The Way the Story Goes
A Magnolia Sound Novel
Samantha Chase
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Epilogue
Want to know where Sydney and Kyle began??
Also by Samantha Chase
About Samantha Chase
Copyright 2020 Samantha Chase
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All Rights Reserved.
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No part of this book, with the exception of brief quotations for book reviews or critical articles, may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author.
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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Cover Design: Uplifting Designs/Alyssa Garcia
Editing: Jillian Rivera Editing
Created with Vellum
Praise for Samantha Chase
“If you can’t get enough of stories that get inside your heart and soul and stay there long after you’ve read the last page, then Samantha Chase is for you!”
-NY Times & USA Today Bestselling Author Melanie Shawn
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“A fun, flirty, sweet romance filled with romance and character growth and a perfect happily ever after.”
-NY Times & USA Today Bestselling Author Carly Phillips
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“Samantha Chase writes my kind of happily ever after!”
-NY Times & USA Today Bestselling Author Erin Nicholas
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“The openness between the lovers is refreshing, and their interactions are a balanced blend of sweet and spice. The planets may not have aligned, but the elements of this winning romance are definitely in sync.”
- Publishers Weekly, STARRED review
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“A true romantic delight, A Sky Full of Stars is one of the top gems of romance this year.”
- Night Owl Reviews, TOP PICK
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“Great writing, a winsome ensemble, and the perfect blend of heart and sass.”
- Publishers Weekly
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“Recommend Chase to fans of Susan Elizabeth Phillips. Well-written and uniquely appealing.”
- Booklist
For my amazing editor, Jillian
Thank you for being the incredible person that you are.
Thank you for dealing with all of my quirks.
But mostly, thank you for loving my books as much as I do and making them the best they can be.
I adore you.
xoxo
1
“It had to be you, Brett. Do you think I’m an idiot?! All this time you’ve made me sit and watch your sick and twisted charade! Well, no more! I’m onto you,” Sasha hissed. “You’re done. No one else is going to die at your hands.”
“You’re wrong, Sasha,” he said, his lip curled with disgust. “Don’t push me on this because you won’t like the outcome.”
“Oh, really? You can’t kill me,” she spat defiantly. “I’ve already alerted the police. They know I’m confronting you. There’s nothing you can do to me anymore.”
Mia Kingsley read over her words a dozen times and as much as she could vaguely see the scene in her head, she couldn’t seem to get her fingers to cooperate and get the words down on the page.
Again.
Those three paragraphs were written two months ago and she hadn’t been able to write anything since.
Writer’s block sucked.
Tossing her glasses onto the keyboard, she pinched the bridge of her nose and groaned. Why wouldn’t the words come? Pushing away from the desk, she stood with a snort of disgust and walked across the room to the kitchen. She’d done everything to try to find her muse and nothing was working. Her normal regimen didn’t help and it was the first time in years that she’d had to take drastic action to finish a book.
Grabbing a bottle of water from the massive top-of-the-line refrigerator, she slammed the door shut. At first, she blamed her lack of words on the fact that her house was under renovation. The noise and the mess were expected, but it bothered her way more than she thought it would. A change of scenery seemed like the perfect solution. When her best friend and virtual assistant Sydney had suggested renting a house in Magnolia Sound, it just made sense. Not only would she have the support of a friend close by, but the beach had always been her happy place and she hadn’t visited one in far too long.
Because it was early spring, finding a rental house on the beach was easy. And the house she found was bigger than what she needed, but it was magnificent. Her career was thriving; she was making more money than she ever dreamed of and, while normally she was very conservative with her finances, this was one time she ignored her parents' disapproval and told herself it was okay to splurge.
Five bedrooms, four bathrooms, oceanfront with panoramic views, newly renovated, and lots and lots of top-of-the-line appliances, furnishings, and bling…yeah, writing here wouldn’t be a hardship. She’d felt at peace the moment she stepped through the doorway and when she walked straight through the main floor and out to the deck, she felt like she had definitely made the right decision and her happy place wasn’t going to let her down.
But…it did.
Big time.
Now, after almost a week here, she was seriously considering throwing in the towel.
Doing her best to push those negative thoughts aside, she stepped out onto the massive back deck that overlooked the ocean. As expected, it immediately calmed her and she took a moment to enjoy the sound of the waves and the smell of the ocean. The morning air was crisp—bordering on arctic—but she was dressed in a heavy cable-knit sweater, leggings, and thick, slouchy socks. She lived in Boston, for crying out loud. Cold weather was the norm for a large portion of the year. Certainly, she could deal with the cold water coming off the ocean. At most it was fifty degrees. Back home, that would be almost balmy. By lunchtime, it would be in the high sixties, but there was something about being outside in the morning that she loved.
She breathed deeply—in and out, in and out—and just when some of the tension started to leave her body, the sound of power tools broke the peace.
Again.
Seriously, this guy was going to be the death of her.
The first day, she was able to brush it off.
The second day, it was mildly annoying.
By the third day, she called the rental agent and pretty much lost her mind on her.
The agent offered to move her to another home, but none of them had the prime location or the amenities this one did. Mia had asked if someone could please go over and talk to the owner and ask if maybe he could limit the hours he was using the power tools or maybe get a completion date.
So far, no luck on any response.
Mia was tempted to storm over and talk to the guy herself, but…she wasn’t confrontational. In her mind she was, but the reality? Not so much.
Now it was her fifth day here, she hadn’t written anything like she needed to, and her publisher and editor were breathing down her neck because the book was already a mont
h overdue. It was the final book in her series and it didn’t matter how much she knew where the story needed to go, Mia just couldn’t make the words flow.
Tilting her head back, she closed her eyes and tried to relax—tried to get back in her heroine’s head. Sasha Blaire had been unravelling family secrets for four books. She’d seen the death of both her parents under suspicious circumstances, followed by a murder and suicide in the secret family her father had. She’d been kidnapped, tortured, and finally figured out who the real killer was. If she could just…
A string of curses ripped through the air. They were colorful and vulgar and…growly.
Wait…is that even a word?
Of course it is. I’m a writer.
Straightening, Mia glanced over at the neighboring house. She had yet to see this elusive disturber of her peace, but she’d certainly heard him. If he were a character in her story, she would have let someone kill him by now.
Or at the very least put him out of commission for a good long while.
More cursing flowed through the open sliding glass doors and then the sound of something crashing.
With a gasp, Mia was now seriously tempted to go over and make sure he was all right, but then the heavy metal music started up and she figured he was just fine.
Inconsiderate, but fine.
With a growl of her own, she stomped back into the house and slammed the door.
There had to be something she could do. There was no way she could spend three months here making herself crazy. The plan had been to finish the book in a month and then spend the next two plotting her new series, doing edits, and just relaxing, but at this rate, she’d be insane by the end of the first month!
Pacing around the luxurious living room, Mia did her best to calm down. With the windows closed, the noise was almost bearable—and if she put in her earbuds and some music, she wouldn’t hear it at all.
But she hated the earbuds almost as much as the guy who was probably going to force her to use them.
And on top of it, it wasn’t part of her normal writing routine and that, more than anything, was killing her.
Soft music, comfy clothes, and a room full of her favorite things always helped her get the words on the page. There was the pre-writing cup of coffee followed by a mid-morning iced coffee. Lunch consisted of her favorite salad—spinach and grilled chicken—along with a tall glass of water with lemon. After lunch she’d go for a walk around her neighborhood and by the time she was back home and sitting at her desk, she’d write until dinnertime. It was a safe—and boring—routine, but it got her through multiple books.
Until now.
“This is ridiculous,” she muttered. “This is a big house and there has to be a room where I don’t hear his stupid noise.” Walking over to the desk, she snatched up her laptop and stomped up the stairs to the bedroom in the furthest corner of the house. There wasn’t a desk but that wasn’t an issue; writing while sitting on the bed was something she’d done plenty of times, and who knows, maybe this little change of scenery and routine would help her get her mind back on Twisted Deception.
Honestly, she wasn’t a fan of the title, but her editor pitched it and the marketing team loved it. It was the one time she was outvoted on a title and it still stung.
The other titles in the series—Secrets and Scandals, Fall from Grace, Transgression, and Day of Damnation—were all hers and when she couldn’t come up with a title quick enough for marketing, her editor stepped in and took it upon herself to come up with one. When it was time to negotiate her contract for the new series, Mia had been emphatic on having it put in that no one titled her books but her from now on.
Luckily, they agreed.
It didn’t seem possible that this was her life, that her dream of being an author actually happened and she was having success with it. Not only had she written a successful thriller series, but now they were being made into major motion pictures! Sometimes, she seriously had to pinch herself because it didn’t feel real.
Her parents swore they always knew she’d be a success, but wasn’t that something parents were supposed to say? Any time anyone asked, her mother would regale them with stories about how their quiet and shy daughter was always writing short stories ever since she was in elementary school. It had gotten to the point where Mia could recite verbatim what her mother was going to say whenever the subject came up.
Of course, being how she was studious on top of being quiet and shy led to her graduating high school at sixteen. It wasn’t a surprise as much as it was expected. She was the only child of Dr. Arvin Kingsley, PhD and Dr. Beverly Kingsley, PhD—both university professors. There was never a doubt in anyone’s mind that Mia was going to be at the top of her class. She was fluent in six different languages and could probably step in front of any college class and teach. Fortunately, neither parent pushed for her to follow directly in their footsteps.
As an English major, there had been tons of classes to feed her soul, and during her four years of college, she had written three rather bland mysteries that she pitched to agents and editors. None of those books were picked up, but the critiques were all the same: good story, strong characters, too bland and boring to hold the reader’s interest.
Okay, maybe those weren’t the exact words, but that was the gist of it. So when she decided to take a risk and make her stories a little darker, a little grittier, with more descriptive violence and murder scenes, it had shocked her how much she enjoyed it and how much easier her stories began to flow. The tone of her books changed; her voice as an author changed. And when she first sent Secrets and Scandals to an agent, her head spun from how fast things happened from there.
Suddenly, there was a bidding war from publishers and her agent was already asking when the next book in the series would be ready. Mia had never written so fast in her life and by the time they signed with her publisher, the contract was for two books with the option for the other three in the series. It felt like she won the lottery even though the initial advance was low. Luckily, her agent was very savvy and had negotiated how the advances would increase based on sales of the first two books.
And when Hollywood came calling, she’d truly felt like she was a success.
Life changed in an instant and yet her creativity was starting to suffer.
Hence this trip to the beach.
“Stop daydreaming and start writing, dummy.”
After getting herself situated on the bed, she opened her laptop and stared at the blinking cursor—like it was mocking her with how patiently it had been waiting.
There was a time when there almost weren’t enough hours in a day for her because the words just constantly flowed. She could work on more than one story at a time without confusing anything. Her characters would talk to her at all hours of the day and night until she had to force them to be quiet.
One minute turned to two.
Then to five.
And when she let out a long breath of frustration, almost thirty minutes had passed.
Outside, a car horn blared and then what sounded like an air horn.
Curious, she got up and walked over to the window and saw it was two trucks for her pain-in-the-butt neighbor. She saw two men climb from their vehicles and they seemed just as loud and obnoxious as the man they were there to see.
Great, now there’s more of them…
Working on the book was proving to be futile, but something else came to mind.
A story.
A new story.
Smiling, Mia scampered back on the bed and opened up a new document file. It was the first time she felt excitement about writing in months!
This wasn’t a story she was going to pitch to her agent or editor.
At least…not yet.
This would be something just for her own sake and it would be a little campier than her usual stuff. It would be a single-title—no need for a sequel because there was definitely only going to be one murder and the list of suspects would
be short.
Her smile grew.
“Chapter one,” she said giddily. “Deadly Renovation by Mia Kingsley.”
After that, time ceased to exist. Words appeared on the page and her fingers almost cried out with joy at finally being useful again.
He had a reputation around town.
He could turn any home into your dream home, but it was going to cost you. Whether it was money, time, or your sanity, he would get the job done. Unfortunately, not all clients were satisfied.
And neither were most people he came in contact with.
Colton Maxwell was a son of a bitch, and after working on homes for more than thirty years, he didn’t give a damn what people thought of him. They didn’t like him, but he didn’t like them either. Working on their houses meant he learned a lot about them, knew their secrets and the things they kept hidden from the good people of…
There was no way she was going to use Magnolia Sound—even if this were a story for her own entertainment—so she needed to come up with a name for the town.
“Hmm…”
Shady Creek.
“No. Too obvious.”
Blossom Bay.
“Perfect. With a cheery name like that, you wouldn’t expect there to be a murder.” Feeling good about her new little town, Mia fluffed the pillows behind her and got comfortable again. God, it felt good to see so many words on the page!
In her mind she pictured him as an older man in his fifties, graying hair, beer gut, and a whole lot of attitude. Blue jeans, stained t-shirts, and work boots would be his standard attire, and when he wasn’t bothering the people in town with the sound of his tools, he’d probably bother them with the sound of his obnoxiously loud motorcycle.
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