Chapter One
Last week of November
New York, New York
Big lazy snowflakes drifted toward the ground.
Standing in front of the large glass windows of the Manhattan skyscraper, Wesley Adams had an excellent view of the late-November sky, making it seem like the city was inside a great big snow globe that someone had given a shake. Or maybe that’s just how life felt right now—shaken and turned on its head.
He started walking, refusing to let the entire day go sideways on him. If he kept moving, he could meet all of his deadlines. He glanced at the black leather wristwatch with the gold face that his mother had given him when he’d graduated from college. It had been all she could afford—probably more than she could afford—and he loved both her and the watch dearly.
For a senior business advisor, there was so much work when the end of the year rolled around. Worst of all, everything needed to be done at once. For Wes, when it came to holidays or a deadline, the deadline always won out. There were always risk analyses and restructuring deals that needed to be completed ASAP. Business didn’t take holidays. It was the mantra of Watson & Summers.
Wes rushed down the hallway toward his office. Even though the holiday season was upon them, the office was devoid of decorations. Not one tiny Christmas tree or so much as an ornament was to be found anywhere on the floor. There wasn’t even holiday music playing over the speaker system. Mr. Summers, as he insisted on being called, thought bringing Christmas into the office would encourage employees to act as if they were on holiday instead of proceeding with business as usual. Wes didn’t agree, but it wasn’t his place to argue the point.
As usual, Wes was prepared to work through the entire Thanksgiving weekend. He was certain it would be the same for Christmas. Too much work and not enough time. He told himself that being in the office was the way he liked it—a chance to get ahead.
After all, he was in line for a promotion to assistant vice president. If he could land the prestigious position, it would mean more money—money he could use to rent a place for his mother here in the city, near him. As his father had passed on a few years back, Wes worried about her living all alone in Florida. It was so far away. And she didn’t like to fly.
Of course, she insisted she had all of her friends, should she ever need anything, but sometimes he wondered if she was truly as happy as she let on. Or was she saying what she thought he wanted to hear? He wouldn’t put it past her. All she’d ever wanted was for him to be happy.
Right now, he had fifteen minutes to verify the projected five-year growth report and print out an income statement for his next meeting with an important client. He’d meant to get it done this morning, but one impromptu consultation had led to another. No wonder the work on his desk piled up.
“Hey, Wes,” the president of the firm called out to him.
Wes stopped in front of the office door. He peered in at the older man, who had just a few gray hairs left on his head and permanent frown lines marring his face. “Hello, Mr. Summers. What do you need?”
His boss’s bushy brows drew together. “Do you have the report on the Wallace account?”
“I do. It’s in my office. I’ll get it for you.”
“No rush. As long as you have it to me by eleven.”
Wes nodded. He checked his watch again. Fourteen minutes till eleven. So much for not worrying about getting the report to Mr. Summers right away. His mother had always said, If you want something done, give it to a busy person. Had that been some sort of prediction about his life?
After the promotion, things would slow down. He’d have staff under him to help balance out his workload. It would all get better. He just had to hang in there until the first of the year. That should be easy. Not a problem at all.
He couldn’t help but smile at the world’s biggest lie.
Wes stepped into the hallway, noticing Mr. Summers’ assistant at her desk. “Good morning, Jan.”
“Good morning, Wes.” The older woman’s ivory face lit up as color bloomed in her cheeks. She peered at him over her black-rimmed reading glasses. “Thank you for the Boston cream donut. I was going to save half for lunch, but one bite led to another. It was so good.”
At least once a week, he made a point of stopping at the bakery on his way into the office. It was a small way to thank the people who helped him throughout the week.
“Glad you enjoyed it. How’s your mother doing?”
“Better, now that her cold has passed,” Jan said with a smile. “She’s promising cookies and pie for Christmas. And she’s making a nut roll just for you.”
“You’re both too good to me.” He’d gotten to know Jan’s mother a few years ago, when he’d volunteered to help move Jan’s mother into a senior’s high rise.
Jan whispered, “I’ve got my fingers crossed for you. It won’t be long now.”
He knew she was talking about the promotion. He grinned. “Thanks. I’ve got to run.”
“Let me know if you need anything.”
He greeted other co-workers but kept moving, because time was money and there was never enough of either. Still, he liked to acknowledge the friendly people he worked with every day.
“Morning Joe,” he said to the mailroom guy, who was pushing a full mail cart down the hallway.
“Morning.” A few years younger than Wes, Joe attended night school. He liked to say that he was working his way up through the company—starting on the ground floor. “I left those files you put a rush on in your office.”
“Thank you. You’re a lifesaver.”
Joe smiled and continued pushing the loaded mail cart in the opposite direction.
&nb
sp; Buzz. Buzz.
Wes stepped into his office and fished his phone out of his pocket. It was his mother. He really didn’t have time to speak to her. He had the pages to print, the report to get to Mr. Summers, and he had to get back to the conference room in—he checked his watch—ten minutes.
It wasn’t like his mother called all that often. She could need something important. He pressed a button and held the phone to his ear. “Hey Mom, is everything okay?”
“Of course, it is. Is that any way to greet your mother?”
He moved to his desk and perched on the edge of his chair. His hands moved rapidly over the keyboard as he entered his password. “Sorry. It’s just that you don’t normally call during business hours.”
“I did this morning, because I need to discuss some business with you.”
His finger struck the wrong key and the printer started spitting out five copies of the necessary file. He tried to stop it, but the computer froze. With a frustrated wave of his hand, he let the printer finish producing all five copies. Fortunately, the report was only three pages long.
“What business?” he asked.
“Do you remember Bayberry?”
“Bayberry the candle? Or the town in Vermont?”
“The small town.”
He checked the time. He was down to nine minutes. “Of course, I remember. We lived there briefly when I was, ah, fifteen.”
He envisioned his mother smiling and nodding her head. “That’s right. You have a good memory. Well, I was just talking to my friend there. Do you remember Penney Taylor?”
He remembered a girl in school with the same last name. She’d been in his class, and he’d had the biggest crush on her. They’d lived in Bayberry less than a year, however, when his father had announced that they had to move because he’d landed a new job. Wes hadn’t taken it well. He’d intended to ask the girl to the Candlelight Dance on Christmas Eve. He hadn’t thought of her in years.
“Sorry Mom, but I don’t know your friend.”