Christmas 2011 Trio A. Кейт Хьюит
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glared right back. Standing, he reached for his phone and punched in the number for security. “Please send somebody to escort Ms. Wilcoff from the building.”
Julie’s mouth sagged open in what appeared to be shock. “Thank you very much, but I can see myself out.” She started for the open door, every step filled with indignation. She got halfway across the room before she swung around and said, “I really tried, you know.”
“Julie, just sign the settlement.” They would put an end to this, once and for all. Then they could move on, maybe explore the possibilities between them. He’d be willing to overlook this flaw; no doubt he had flaws of his own. Naiveté about the motives of others didn’t happen to be one of them. “Just sign, okay?” he said wearily.
“No!”
Well, that answered that.
“Furthermore, I think you’re—”
“Uh-uh,” Roy said, holding up his finger. “You don’t want to say something you’ll regret.”
The elevator doors opened before Julie had a chance to insult him. Jason, the guard from downstairs, loomed in the doorway. “You asked for security, Mr. Fletcher?”
If looks could kill, Roy would be six feet under. As best he could, he ignored Julie’s death-dealing glare. “I did.”
Jason gripped Julie by the elbow. “Once she’s gone, is she allowed back in the building?”
Julie closed her eyes. Roy looked at her curiously—was she grinding her teeth? For whatever reason, the anger seemed to drain from her.
“Let’s play that by ear,” Roy told the guard. When she saw that she had no choice but to sign, then and only then would Roy be willing to see her. He insisted on at least that much honesty.
Julie lifted her shoulders in a shrug. “I’ve destroyed the papers your attorney mailed, and I will destroy any replacement papers.”
“This is my final offer.”
She grinned. “I should hope so.” Still in Jason’s firm grip, she turned and walked away. “Goodbye,” she said over her shoulder. “And I mean that.”
“I’ll see that she leaves the building,” Jason told Roy as he hustled her out the door.
“Thank you.” Roy reclaimed his chair. Their conversation hadn’t gone the way he’d wanted. He’d hoped they could find some common ground. His problem was that he genuinely liked her. Okay, so Julie was a little stubborn and clearly unreasonable. But now he was afraid he might never see her again, judging by that final goodbye. She’d probably just mail the signed attorney’s contract, disgruntled that her ploy to get more hadn’t succeeded. She’d settle for twenty-five thousand and she’d avoid him from this moment on.
The thought depressed him. Besides, he was in the right. It was Julie who’d been unreasonable, not him.
He returned to a number of pressing business matters, determined to put Julie out of his mind. Fifteen minutes later, he began to pace, unable to concentrate. Fifteen minutes after that, he called Ms. Johnson into his office.
“Sit down,” he instructed his assistant when she entered the room. “Please.”
Watching him as he walked from one end of his office to the other, Ms. Johnson slowly lowered herself into the chair opposite his desk. “Is everything all right, Mr. Fletcher?”
“What makes you ask?” he muttered irritably.
She looked embarrassed now and her gaze followed him. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so … agitated.”
“I’m not agitated,” he barked.
She dropped her eyes. “As you say.”
Roy resisted the inclination to argue with her to prove his point. He sank down in his chair, tempted to explain that he was the same as ever. But why bother? Women always stuck together.
“You wanted to see me?” Ms. Johnson asked.
Roy nodded and steepled his fingers as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his desk. “I have a question and I’d appreciate your honesty.”
“Yes, sir.”
Again Roy felt her hesitation. She probably wasn’t the best person to ask, but his options were limited. “Am I an unreasonable man?” He didn’t know why he was questioning his own behavior, his own perceptions. Was there the slightest chance he was wrong in his beliefs about Julie?
Ms. Johnson’s shoulders rose and then fell in a soundless sigh. “You can be at times,” she said, obviously uncomfortable meeting his gaze.
“I see,” he said. “Can you give me an example?”
She nodded. “Just now with Julie Wilcoff.”
Roy was afraid she was going to say that. “You think I’m the unreasonable one?” Women stick together, he reminded himself.
“Mr. Fletcher, perhaps it would be better if you discussed this with someone else, someone more … appropriate.”
Roy frowned, unable to imagine who else he could approach. “I asked you.”
His assistant edged forward. “I had a chance to talk to Ms. Wilcoff while you were finishing up the Griffin meeting, and she seemed sincere to me. I know it was difficult for her to come, but out of respect for her father, she felt it was the right thing to do.”
“She had a rotten attitude,” he snapped.
“If you don’t mind my saying so, it appears you’re the one with the attitude problem.”
His irritation flared briefly and then died.
“Not once did she mention the settlement,” Ms. Johnson continued. “If I were to guess, I’d say she completely forgot about it. I believe she came here for precisely the reason she said—to apologize for bursting into the office. She admitted there were better ways of handling the situation and she felt badly about it. I think she was afraid she’d embarrassed her father.”
“The only person she embarrassed was herself,” Roy said.
“At least she was woman enough to admit it.”
Roy looked thoughtfully at his executive assistant. She’d spoken frankly in a way he’d never expected. “What are you suggesting?”
“I’m saying that perhaps it’s time …” She hesitated.
“Go on,” he urged. He might as well hear it all.
“Perhaps,” she said, “you should talk to Julie about this.” Roy nodded, swallowing hard. Perhaps she was right.
When she was this angry, the best thing for Julie to do was run—as if a pack of wolves was after her. The minute she got home, she tossed aside her shorts and changed into running gear. After a few perfunctory warm-up exercises, she took off. As her shoes hit the pavement, her thoughts chased each other around and around. Six miles passed, six pounding, breathless miles, before she found some measure of serenity. By then, her calves ached and her lungs burned. It was pitch-dark as she ran back to her neighborhood, cheered by the bright display of Christmas lights on the homes along her route.
As she rounded the corner to her house, she noticed a dark sedan parked in front. Her father was home, too; she saw his light blue car in the garage beside hers.
Instead of waiting for her inside the house, Roy Fletcher sat on the top porch step. She came up the walkway, bent over and braced her hands against her knees as she caught her breath. “What are you doing here?” she asked between gasps. If he wanted to resume their argument, she’d walk into the house and slam the door.
Roy stood and brushed his hands against his sides. “I don’t know. It seemed like a nice afternoon for a drive.”
“Sure