The Woodworker

by Westlake, Samantha

  Table of Contents

  Front title

  Copyright

  Mailing list opportunity

  Dedication

  Inner title

  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

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Epilogue

  Mailing list - don't miss out!

  Other Works by Samantha Westlake

  About the Author

  The Woodworker

  Samantha Westlake

  Copyright 2018 Samantha Westlake

  All rights reserved.

  The Woodworker

  Book design by Samantha Westlake

  Cover Image Copyright 2018

  Used under a Creative Commons Attribution License:

  http://www.creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0

  Adult content warning: All characters are legal and fully consenting adults and are not blood relations.

  You paid for this ebook. Want one for free?

  Sign up for my mailing list, and I’ll give you another full-length novel, filled with mystery, romance, and sexy twists and turns, entirely for FREE!

  A Billion Little Clues

  Melinda Gaines, overworked personal assistant, is cursed with permanently bad luck. Her boss keeps making unreasonable demands, and no guy has seen the inside of her apartment in months.

  But when Melinda is sent to a party at the CEO’s house, she ends up on a romantic, moonlit balcony with an unnervingly handsome stranger. Melinda is convinced that her run of bad luck is over.

  That is, until she finds that her latest crush is being accused of murder…

  Want it? Click here to sign up and get it now, or copy the following link into your browser:

  http://smarturl.it/Westlake

  My subscribers are the first to hear about my latest novels, and get unique sale opportunities, as well as a chance to read advance copies - all for free! Sign up now!

  Dedication

  For all my readers, both new and returning. I write it all for you.

  The Woodworker

  Chapter One

  Eileen

  * * *

  Before the sun broke above the horizon, my eyes snapped open, a slight smile on my face. I turned my head to catch the numbers illuminated on the bedside clock - five fifty-nine in the morning. One minute before my alarm was scheduled to ring.

  I sat up, climbed out of bed, stretched my limbs as I peeled off my pajamas and switched to a pair of leggings and a sports bra. Not that I had much need for the bra, I admitted ruefully to myself, glancing at my meager chest in the full-length bedroom mirror. My daily workouts kept my body slender, but I’d never been especially gifted in the womanly curves department. While the other girls in my middle school class blossomed, I remained the skinny tomboy, limbs like sticks.

  Not much that I could do about that now, though. And besides, a more generous bustline would end up being a hindrance, rather than a help, in my corporate world. No need to smack my bosses in the face with my womanhood.

  Out in the living room of my apartment, I unfurled my yoga mat, did a couple warm-up stretches before slipping into my routine. I knew the flow of movements between positions by heart, now, and I let my mind wander and drift as my body swung smoothly from stance to stance.

  I had a busy day today, as usual. Nine o’clock meeting with the Marketing team, and I had to make sure that I ended that meeting on time so that I could go catch the engineers before they took their notoriously long lunch break. I still had an error to chase in the production environment, one that I’d promised my bosses that I’d squash by the end of the week. I didn’t doubt that I’d meet my own self-imposed deadline, but I still had to buckle down and get it done.

  After the last yoga position, I hopped on my stationary bike, popping in my earbuds and savoring the burn in my legs as I pumped the heavy wheel up to maximum speed. I pushed myself hard for twenty minutes, forcing a thin sheen of sweat to break out on my limbs, on my forehead.

  My watch beeped at me, and I climbed down from the bike, wiping myself off with a towel. Six o’clock on the dot – just enough time to grab a quick rinse in my shower and then make it into the office before the morning traffic rush.

  Out of the shower, I pulled my brown hair back into my standard, no-nonsense ponytail, traded my damp towel for a conservative gray skirt and dark maroon blouse. A gray jacket completed the ensemble, and I gave my reflection a nod of approval. Perfect for a boss, conveying a fit and trim executive without overly highlighting my femininity.

  The security guard at the front desk of the office building rose slightly from his seat, nodding to me. “Morning, Miss Davies,” he greeted me.

  “Good morning, Charlie.” I smiled blandly back at him as I pulled my ID from my purse to press it against the security gate’s badge reader. “How are things?”

  “You know, the usual.” Charlie rolled his eyes. “Wife’s on my ass about how I don’t have energy for the kids when I get home. Have to explain to her that I don’t just spend eight hours napping here, ya know?”

  “Of course.” I didn’t have the slightest idea what Charlie did for most of his day, but I knew that he wanted appreciation. All employees did; it made managing them much easier if they felt valued. “It’s always a trade-off.”

  “Wish I had your skills, though.” Charlie gave me a little smile as the ID reader beeped and flashed a green light, the turnstile allowing me to pass. “Long as I can remember, you haven’t missed a day. Always in early. I could set my watch by you!”

  “Just doing what I can to help the business, Charlie.” I slipped my ID back into my purse, stepped towards the elevators. “Have a good one.”

  “You too, Miss Davies,” he called after me as the elevator doors opened smoothly to admit me.

  Twenty-five floors higher, I made my way through the open floor plan of scattered cubicles to my office. The frosted glass door unlocked smoothly with my key, and I stepped inside, smiled and sighed as I set my purse down atop my clean, neatly organized desk.

  I loved this time in the morning most of all, before the rest of the employees came trundling in to fill the office with noise and motion and activity. Now, it was just me and the potential for accomplishment, no one to interrupt my thoughts. At this time, I didn’t yet have to worry about putting out fires, dealing with the million little day-to-day issues that inevitably surfaced. I just needed to think about the long-term strategy, the tantalizing potential of everything I could possibly accomplish.

  It took a minute for my computer to boot up; I sat behind my desk, fingers laced together in front of me, took the last few deep and calming breaths that I was likely to get before six PM. I once again ran through my mental schedule for the day, making sure that I didn’t have any suspicious open gaps.

  Soon, the silence outside my office was shattered as more employees began arriving, chatting among themselves as they headed to their desks, w
oke up their computers, got started on their own workloads. I kept my attention focused on my own computer, answering the flood of emails that had arrived last night that I’d felt could wait twelve hours for a response – until a knock came at my office door.

  “Morning, Jack,” I said as my assistant pushed my door open carefully, two cups of coffee balanced atop each other in his free hand.

  “How’d you know that it was me?” he asked, as he always did, his brown eyes sparkling beneath the unruly shock of brown, nearly black hair. Jack insisted that he wore his hair perfectly styled in ‘fashionably mussed appearance,’ but a part of me suspected that he just spiked it up on purpose to accentuate his bed head, give him more of a rumpled and relaxed appearance.

  I looked flatly back at him, extending one hand for my coffee. “It’s seven thirty, Jack. You’re always the first to come into my office, because everyone else knows not to disturb me until after I’ve had my morning coffee.”

  “Ah, but what if I was your boss, though?”

  “If you were my boss, I’d be fleeing this sinking ship of a company,” I told him, smiling. “But if Mr. Sanders needed to speak to me, I doubt that he’d knock before entering.”

  Jack shook his head, passing me my coffee and taking a long pull on his own. “My gosh, Eileen. You really think through everything, don’t you? Have you ever had a surprise party in your life that you didn’t know was coming?”

  I pretended to muse on the question, playing it up. “Strangely enough, I don’t think that I’ve ever been caught off guard by one.”

  “Figures. You’re like some sort of superhuman business robot, sent here from the future to ensure that Integrated Technologies grows to become the next Skynet, aren’t you?”

  “Skynet?” I frowned.

  “You know, from the Terminator series? ‘I’ll be back’, all that?” When my face stayed blank, Jack sighed, throwing up his hand theatrically. “My god, girl, you really don’t have any time for any sort of pop culture at all, do you? Have you even heard of the movies? Do you know who Darth Vader even is?”

  “He’s not from those movies, is he?” When Jack looked like he was seriously considering slapping me, I laughed. “Come on, Jack, I’m pulling your leg. I’m not a robot. Besides, if I’d really been sent from the future to rule a business, I’d be a man, wouldn’t I?”

  “Being a woman doesn’t seem to have held you back,” he retorted. “I don’t think that you can use that as any sort of excuse.”

  I smiled, pleased despite the obvious flattery. I’d poured my heart and soul into my work over the last decade, since I graduated from college with my heard-earned business degree clutched in hand, and my current office and title showed the fruits of my labors. I’d climbed rapidly up the ranks of several companies, landing myself my current role of Associate Vice President of Business Development. When asked by friends and family what the title meant, I just laughed and told them that I was the main fireman of the building, putting out all the metaphorical fires that broke out in and between the other various departments.

  “I do have to ask, honey,” Jack continued, as I shook off his flattery, “have you ever taken a single vacation day?”

  “I take my vacations!” I only added mentally that I usually didn’t get to a lot of relaxing. Even when I was at home or enjoying a day at the spa, I kept my work phone close at hand, ready to deal with any last-minute panicked emergency emails that landed aflame in my inbox. “Like I said, Jack, I’m not a robot. Now, how about getting back to your desk to screen my visitors so I don’t have every single department in here, demanding my attention for their every issue?”

  “Sure thing, Miss T-1000,” Jack said, reaching back behind him for the handle to my office door. I smiled back at him, not sure of the reference but unwilling to receive more teasing for not getting the connection.

  Before leaving, however, Jack paused. “Oh, I did bump into Paunchy on my way into the building,” he added. “He mentioned that he needed to talk to you about something.”

  “Don’t call him that.” My boss, Ford Sanders, the VP of Business Development and my boss on the hierarchy chart, was in his late fifties and regrettably out of shape. Most of the employees treated him with the respect that his elevated position deserved, but I’d never quite managed to get Jack to be respectful of anyone – including myself. I settled for still chastising him, even though I knew it made no difference, and trying to ensure that none of his victims ever heard the nicknames he assigned to them.

  Even now, Jack just puffed out his stomach, pulling his hair back from his forehead with one hand and, I’ll admit, managing a credible impersonation of my boss. “Whatever you say, boss,” he uttered in a low, rather breathy voice.

  “Stop it,” I told him, without much heat behind my words. “What did he want?”

  Jack shrugged, slipping back to himself. “No clue. I’m just your lowly personal assistant, not privy to the whims of the high and mighty executives.” He broke down and gave me a salacious wink. “But I’m sure you can handle it, Superwoman.”

  I waved him out of my office with a smile and a chuckle. Jack had been with me for several years, and despite his lack of respect and sometimes inappropriate sense of humor, I’d developed a heck of a soft spot for the young man. I remembered back when, just out of college, I’d had a similar flippant attitude, convinced that I could breeze my way to the top of the business food chain.

  I took a sip of my coffee, savoring the warmth as it flowed down my throat. I pulled a meal replacement bar out from my desk, tore open the wrapping and ate it in a few bites, using the coffee to keep it from scratching my throat. I ate and drank with one hand, my other flying over my keyboard as I cleared half a dozen small tasks off my to-do list. My day was busy, as always, but I didn’t foresee any real problems coming up.

  I was a little curious, however, what Mr. Sanders might need from me. Usually, my boss preferred to keep a more hands-off approach, only sending me an email or a text message, usually rife with misspellings, if some issue arose. I always had a prompt answer ready for him, ready to soothe his easily ruffled and panicked feathers.

  My mind jumped to the recent BaseSpace deal, a big contract that we’d been hoping to land, but had been tied up in lengthy back-and-forth negotiations for months. Maybe there’d been some news on that front, and we’d finally be able to plan out the rest of our fiscal budget, now that we had the extra income from that deal.

  Still, I figured I’d stay here in my office, let Sanders find me. He was rarely in his own office, and I had plenty of other work to occupy my time. He’d show up soon enough, let me know what new problem was landing on my plate.

  I had full confidence that, whatever the problem might be, I’d know how to tackle it.

  Later, I looked back on that morning with a good bit of nostalgia. That morning, before Sanders found me, was the last time for quite a while that I’d feel confident and secure in my future, not knowing what cruel trick Life was about to throw at me.

  Chapter Two

  Eileen

  * * *

  Three calls and two meetings later, Ford Sanders finally found me.

  “Good morning, Mr. Sanders,” I greeted him sunnily as he stepped into my office, somehow perpetually out of breath and panting slightly as if he’d just climbed a dozen flights of stairs. “Everything going well?”

  He glanced at me for a moment, dropping one thick-fingered hand onto the back of one of the chairs in front of my desk. As always, Mr. Sanders gave me the impression of a man who’d never discovered how to properly press and clean his clothes; he owned half a dozen suits, but they all seemed equally ill-fitting and wrinkled, as if they conformed to wrinkles in his body from the moment he put them on in the morning. He’d started losing his hair at least half a decade previously, but he still combed the few remaining hairs forward to cover his pink and shiny dome, as if unwilling to admit what was immediately apparent to anyone else who looked at him. He wore a wedd
ing ring, looking uncomfortably tight as it cut into the thick flesh of his stubby finger, but I’d never heard him comment anything positive about his wife, and I’d never had the pleasure of meeting the woman at any of the company events.

  Not that I was one to talk, given that I’d never even had a significant other to bring along to any of those events. I showed up, greeted everyone, indulged in a single drink, and then made sure to duck out before any of the real craziness, the kind of antics that got my coworkers fired, could begin.

  “Ah, Ms. Davies,” Sanders greeted me once he’d caught his breath, as if he’d expected to find someone else sitting instead in my office. “And how are you doing today?”

  “As well as can be expected.” I had no trouble making small talk, but Sanders always seemed to struggle with it, like he was reading off some script that he’d found in a Dummies book. Still, he always insisted on muddling his way through, so I let him get it out instead of trying to jump ahead.

  “Good, good, that’s good to hear.” In the back of my head, a little alarm bell began to chime. Whenever Sanders used a positive word over and over in quick succession, it tended to mean the opposite. “Would you mind if we stepped into my office for a minute?” He glanced down at my hands, still positioned over my keyboard. “You can finish up on what you’re doing, if you need to.”

  “No, it’s no trouble.” I saved the agenda I’d been drafting – and then paused, frowning. “Why don’t you just tell me here, Mr. Sanders? You can shut the office door behind you, if you need privacy.”

  “No, my office is probably better, if that’s okay,” he replied, glancing behind him at the door as if relying on it as his exit. “See you there in...?”

  “Five minutes,” I promised, answering his unspoken question.

  After he left, I finished typing out my thoughts for the agenda, locked my computer, and grabbed a pad of notes out of my upper desk drawer. Ready and prepared, I left my office and headed down the hall to Sanders’.