with it.

The editing job, he said.

The editing job, Raymond repeated, and he smiled, and there was a twinkle in his eye as he looked Greg over.

How old are you, Gregory?

Forty this year, Greg said.

Forty this year. Isn’t that something? Almost only half my age. Amazing what you’ve done in such little time.

Greg let his shoulders lift and then sag. You’ve done more than I have.

Raymond laughed. Yes, that is true, but I’ve done it in a lot longer time, he said. It made Greg laugh as well. My point is, you’re doing great things for us, and I think you can do some more. The editing job, as you put it, is going to be yours.

Greg couldn’t help but smile. He tried to hide it, but he couldn’t, so he just sat there, grinning like an idiot.

Great, Greg said. I’ll take it.

Raymond laughed as though that was the funniest thing he had ever heard, and once again, his laughter was infectious. Greg giggled right along with him, as a bewildered waiter set two plates down on their table.

In his chair, basking in the sun, Greg heard a ding, and out on the office floor, the elevator door opened. He opened his eyes and turned to see Raymond himself entering.

I thought you might be here, he said to a bewildered Greg as he stepped into his office. Raymond’s office was three floors up. The publishing company took the top eight floors of the Henderson Plaza, a rigid and old skyscraper.

Just taking in the view one more time, Greg said. Raymond smiled as he took a seat across from the younger man’s desk.

Ah yes. The new office is bigger, but if I remember correctly, it looks directly into the office of that music exec next door.

Greg smiled and nodded. You’re right, sir.

Sir this, sir that. Cut it out. I’m Raymond. My mother named me it, and she’s long gone, so I like to preserve her memory.

Greg nodded. Raymond. I’m excited to get started.

Well, that’s for Monday, right? Today is Thursday, and you have work to do. I just came down to tell you that I think tomorrow we can officially announce it. We’ll have a little get together in the afternoon, and I’ll introduce you. Sound good?

It sounds great, Greg said.

Good, the old man said, and then he heaved his broad frame to his feet, grunting with exertion. Greg watched him, and he couldn’t help but marvel that the man was still going. Anyone else would have retired long before then, but Raymond hadn’t, and made no indication that he was going to. It was a long-running joke among the younger employees of the company that Raymond would probably outlive them all.

The old man left, and Greg was alone once more. Within half an hour, the office began filling up, and Greg put his mind to getting through the day and leaving a tightly ran ship for whoever was going to be coming in behind him.

Chapter Two

The teenage girls were gyrating together, the three of them in a tight grouping, their hips swaying back and forth, their hands on each other’s waist. Three out of the four members of the band looked on eagerly, trying to convince themselves that the girls had to be eighteen, and certainly couldn’t be underage. The staff wasn’t supposed to let underage girls back, right?

But Seth Valentine wasn’t interested. He sat on the edge of the couch, his temples throbbing as the music blared in the green room. The show had been a good one, but it was the last stop on a lengthy tour, and he was ready to get home. He was ready to rest for a night or two and then have his friends over. At least, that’s what he kept telling himself.

In reality, he missed his mom. Up until last year, she had been home. Sure, he had been living in New York, half an hour from the city for a few years, but home was Minnesota, where his mother lived. His father wasn’t in the picture any longer and hadn’t been since Seth was three. He kept up with that asshole, just enough to know his dad lived in Florida, and was in fine health, and had remarried years ago and had two more children, half siblings that Seth had never met, nor was interested in doing so.

Whenever Seth thought of home, he had thought of his mother, and the house she had raised him in.

Now she was gone. It had been cancer, and it had been swift. Before she had gotten it, she was petite and round, with rosy cheeks and graying brown hair. Within months of the diagnosis, she was gaunt and bedridden. Shortly after that, she was dead.

So now home was just the mansion in New York. It was everything Seth had wanted as a kid when he formed the band at fifteen. They started playing gigs when they were sixteen. Sometimes missing school to drive to larger cities to play. The demo tape came, the record deal, and now Seth could turn on the radio and hear his own voice, his own songs. He could see the videos during the one hour a day MTV actually played videos. He had made it.

He was only twenty-two, and his band, Don’t Ask Stacey, had two albums out, both of which had sold millions of copies.

The girls loved them. Seth sang and played guitar, while Calvin, his best friend growing up played bass. Rhythm guitar was handled by Calvin’s older brother Max, and their drummer was a kid who had gone to a neighboring school named Dustin. Now they weren’t kids anymore. They were men, young men, but men to be sure, and they were famous and only gaining more popularity each day.

Seth sighed, watching the girls. They were disrobing now, having been dressed in only skirts and halter tops, it didn’t take long for them to be standing there nude, the three of them kissing.

Okay, which one do you want? Dustin asked, nudging Max, who sat beside him.

Whichever one will have me, he laughed.

Seth rolled his eyes and stood up.

I’m heading to the hotel, he told his bandmates.

All right, Calvin said. He had a beer in his hand, and Seth tried to remember how many beers that made for Calvin. His best friend had been drinking a lot for the last year, and Seth was worried it was becoming a problem. He had learned not to say anything, though, so he just grabbed his jacket and left the green room.

It was a short walk to the rear door of the venue a large arena in Chicago that housed the local hockey team. It was hours after the show, but there was still a crowd waiting for him, and Seth took a moment to sign some things and pose for selfies with fans. Then he was into the limo, and the driver was taking him the short distance to the four-star hotel the band had been put up at by the recording company.

Yet more people were waiting for Seth at the hotel, and young girls screamed as he stepped out of the limo. If anyone was disappointed that it was just him, and not the whole band, they didn’t show it. And Seth knew that wasn’t the case. Calvin’s drinking hadn’t been the only source of tension on the tour. As time went on, and the band’s singles rocketed up the charts, and the concerts began to sell out, Seth was becoming the face of the band. He was the lead singer after all. But two months ago, when they were shooting their latest video (for their latest single, ‘Christine’s Song’ in the span of a weeklong break from the tour, the director had wanted him to shoot a lot of takes where the other members weren’t even present. Seth had refused, and that meant something to the other guys, but it was still hard on them.

Seth was alone in the elevator, and he took a moment to sigh and lean back against the wall.

The only person in his room was his assistant, a woman named Bethany who was a few years older than Seth. She was beautiful, tall and brunette, with long legs that seemed never to end. Of course, her charms were wasted on Seth, who had once been openly gay, but no longer had that luxury due to pressure from the record company.

He knew he would never forget an early meeting with Mr. Michaels, the president of Big Apple Records, one of the top four record companies in the world. The man’s office was as large as the house Seth had grown up in, and it was his first time being one on one with the man. He sat nervously across a truly massive mahogany desk and watched as Mr. Michaels finished typing something on his slim laptop.

If anything, Seth wouldn’t mind seeing as much as he could of Henry Michaels. The man was in his fifties but took great care of himself. He was tall and tanned, and his body clearly muscular underneath his carefully fitted suit. Seth was so lost up in his own fantasy that he