Saddled: A Romantic Comedy (Once a Week at Woody's, Book 1)

By Linda G. Hill

Going to work just got a lot more exciting.

The no-dating policy at the Studletter Condom Company isn’t a problem for Sandra until Michael walks in, all good looks and bulging biceps. But he’s a temp—surely she can keep her eyeballs off him until his contract ends ...

Eager to quit moonlighting as a cowboy stripper, Michael, aka Saddle McFleshbomb, buckles up to learn the ins and outs of his new career. Only it’s harder than he expected when he meets Sandra, a stunning beauty with a laugh that heats him to the bone.

When Sandra turns up at Woody's Pub and catches him in the act of disrobing onstage for a room full of men, Michael sees his solution: maintain the pretense that he’s gay so they can "date" without defying the office romance policy.

But the clock is ticking on his fib. And it's sure to bite him in the scantily clad behind.

If you like low-angst romantic comedy, hot office flirtations, and a long slow burn, you’ll love Saddled, the first book in Linda G. Hill’s hilarious “Once a Week at Woody’s” series.

Get it today!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Linda G. Hill
• Release date: Apr 28, 2020
• ISBN: 9780994891273

Linda G. Hill

Linda G. Hill was born and raised an only child in Southern Ontario, Canada. She credits the time she spent alone when she was growing up, reading books and building worlds and characters of her own to keep her company, as the reason she became a writer.A stay-at-home mom of three beautiful boys, Linda is a graduate of the Writing Program at St. Lawrence College in Brockville, Ontario. Aside from caring for her family, she enjoys traveling the world, eating trout cooked on the barbecue, and, of course, reading.

Book preview

Chapter 1

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Sandra Weber looked up from her seat at her desk over the rim of her glasses and knew immediately she was in trouble. She peered around her assistant, Myrtle, but the glimpse she’d caught of a strange, dirty-blond-haired man in a pink button-up shirt with straining fabric at the biceps was apparently all she was going to get.

Who’s the hot new guy? Sandra blurted out.

Myrtle pursed her lips and frowned like a mother whose teenager has just come home and announced she’s pregnant.

Sorry. It just kind of fell out. At least she hadn’t sworn. The last time that happened, Myrtle had put in a formal complaint.

He’s the new temp.

What the hell, Georgia? Sandra mumbled under her breath.

Pardon?

Nothing. So, what have you got for me on this fine Monday morning?

I noticed you didn’t open the letter I drafted for you on Friday afternoon. You know, the one to the sales reps asking why sales at Drug World were down last month? Here’s a printed copy. She held out the piece of paper, and it shivered with anger.

Thank you. I had to duck out a bit early.

I noticed, Myrtle snipped.

It was Sandra’s turn to purse her lips. Friday had been the start of a hectic and rather sad weekend, but Myrtle wasn’t on the need-to-know list of people in Sandra’s personal life, so she remained quiet.

I’ll read it over and let you know if I need anything changed, was all she said.

Thank you. Myrtle turned on her heel to walk out, only to turn back at the last second. She pulled a pink slip of paper seemingly out of nowhere and placed it on Sandra’s desk. The committee called again about Mr. Roy’s retirement party. Do you want me to book your flight yet?

Yes, please. Just check to see when everyone else is going, first. Knowing Myrtle, she’d take pains to make sure Sandra sat alone, just out of spite.

I’ll email you the details when I have them, Myrtle said with a tight smile.

Sandra turned back to the sales figures on her computer screen before she could swear again.

Please close the door on your way out.

Myrtle did, and Sandra immediately regretted asking. There was no window out to the main office. If Mr. Hotness walked by again, she’d be in the dark. Aside from her boss, male presence was rare in the office.

But finding out who he was without the judging opinions of the office staff was top priority. She picked up the phone and dialed the extension for HR. While she listened to the ring tone, she swiveled her chair around to take in the view the windows of her corner office afforded: a field behind the building with backhoes digging holes for new houses going up, and in the not-far-off distance on the east side, a few shops that had recently opened in anticipation of the new residents.

You’re welcome, the female voice answered.

Oh my God, Georgia, who is he?

Just call him a present from me to you. A little eye candy to help you get over you-know-who.

That was months ago, Sandra said to her best friend since elementary school. She’d helped Georgia get a job in human resources at the Studletter Condom Company, where they both now worked.

You had to see Larry on the weekend, though. So the timing couldn’t have been better.

True. Sandra sighed. But you still haven’t answered my question. Who the hell is he, and why is he wandering around outside my office like some Adonis come to life?

His name is Michael Thorne, thirty-one years of age, smart, single, and can type eighty words a minute.

You found all that out from an interview?

Actually, no. He just came in and signed some paperwork this morning. The single part is totally made up, but it might be true. He’s not wearing a wedding ring. He seemed kinda reserved though.

Sandra picked up a pen and stabbed her calendar mat that she used as a doodle sheet. I couldn’t date him anyway. Stupid no-couples-at-work policy. What idiot came up with that idea?

You did. Idiot.

Ah well. Eye candy is good. I’m not in the market for a relationship anyway. It wasn’t that she still pined over Larry. She just needed more time before she got her heart broken again. Myrtle said he’s a temp. Is he only here while Betsy’s on maternity leave? Betsy was the full-time assistant to Cynthia Bartlett, Marketing Manager.

Yep, he’s a temp. But my connection at the agency said he’s got an eye on a permanent position in marketing. I just happened to be over there when Michael was trotting out on his gallant steed, and I nabbed him while the getting was good.

If he got a position here in marketing, women would be eating condoms out of his hand, Sandra breathed.

Or off his d— Oh, hi! Georgia said, away from the speaker. Gotta go. Someone’s here.

Probably just as well. Lunch?

Sure, bye.

Sandra hung up and walked around her desk to open the door. She looked out, hoping to catch a glimpse of Michael Thorne, but no luck.

She went to work on the email Myrtle had sent her, but throughout the morning, her mind drifted to what she might do to tempt the new guy over to her side of the office. Maybe she could move the water cooler to a spot just outside her door to give Mr. Hotness a reason to come closer.

At noon, having had no further sightings, she went out, anticipating a glimpse of Michael. But the office was deserted. The support staff had taken him, likely for their own nefarious purposes.

Chapter 2

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Michael Thorne was no stranger to being objectified. It had gotten so bad at his last office placement, he’d had to leave. So when he discovered on Friday that his new job starting Monday would be in the marketing department at the local condom manufacturing company, he’d prayed all weekend that the offices would be staffed by a majority of men, at least in the management positions. And straight ones, at that—he was also no stranger to being objectified by gay men.

No such luck.

And yet at eleven in the morning, all seemed well. Aside from the woman in HR who had eyed him up and down like she’d won the lottery, despite her wedding ring, the ladies in the office seemed to barely notice him. None of them spoke to him, not even to say hello. His new boss, Cynthia, was the matriarchal type with a photo of a family on her desk that included the husband who had, he assumed, given her the numerous diamond rings on her fingers. His co-workers held the same air of professionalism inside the privacy of the office as the one he assumed they projected to the public. Knowing they were human beings, he expected at least a little light humor concerning the products they sold, but there was nothing but a sober, nose-to-the-grindstone work ethic. And so, he was surprised, just before lunch, to hear a laugh come from the corner office, from the occupant he hadn’t yet seen. She sounded young, but then so were at least some of his more serious co-workers.

It was an easy morning—Cynthia had him transcribing a lengthy marketing proposal, so all he’d had to do was type with headphones on. He got lost in his work, as often happened. There was something soothing about having a monotonous, time-consuming but mindless job to do. He wouldn’t have known it was lunchtime if one of his co-workers hadn’t tapped him on the shoulder.

Hi, she said, holding out one pudgy-fingered, moisture-less hand to be shaken. Her tight dark curls that were plastered to her head, combined with her dark floral dress with brocade at the buttoned-up neck, made her look like she’d stepped out of a 50s TV show. I’m Myrtle. I sit over there. She pointed at a desk at the back corner of the office like she was trying to poke it from afar. A few of us are going out to lunch. Would you like to join us?

Michael looked around and saw three more expectant faces studying him. He felt rather like a zoo animal.

Sure, he said with a smile, hoping friendliness might beget friendliness. It got a few tight smiles in return.

What’s your name? Myrtle asked.

I’m Michael, he said.

Michael, the three other ladies chorused, as if they’d never heard the name before.

He stood up and reached for his jacket, and all of them looked up at him.

Do you like sandwiches? one of the ladies—the oldest of the bunch, judging by the abundance of gray hair—asked him.

I do, he replied, wondering if they were just going to stand there all day. Shall we go? he asked after a long pause during which they all continued to stare.

Yes, said Myrtle. She started for the elevator and he followed her, the other three trailing behind him in single file.

Once they reached the reception area, the four women rushed for the door like they were all eager to be the one to open it for him. It was the older lady who had asked him if he liked sandwiches who made it there first.

Surprisingly, they all seemed to relax as soon as they were out in the bright, sunny early-May day. They led him down the sidewalk-less road to a small café with a pink sign above the door. Sandwiches Smandwiches wasn’t the sort of place he might take a date, but he made note of it since it was close enough to come to every day without having to take his car. He dreamed one day of getting an executive parking spot at a downtown marketing firm—which would be the day he wouldn’t have to consider a second mortgage on his condo just to pay city parking fees. For a small mid-eastern city, Bevershire acted in some ways like it was populated with tens of millions rather than tens of thousands. Still, the city was expanding. When he was a child, all this land had been a forest. He’d played here with his best friend, Cal, catching crayfish in a stream that no longer existed, at least not above ground.

He followed the ladies, as one, to a round table in the corner of the quaint, pink-walled restaurant, and each of them pulled out a chair and looked at him expectantly.

Please, sit, he said, and they did. He perched himself upon the remaining chair, ready to run if they decided to slice him up and put him in their sandwiches, for the feeling of being dissected like a new species of animal hadn’t abated.

We should explain, Myrtle said, her white handbag clutched in her lap. We can’t talk in there in case ‘Sandra’—she lifted her hands and crooked her pudgy fingers as though it was a label she wished she didn’t have to pronounce—"hears us and thinks we’re talking about her."

Sandwich Lady spoke up. I guess we should introduce ourselves. I’m Karen, she said, holding out her hand for the shaking, and this is Karen. She pointed to a tall, dark-skinned woman with a blank expression who blinked and nodded but said nothing. She’s our full-time receptionist. You can call me Quiet Karen, and her Phone Karen.

Michael looked at Phone Karen and she nodded again.

She’s saving her voice for answering the phone this afternoon, Quiet Karen confided. Michael thought he’d always think of her as Sandwich Karen, which made him shudder to think about being sandwiched between the two Karens. They were far too serious for his tastes.

He tried not to recoil as he smiled and said, Nice to meet you, to them both.

He turned then to the other woman, who sat on the opposite side of the table. She blushed heavily and stared, grinning, at the paper placemat in front of her. Her forearms moved like she was wringing her hands on her lap.

I’m Grace, she muttered. I’m actually under you …

If she was blushing before, Michael thought she might start glowing neon, now.

I—I mean I’m your data entry clerk, she squeaked. I’m sorry.

No. No need to be sorry. I look forward to working with you, he said, holding his hand out over the table. She put three limp digits in his hand and lightly squeezed his forefinger with her thumb, then let go quickly and stuck her hand back under the table.

So, who is this Sandra you’re all avoiding? he asked to get the conversation moving.

Oh, we’re not avoiding her, Sandwich Karen said. We just don’t like her. Because of what she did to Norma.

We can talk about Norma now, because she’s not here, Myrtle interjected. It was her turn to work at reception through lunch while Phone Karen has hers. You’ll be trained at reception too, so you can take your turn.

I’m not hungry, Phone Karen said in a voice louder than any he’d ever heard come out of a woman’s mouth before. Quiet Karen it was. Phone Karen continued. I was just curious about the new guy. Michael. She stared at him as if he was a peculiar new breed of bug, and so did everyone else in the café, having been alerted to his presence by the woman’s booming sound box. A few of the restaurant’s patrons gawped at him: he’d been told numerous times that he should have been a model. His part-time job had a lot to do with that urging.

Norma doesn’t like it when we talk about what Sandra the Commander did to her, said Myrtle.

This Sandra woman must be some piece of work, Michael thought. What did she do? Obviously, she hadn’t fired the woman.

Quiet Karen leaned forward on the table. Norma was dating one of the men out in the warehouse. It was true love, right from the get-go.

Grace fanned herself with the menu and the other three rolled their eyes.

It doesn’t matter what we thought about it, Quiet Karen continued, "but the Commander decided to stick her nose in it and urged upper management to institute a policy that office romances were verboten—forbidden, if you don’t know the meaning of the word."

Michael just nodded.

Grace fanned herself faster and sighed. Forbidden love. So romantic.

Our opinions of their shenanigans don’t matter, Myrtle reiterated, and Grace put her menu on the table.

So, what happened? Michael asked. Did they break up? Stop dating?

Due to the Commandant’s idea, they were given a choice. Do that, or one of them quit, Quiet Karen said.

Michael jumped when the other Karen’s voice boomed in his right ear. Gerry gave up his job.

Grace shook her head, put her hand on her menu, thought better of picking it up, and sighed again. And then they lived happily ever after.

They’re not married, Myrtle said with a frown, indicating to Michael that she thought they should be. Whatever they were doing in their off-work time demanded it. This was going to be a fun work environment, he thought wryly.

But if he wanted to get along and not get caught up in office politics, he’d have to play along.

It sounds like this Sandra the Commander is someone I should stay away from, then, he said.

They all seemed pleased by that.

How tall are you? Grace asked, completely out of the blue.

I’m 6’4."

That’s tall. Grace blushed and held her menu up so he couldn’t see her.

A waiter came over with a tray full of water glasses and asked, The usual? The four ladies didn’t seem to mind the lack of small talk. They all muttered some sort of assent. And you, sir? the waiter asked.

Michael hadn’t had a chance to look at the menu what with all the office intrigue. He took a quick glance and saw a burger that looked enticing. Though he wasn’t one to be pushed around, he didn’t want to get on Quiet Karen’s bad side.