Mistaken Identity: Mistaken Series, #1

By TC Matson

Life sometimes gives you a fork in the road and doesn’t give you a hint of which direction to take. There’s no signs, no arrows, no neon lights to help. Luckily, Samantha Beckman chose the right path years ago and escaped from the horrors of her childhood. Along with her best friend, Jess, she lives a wonderful life—happy and carefree just as any twenty six year old should. 

Opportunity arises when Samantha lands the job of a lifetime as the COO’s executive assistant for North Carolina’s leading corporation, Weston Company. 

Yet, not everything is as it seems. Samantha soon learns Mr. Eye Candy from the elevator isn’t who he says he is, the sexy construction worker isn’t what she thought he was, and don’t forget about her new unwanted and clever stalker. Maybe her life isn’t as simple as she hoped it would be. 

Caught in the sights of two men and a stalker, Samantha is forced to decide between flight and fight, fear over strength. Will she be able to take the right path again, or has her luck finally run out? 

• Language: English
• Publisher: TC Matson
• Release date: Jul 28, 2016
• ISBN: 9781536583977

Book preview

Chapter 1

You are soooo not getting that! Jess sneers at me as I hold up a blue and white tie-dyed shirt, intentionally trying to ruffle her fashion feathers.

You don’t think so? I ask, holding the hideous shirt against my chest, swaying back and forth, modeling it for her. Teasing her inner fashion diva is one of my favorite things to do while shopping with her. She loves shopping. Me…eh, not so much. Yes, I like clothes and shoes, but that is the extent of it. If it was up to me, I’d rather lounge around in a pair of yoga pants and a t-shirt that was three sizes too big for me.

If you get that, I will barf on it every time I see you in it. She taps her long bony finger against her chin. Maybe I’ll set fire to it instead. She turns her attention back to the clothing racks, furiously skimming for a blouse that pleases her.

Oh. My. God! she shrieks, ripping a shirt off the rack almost knocking the whole thing down. I sooo love this! She turns holding a cardinal red blouse in delight.

I scrunch my nose. It’s pretty.

It’s beyond pretty, Sam. This thing is gorgeous and would do you justice tomorrow. She holds the blouse up to my chest, stepping back to admire it. Red means you’re powerful and energetic. Pair this with a black pencil skirt…smoking hot!

Jess has never had to worry about what she wears, she’s always had the perfect body for fashion. Being five-foot-eight inches tall and nothing but legs and boobs, she could wear a filing cabinet and make it look good. Not only does she have the body, but with the perfect hair and the bubbly personality, she is a walking supermodel. I, on the other hand, don’t have the money she has, and my five-foot-four body sure as hell can’t wear the things she wears. What would be a miniskirt on her would be closer to my knees if I wore it. Do I harbor some envy? Well, hell yes, who wouldn’t?

Sensing my hesitation, she drops the blouse abruptly to her side. Sam, you are starting your new job tomorrow. Don’t go in there with the same non-tasteful, wrinkled-at-the-bottom-of-your-closet, poor excuse for clothes.

I try my best not to laugh, My clothes are tasteful, just not as fruity as yours.

Samantha, she whines, you have to. You haven’t gone shopping in ages. It’s a professional place. Pajama bottoms and pink fuzzy slippers aren’t gonna cut it. She knows me all too well. Oh! Maybe you can find a handsome fellow, too, she squeals, clapping her hands. I dream of the day I hear your headboard slamming against the wall.

God, Jess…can we say perv?

I mean it, Sam, you haven’t dated anyone since Robbie. You’re a walking orgasm waiting to happen. I bet if you brushed up against a feather duster you’d explode.

A feather duster? I furrow my brows at her, and she shrugs like it was the best thing she could give me. First, my orgasm-loving friend, I’m not walking around ready to explode. I’m fine. Plus, if you recall, I vowed that I’d never date another man unless there were instant sparks…fireworks, to be exact.

You have to light the fuse first, she quips. Besides, not all men are like Robbie. Most men, when in love, don’t walk around with a stubby trying to poke holes in every girl. Habitual cheater. He couldn’t help himself.

You’re making excuses for him now?

She jerks back like I just shot her, eyebrows pinched together. Of course she’s not making excuses for him. He was a worthless piece of shit. We dated for almost two years. I was blind and utterly in love with him. Then one day a beautiful woman with shiny ebony hair and deep brown eyes, showed up at my door. She was upset, crying, and looking for him. Come to find out, she was five months pregnant and Robbie was the suspected father. I was lost for words when she told me, completely floored. He had me totally fooled.

When he came home, he found me and Sandy sitting on the couch together. He froze, face melted to the floor, and the color emptied away. He was cornered with no place to go but out the front door, which didn’t register in his peanut brain. He denied everything. Sandy left even more upset than when she arrived at my door. I felt bad for her, but after an hour of listening to him, I believed it. Everything was great until the next month. Then different girls, different excuses, and finally I got the proof I needed…a picture. After that, his words meant nothing to me, and I packed my stuff and left.

It hurt like hell to walk away from someone I loved, but the betrayal of my trust stung the most. He begged me, even got down on his knees. Though I might have been blind to the situation, I sure as hell wasn’t stupid.

I’m a trained professional, Jess says proudly.

Oh really? I act surprised. I didn’t know that twelve weeks of a psych course classified you as a trained professional.

It only verified that I am awesome and don’t need a class to tell me that. So, are you buying this shirt or are my hopes and dreams for you going to crash down around me?

The red blouse is pretty, and after looking at the price tag, it will be the single most expensive piece of clothing I have in my small closet. I’ll get it, I try to sound unenthusiastic, but the truth is, I knew I was going to buy it the moment Jess pulled it off the rack…just don’t tell her that. Her ruffled feathers and pleading green eyes are my only joy when shopping. My focus.

Annndd the black pencil skirt? she adds hopefully.

Yes, I say, letting it out in a long sigh and rolling my eyes, still trying not to give away my excitement. I was doing good until the moment she started jumping up and down. Then all stubbornness on my side went out the window, and I started jumping with her. Can you imagine the stares from the other shoppers seeing two twenty-six-year-olds jumping like we’re ten?

Jess grabs my shoulders and leans back, determination flaring in her eyes. Any way I could persuade you into a mani-pedi?

You have me shopping and now you want to pretty me up some more? Is there something you’re trying to tell me? I joke.

Is that a yes?

One side of my lip curls into a lopsided smile, and I arch my brow. We’ve been friends since high school so she knows my facial expressions well. Before I can even respond to her, she pulls me in and hugs me then steps back with my long chocolate brown hair running through her fingers.

She scrunches her nose, Maybe get a haircut, too?

Sooo…basically I need a total make over? I chuckle. She’s not wrong, I need one. Who the hell knows when I had my last haircut?

Yep! she says like a bird chirp, then turns sauntering toward the cash registers with my things in her hands, hips swaying side to side, confident and sexy.

Chapter 2

The Medieval flails pound against my eardrums. Known to most as the evil alarm clock, it pulls me from my anxious sleep. I have laid here for hours tossing and turning, fretting about my new job. The thanks I get for all the worrying is a whopping four hours of sleep. I’ve never understood why mornings don’t have the decency to start at ten instead of six. They would be better if they did.

Throwing my covers back, I leap out of the bed and head straight for the shower in a vain attempt to wash away the first day jitters. Without letting the water warm up like I normally do, I step in too early and get sprayed by the freezing cold water. And…now I’m wide awake and praying my jojoba and shea body wash will energize me. Shampoo—check. Conditioner—check. Shave legs/pits—should have done this last night, but check. I look up right before turning the water off and see my dry loofah staring back at me. Shit. This better not be a sign of things to come.

You excited yet? Jess peeks her head into the bathroom, her long blonde hair sitting in a messy bun on top of her head, her large green eyes excited for my new journey. I swear she wears that just rolled out of bed look like a supermodel.

I’m not sure if I’m nervous or excited. You know this job is a big deal. A really big deal, actually. I haven’t had a solid job in a year, and money is starting to dwindle. I was staying busy cleaning houses part time, but the pay didn’t leave me any leeway for extra spending money. God bless Jess for helping me out and getting my foot in the door where she works.

Ummm, Sam, staring at yourself in the mirror all morning isn’t going to help you get dressed. She snickers, pushing the door open further revealing her perfect body in nothing more than a blue tank top and black booty shorts. Jess has always been popular with the boys for obvious reasons. She’s never had a problem picking up any guy she wants. Her flirtatious personality and heart of gold make her irresistible. "Get yourself together, girl. And while you’re getting it, get out of my bathroom, you mirror hog!" She giggles and pushes me out of the door firmly shutting it on my butt.

After sliding into the clothes I bought with Jess yesterday and finding my black stilettos, I slip back into the bathroom to finish getting ready. Jess is still in the shower when I begin to fix my hair. It’s four inches shorter than yesterday, and for once, my chocolate waves don’t argue with the brush. This is a first. I know it’s more professional to wear it up, but the way the light shines on my hair, perfect and beautiful, I decide to wear it down. I apply my makeup, not too heavy and not too light. If nothing else, my mother blessed me with a blemish-free complexion. I add my eye liner and a touch of mascara to make my brown eyes less ordinary, then apply lip gloss. I’m ready for this. I look it. I feel it. I’m ready even if my damned nerves don’t think so.

You look stunning, girl! Jess says stepping out of the shower wrapping her sun-kissed golden skin in a white towel. You’re going to knock them dead today.

I hope so. I’m nervous as hell. I’m only used to schlubbing around while cleaning other people’s homes, not working for a big company. What if I’m no good? I lock my nervous eyes with hers in the mirror.

Sam, I promise you have this. Just be yourself. They’ll love you, she says in her usual peppy manner.

I turn my stare toward my own caramel brown eyes in the mirror, pulling my shoulders back in hopes that confidence manifests itself. You’re right. I’ve got this. As much as I wish it, I don’t feel strong or confident.

_________________________

You ready? Jess asks excitedly as we approach the tall slate colored office building, the sound of our heels echoing off the pavement around us.

About as ready as I’m going to be, I glance toward her.

She shakes her head laughing, I’ve never seen you so nervous. This is hilarious. I should have recorded this to blackmail you later in life.

I grin devilishly at her, deciding not to remind her how nervous she was on her first day here over a year ago. She cried most of the night before, eating a tub of chocolate ice cream. You would have thought she had broken up with her long-term boyfriend.

I swallow the lump in my throat as I pull open the glass door, heading into the building. This is it, I mumble under my breath, nervous for my first day and excited for the career of a lifetime.

The receptionist’s desk, accompanied by a blue WESTON logo behind it, presents itself first as we enter the white marble lobby. The room is full of red and cream furniture accented with abstract paintings on the light sand colored walls. I’ve never been one to appreciate art, so I’m sure I can’t pronounce the artist’s name. Move a few paint brushes around to make squiggly lines, and voila, apparently you have something worth money.

Good morning, Jess, says the petite receptionist with soft eyes and a warm smile. Her hair is pulled tightly into a ponytail that I know is giving her a free facelift.

Hey, Liz. This is Samantha. She’s going to be working with Adam.

Liz flicks her soft eyes toward me, her perfect white teeth now showing. Hi, Samantha, she throws her overly peppy voice at me. I hope you enjoy it here. Good luck. Ugh. I need more coffee to be that peppy this early in the morning.

Thanks, Liz. It’s nice to meet you. I try hard to match her cheeriness, but the little bit of coffee I’ve managed hasn’t bled into my veins yet and I fail miserably.

I’ll show you the way to Adam’s office, Jess says, leading me toward the stainless steel elevators.

The elevator chimes announcing its arrival, and the doors slide open to a small group that seem to be rolling with their everyday motions. Impassive expressions and stiff shoulders…they need coffee too apparently. Only the man smiles to greet us as we step in. The women never acknowledge us. Bitches.

You okay? Jess whispers.

Yeah. First day jitters, that’s all. I inhale and release it slowly, trying to shake the nerves.

Nothing to be nervous about. Everyone here is awesome to work with. Of course things can get a little tense when Mr. Weston walks the halls, but it’s not that often, she says, checking her blonde bun for tightness.

My eyes widen, practically bulging out of their sockets, as panic jumps through me. Jess notices and bursts out laughing, smacking my arm and attracting the other passengers’ sideways glances. Sam, his office is in the building. Of course he walks around checking on things.

Way to make me feel like a winner, Jess. Well, you failed to mention that, I glare at her.

Oh, Belle, you over-think things too much. I’ve been here for a year and I’ve only met him a handful of times, each being very brief. He’s a very nice man, she says, trying to calm me with the nickname she gave me in high school. She always said I had southern belle charm with clear skin, great manners, and an award-winning smile. Not long after I was graced with my nickname, I gave her one. Boots. In high school she always wore these boots that were a mix between biker and stripper. You couldn’t pry them off of her feet if you tried. I bet you could have offered her a million dollars, and she wouldn’t have taken it. They looked good on her, but they were an everyday, every outfit thing.

We approach two tall black doors with the WESTON logo above them, Well, here we are, she motions with her briefcase. Good luck, girl. Adam is a pretty cool guy. She hugs my neck and before turning back to the elevators, she winks at me.

I give her a weak, nervous smile and a small wave. Turning back to the black doors, I take a deep breath. I’ve never been as nervous and excited as I am right now.

Chapter 3

Hi. I’m Samantha Beckman, I state to the sandy blonde lady with warm hazel eyes in a red sleeveless blouse behind the tall desk.

Hello, Miss Beckman, she says with a forced smile, Mr. Blakelock is waiting for you. Please follow me. She’s definitely not as peppy as Liz. Maybe she needs more coffee too?

She leads me down a short hall and through another set of tall doors into an office that looks similar to the front lobby. Yet this one isn’t as large. The red and cream furniture, the light sand walls, and the abstract paintings all match the ones down stairs. There’s an empty black desk with a lonely computer monitor on the side and a cup full of pens. There’s a door on the opposite wall with Adam Blakelock engraved into it. It dawns on me that I’m looking at my office, my little impersonal office. I’ll have to make some changes. Maybe a few pictures or one of those funny Maxine calendars will add some personality to it.

The lady goes to the door and knocks twice before sticking her head into the office. Excuse me, sir, Miss Beckman has arrived.

Send her in, a rough disembodied voice says from behind the door.

As I enter, I’m in awe of the luxurious view complete with floor to ceiling windows overlooking the skyline of Charlotte. Staring back at me is the famous Carolina blue sky with soft white clouds scattered behind the tall buildings. His office is large and I’m impressed by the dark grey carpet that squishes under my heels. I’ve never been into an office that has actual carpet. He has a black leather couch on one side of the room and a book shelf with several books and trophies on the other. His deep cherry wood desk sits in front of the windows so his back is toward the skyline, allowing his visitors the spectacular view.

Miss Beckman, I’m Adam Blakelock. He stands from behind his desk, his bright green eyes sparkling with the shine of the sun blazing through the windows, and extends his hand for me to shake. Short ink black hair tops his head with enough gel in it to give it a jagged look. A perfectly fitting navy suit with a pale blue shirt under it covers his slender build.

Hi, Mr. Blakelock. I smile and shake his hand, my voice forced with confidence, but my insides are shaking from nerves.

Call me Adam, he replies, sitting down with an apologetic smile. Miss Beckman, unfortunately I have a meeting in ten minutes and I’m unable to show you to your desk. He looks over my shoulder behind me, Dana, please show Miss Beckman to her desk.

Yes sir, her voice materializes. Hell, I didn’t know she was still in here.

Miss Beckman, welcome. I’m glad to have you.

Thank you, sir. I say and head out the office with Dana leading the way.

I spend most of the morning getting situated at my desk with my computer, making some calls to the IT department to set up passwords and such. Dana gives me a cheat sheet, as she calls it, of all the extensions in the building along with her quick explanation of how to answer and transfer calls. This ought to be fun trying to remember all the directions she just unloaded on me. Push this button for this result, or push this other button for something else to happen. Wonder how many times I’ll screw it up? She also gives me a tour of our section of the office and to my relief, the break room is just a few steps down the hall where I’ll be able to feed my coffee addiction quick.

Adam enters the office from his morning meeting still looking perfectly groomed. I’m guessing his meetings aren’t brutal like the ones I’ve seen on television.

Miss Beckman, have you gotten all settled in? he stops in front of my desk with a genuine smile.

Yes, sir. Dana has done an exceptional job of showing me all I need to know and getting me up to speed with everything. Is there anything I can do for you, sir? Great, I sound like a suck-up.

There is, come with me please. He signals me to follow him and I hurry in behind him to his office.

Miss Beckman, he motions for me to sit in the chair in front of his desk as he shrugs out of his jacket. He sits down in his chair, and leans his elbows on the desk, do you mind if I call you Samantha? I like to be on a first name basis with my co-workers and if you are going to be my assistant, saying Miss Beckman all the time will have me tongue tied more than I already am, he chuckles.

Actually, sir, please call me Sam. When I hear Samantha, I feel like I’m in trouble.

Sam it is. Even better now that it’s shorter. Hopefully, I will not have to utilize the full name often. His phone rings and he moans, irritated at it. Excuse me, Sam.

He looks so young to be in such a powerful position in the company. He doesn’t look a day over thirty even with the stubble on his face. On his desk in a light tan frame is a picture of him with his arm around the waist of a busty blonde. They look happy together as they smile at each other with the sun setting behind them on a beautiful beach.

Sorry ‘bout that, Sam, he says, snapping me away from the picture. His demeanor is stiffer than just moments prior, and now I wish I had listened to the conversation. "I hate to throw you out to the wolves, but I need a few things