me off here to show me where I should meet him tonight when he’s finished work. Are you Roy Fletcher?” This could be the man her father had described; his attitude certainly resembled that of the company owner.
The man ignored her question. “Your father is Dean Wilcoff?”
“Yes.” She had to bite back the urge to call him sir. It’d been a long time since any man had intimidated her, and she wasn’t about to let it show. “I didn’t realize there were rules against riding bicycles in this complex.”
“There aren’t. Be on your way,” he ordered, starting toward the front door.
Julie planted one hand on her hip and glared at him. “I beg your pardon,” she said in her best schoolteacher voice. How dare he speak to her like this!
He paused, and then with exaggerated patience, said, “You’re free to go.”
“In case you’re unaware of it, I was entitled to do so before.” No wonder her father had taken a dislike to Mr. High-and-Mighty. He was, without exception, the most disagreeable person she’d ever met. His arrogance was absolutely staggering.
He turned his back on her and walked into the building.
Fuming, Julie climbed on her bike and locked her cleats into the pedals. She rode hard, her anger driving her faster and faster as she left the complex and then merged with traffic on the main thoroughfare outside Fletcher Industries. She arrived at Abraham Lincoln a good ten minutes earlier than she’d estimated. She parked her bicycle, still muttering to herself, and carefully took off her helmet.
“Mornin’,” Penny Angelo, who taught English, said cheerfully as she passed the bicycle rack, briefcase in hand.
Julie managed a halfhearted greeting and then added, her outrage flaring back to life, “You wouldn’t believe what just happened.”
“Did you cross paths with a rude driver?” Penny guessed, eyeing her ten-speed.
“No, a tyrant!” Julie waited for her heart to stop pounding and exhaled slowly in an effort to regain perspective. She refused to let the encounter affect the rest of her day. “It’s behind me now,” she said, making a determined effort to put Roy Fletcher out of her mind. If it had been him. He hadn’t answered her question, but from his demeanor and attitude she could only assume she’d run headlong into the company’s owner.
Despite her rough start that morning, Julie had a good day. She enjoyed teaching; she was strict but fair, and her students understood that and respected her for it. After her last class, Julie changed out of her work clothes and back into her cycling gear and pedaled the five miles to Fletcher Industries.
Invigorated, she arrived at the spot her father had suggested. She hadn’t been there more than a few minutes when a uniformed guard approached. It seemed she was destined for trouble. Probably Mr. Nose-in-the-Air had ordered him to chase her off. Well, if that was the case, she was ready. She had every right to be there, and she intended to point that out.
“Ms. Wilcoff?” the young man asked politely. His name tag read Jason.
She relaxed her stance. “Yes?”
“Your father said he’d be a bit late and asked that you meet him in his office.”
“Oh, okay.”
“I’ll show you up.”
What a difference from the way she’d been greeted that morning! The guard indicated where she could park her bike and then led her into the building. Entering the elevator, dressed as she was, Julie felt a bit self-conscious. She smiled shyly at a couple of women and decided that perhaps this bike-riding business wasn’t the best idea, after all, especially if she was going to be meeting people. She’d give it a week and see how it went.
Her father’s office was on the third floor. He looked up and smiled when she came into the room. “How was your day?”
“Great,” she said, dropping into a chair. “How about yours?”
“Fine, fine. I won’t be long.” He returned to the computer screen, which he studied intently. “Just checking some employee records,” he said. “I’m getting the hang of this computer stuff now.”
“Take your time, I’m in no hurry.”
“Wilcoff.” The same unfriendly voice that had almost ruined her morning sounded from the doorway.
Julie turned her head to find the same unfriendly man—presumably Roy Fletcher. His eyes narrowed when he saw her.
“You again?” he said.
Her father rose and cast a glance from his employer to Julie. “This is my daughter, Julie. You’ve met?”
“I had the pleasure this morning.” Fletcher held out his hand.
They exchanged brief handshakes. “Pleasure isn’t exactly the word I’d use,” Julie primly informed him.
“You teach English?”
“No,” she said in a clipped voice. “Etiquette.”
The merest hint of a smile touched his mouth. “I see.”
“Julie teaches physical education, Mr. Fletcher,” her father corrected, apparently surprised she’d claim otherwise.
Fletcher focused his attention on Dean. “I wanted to let you know my mother’s stopping by in the next couple of weeks to paint a Christmas scene on the lobby windows.” He frowned. “She seems to think some Christmas cheer will put me in the holiday mood,” he said with heavy sarcasm.
Julie doubted he was interested in goodwill, now or at any other time of the year.
“I’ll make sure no one bothers Mrs. Fletcher,” her father assured him.
“I’d appreciate it.” He turned to go, then changed his mind. “How was your first day?”
Her father hesitated. “Challenging.”
“Good, glad to hear it.” With that, Fletcher was gone as fast as he’d appeared.
“Good, glad to hear it,” Julie repeated, and rolled her eyes. “Is that the most unpleasant man you’ve ever met in your life or what?”
“He’s my employer, Julie, and he has more important matters on his mind than either you or me.”
“How can you defend him?” she cried. “You said he was cold, but I had no idea he was this cold.”
“He has a lot of responsibilities,” her father said. “I’ve only been with the company one day, but I can see that people respect him, which says a great deal. There has to be a reason the staff feels like that about him.”
If her father wanted to defend the tyrant, fine. She wasn’t going to argue with him.
“I wonder what made him like this,” she murmured while her father cleared off his desk. She didn’t expect an answer and he didn’t give her one. Perhaps eventually she’d learn more about Roy Fletcher. Then again, perhaps she wouldn’t. Because Julie didn’t care if she ever saw him again.
“It’s her,” Mercy shouted joyously, clapping her hands with delight. “She’s the woman we’ve been sent to find for Anne’s son.”
“Who?” Shirley asked, looking around the empty office.
“Julie, of course,” Mercy said irritably. “Dean Wilcoff’s daughter.” Mercy seemed disappointed that they didn’t see things as plainly as she did.
“Julie? This Julie?” Goodness repeated, incredulous. “Get out of here!” Julie Wilcoff wasn’t at all the kind of woman she had in mind. Besides, anyone could see those two had started off on the wrong foot. Julie openly disliked the man. Roy’s feelings were harder to read, but she wouldn’t be surprised if he’d had trouble remembering