Elf Trouble A Studs 4 Hire Short

Studs 4 Hire

ELF TROUBLE

Sherry James

Elf Trouble

Copyright 2013 Sherry James

Dusty Trail Publishing

Editor: Julie Miller

Cover design by Sherry A. Siwinski utilizing selected photos from

123RF.com—sosha111, John McAllister, Chris Cooper, Syda Productions

istockphoto.com—Bowden Images, sbayram

Smashwords Edition

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to the publisher and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.

ISBN: 978-0-9912810-5-3

Formatted by IRONHORSE Formatting

Dedication

For all of the abandoned, neglected and abused animals around the world. May they all come to know the joy of a safe home, and the love of a caring human.

Acknowledgements

My sincerest thanks to my editor, Julie Miller, on this project. She encouraged me, threw some tough love my way when I doubted, and pushed me forward when I struggled. Thank You!

And as always, a big thanks to my support staff, Mike, Wyatt and Hannah. Thanks for your faith, encouragement, and for, well … putting up with me and my crazy career!

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Epilogue

About the Author

Other Books by Sherry James

Chapter One

This can’t be good, Gil Boyd mumbled. Being summoned to the boss’s office first thing on a Monday morning had to mean only one thing—he’d screwed up. How, he had no clue. He’d been working for Studs 4 Hire since they’d opened a few months ago and he was under the impression that so far, so good.

No complaints from the bosses. No unhappy customers.

He shifted his truck into park and cut the engine.

So, why had Terri Alberry called him last night and asked him to meet with her and her partners, Sydnie and Casey, bright and early this a.m.?

Maybe it was some quarterly review stuff, he thought, as he exited the truck and headed across the snowy parking lot toward the back door of the Studs 4 Hire offices.

Or, maybe he was about to be fired.

The thought made his stomach take a dive south.

He couldn’t lose this job.

Not now.

Not ever. His grandmother’s welfare depended upon him.

Gil kicked the fresh dusting of snow from his boots before going in and noticed a small pine tree, potted in a bucket of dirt, standing beside the door. The small Scotch was decked out in red, green and gold tinsel and even had a strand of lights hooked up to an extension cord running to a nearby outlet.

He scowled at the tree. Christmas. What a joke. To his way of thinking there wasn’t a single thing to be jolly about this time of year.

Refocusing his brain to the pending meeting, he crossed his fingers that nothing major—like a pink slip party—awaited his arrival. Trying to find a job during the blasted holiday season was a nightmarish endeavor. Most companies were too concerned about their bottom line for the year to consider hiring anyone at this late date, and the majority of the seasonal jobs had been filled since early October. Not that Gil wanted to work a job having anything to do with the holidays. As far as he was concerned, the whole commercialized, rip-off-the-consumer hype could go by way of the Dodo.

The second he opened the door, a loud blast of music hit him with enough force to knock off the tape measure clipped to his front jeans pocket.

And it wasn’t just any music.

It was festive music.

Very merry Christmassy music.

He groaned under his breath as the lyrics about dancin’ and prancin’ in some square bounced off the walls, reverberating down the long hallway.

He rolled his eyes. Great. More holiday hoopla he despised and had absolutely no patience for.

Of course, it could be worse. His bosses could be playing the song where dogs barked in time to Jingle Bells. Now there was a Christmas song designed to really deliver the true meaning of the season.

Yeah, about as much joy as income tax season brought to every American taxpaying adult each spring.

What he should do each year was stash away a few bucks from his paychecks so he could escape this yearly madness. He could handle hibernating away in some remote location where no radio, no TV, and best of all, no Christmas could be found. Just give him a sandy beach, a lounge chair, and an ice bucket full of his favorite beer and he wouldn’t care the calendar said it was December.

If only.

Gil sucked in a deep breath and attempted to block out the irritating music. No luck.

But, it didn’t matter. He had to push his distaste for the holidays and all they comprised of, aside. If he hoped to salvage his job, he couldn’t be late for this meeting, and he couldn’t let his dislike for all things Christmas show. People had a tendency to look at him as he was a mental case when he admitted the truth about his Scrooge-ish holiday feelings. Years ago he’d learned to keep his mouth shut. Life was simpler that way.

He continued down the hall and heard laughter mixing in with the music. He frowned and glanced at his watch—too damn early in the day for a party to his way of thinking. But, his bosses were known to do some crazy stuff, and take on some even crazier jobs. So far, though, Gil had considered himself lucky. No old women had pawed him like a box of expensive chocolates; he hadn’t been mauled by any dogs; and he hadn’t been ordered to build a shrine to a long deceased rock star.

All was good.

He hoped all was still good.

Stopping outside the office where a good time was obviously being had by all, he braced himself and tugged on the cuffs of his brown Duck jacket. Before knocking on the partially open door, he stole a glance inside and saw an array of Christmas decorations scattered amongst the office furniture.

Oh, boy. He was about to step into his worst nightmare—being fired while drowning in cheap tinsel and razor sharp holly leaves.

Might as well get it over with, he grumbled under his breath. He lifted his hand to knock when the door swung wide, revealing Casey Burrows, one of his bosses, an artificial garland of white pine needles, pine cones and berries draped around her neck.

Gil, she said with more enthusiasm than should be humanly possible on a cold, dreary Monday morning. Prompt as usual. I like that in an employee. She gave him a mega-watt smile capable of melting every flake of snow falling outside. A quick hug followed.

Now what should he do? Return the hug? Or keep standing as stiff as a two by four? Before he could decide, she ended the hug and yanked him into the office. Okay. Maybe this wasn’t going to be so bad. What boss would greet him with a smile and hug if her intention was to fire him?

Good morning, Gil, Sydnie and Terri said in unison over the music.

Mornin’, he said. An overwhelming sense of unease skittered along his spine.

Sydnie turned to the stereo behind her and pushed a button. Blessed silence engulfed the room. Gil sighed in relief. Quiet. He liked quiet.

Have a seat, Sydnie said as she plunked down into the brown leather chair behind her desk. We’re doing a little decorating for the season.

A little? Hell. The office looked like the holiday isle in Wal-Mart after the Black Friday rush.

We’ve been so busy, Sydnie continued, we haven’t had a chance until today.

Ah…sure. Gil glanced around for an empty spot to park himself, but saw none.

Sit here, Terri ordered. I can move this stuff. She grabbed a pile of artificial pine boughs and red velvet bows from an overstuffed leather chair, her slight frame disappearing under the mountainous load.

Need some help with that? Gil asked, nearly chocking out the words. But if his job performance was on the line, he’d better step it up regardless of how much he loathed tinsel.

Thanks, I got it. She dumped the mound onto the floor beside his chair.

He glanced back at the door, feeling an intense urge to run. Instead, he mentally bolted his feet to the floor and waited for the women to take their seats. He might be a bruiser of a guy who wasn’t refined, and who didn’t always know what to say at any given moment, but his grandmother had taught him manners and respect for women.

Once all three women were seated, he followed suit. His six foot four-inch frame sunk so deep into the oversized plush cushion he wondered if he was going to end up with his butt on the floor. He tugged at the collar of his shirt, feeling as out of place as if he were sitting in the Oval Office and the president of the United States was behind Sydnie’s desk. On only a few occasions had he been in any of the gal’s offices—once for the job interview, and then again to fill out the paperwork after he was hired. Otherwise, he picked up his project assignments and paycheck from his mailbox in the contractor room and went about his business without a whole lot of interaction with anyone.

In truth, Gil often wondered how he’d gotten this job in the first place. He’d never considered himself handsome, and he wasn’t sophisticated and into fancy clothes or fast cars. He didn’t wax his chest, or work out at the gym. He was the simple, work-grade flannel and insulated coverall type who pumped muscles by handling loads of lumber and swinging a hammer—not exactly a poster boy for a company called Studs 4 Hire.

True, he was a damn good carpenter, but the carpenters at Studs were supposed to exude sex appeal, sport six pack abs, bulging biceps, and eyes smoky with sensuality. Beer guts and plumber’s crack didn’t exactly make calendar material. Not that he had a beer gut, or a problem with his jeans pulling down his ass so far he revealed way more than was morally right, but he wouldn’t place his abs in the six pack department, either.

Yep. He was doomed.

We have a very special project for you, Gil. Sydnie said, opening a manila file folder in the middle of her desk.

What? he asked, startled. Special project? He scooted to the edge of his seat. He wasn’t about to be fired? He resisted the urge to knock himself upside of the head to make sure he’d heard right.

Yes. We’ve been very pleased with your job performance to date. However . . . we feel . . bad. She shrugged.

Bad? Gil stiffened. Damn. He’d been right. They were handing him his walking papers. I’m not sure what you mean.

So far, every job you’ve worked for us, you’ve done solo, Sydnie said. For some reason you’re the one who always gets stuck with the smaller projects which don’t require a crew, and are pretty humdrum. Routine stuff.

Actually, Gil preferred working alone, making a point to