Stand-In Bride

Julia refrained from pointing out that according to his “better dead than wed” sentiments, his view of a happy ending was a permanent trip to the cemetery.

“Meanwhile, the company’s stock values keep dropping.” Michael heaved a worried sigh. “And of course, there’s that latest mysterious break-in at the lab. Whoever was responsible caused some deliberate destruction that’s resulted in further setbacks in the development of the special youth formula.”

Julia nodded knowingly. She was aware that the company had been working on the youth formula for years, and that Kate Fortune had made her fatal flight to Brazil to procure a rare vital ingredient for it. All told, it was beginning to look as though the Fortune family, blessed for so long with the very best life had to offer, had somehow become cursed instead.

“And on top of everything else,” Michael continued, “I was named one of the top-ten most eligible bachelors in the U.S.A., prompting an avalanche of unwanted attention.”

“And the unprecedented abuse of the voice-mail system,” Julia added.

She sounded serious and sympathetic, but Michael caught the gleam in her gray eyes. “I can tell you don’t think the bachelor list belongs in my account of family troubles, but it’s been a severe inconvenience, Julia,” he said defensively.

“Oh, I know. I’ve been fending off your eager admirers by phone and by fax, too.”

He had the uncomfortable feeling that she was patronizing him. “Tonight, right here on this path, I was almost mobbed,” Michael reminded her. He was determined that Julia understand the full extent of his plight. “If those girls hadn’t been drinking, they never would’ve bought your Denny ruse.”

“Probably not.”

“I’m getting desperate, Julia. I can’t take this continual harassment. I came out here to run tonight because I felt like a hostage trapped in my own apartment. I couldn’t face the stack of mail there—oh yes, I get mail at home as well as at work, and at home I don’t have Denny and his gang to dispose of it for me.”

He started to run again, and Julia picked up her pace to keep up with him.

“There were women hanging around the lobby of my apartment building when I left,” he continued grimly. “I had to sneak out wearing a jumpsuit and cap I borrowed from Al’s Auto Parts. Al and his sons have been servicing the company cars for years and were very understanding when I explained my need for a disguise.”

“A mechanic’s jumpsuit and hat is a good disguise. Do you have a fake mustache and glasses to go with it?”

Her expression was so demure and her tone so sincere that he couldn’t tell if she was teasing him or not. Since he didn’t view Julia as the teasing type, he decided to answer her seriously. “Believe me, I’ve considered buying them. If this mayhem keeps up, I may have to.”

“Maybe you should consider buying a wig, too. How about a long, blond, California-beach-boy style, like Kato Kaelin? Nobody would know you then.”

“Now I know you’re being glib.” Michael studied her intently. “You’re very good at subtext, Julia—saying one thing while conveying something else altogether. I never knew that until tonight. Have you been mocking me for the past year while I remained oblivious?”

“Of course not! We idiotic sycophants are too stupid and too smarmy for subtext.”

Michael laughed. He was enjoying himself, he realized with some surprise. It had been so long, he’d almost forgotten what it felt like.

They reached a lighted parking lot. “My car is here,” Michael said, pointing to his vintage, candy-apple red Corvette. “I was on my way back to it when I met you. I insist on driving you home.”

She accepted his offer with a polite, “Thank you.”

“I’ll refrain from delivering a lecture about the dangers to a woman out alone at night,” he said lightly.

The words were no sooner out of his mouth when Michael realized that he wanted to deliver that lecture. The idea of Julia falling prey to some criminal on the prowl sickened him. “But you really shouldn’t go out alone after dark, Julia. You took a foolish risk in doing so tonight.”

“I took a self-defense class a couple years ago,” she explained. “I don’t like having to curtail my freedom, so I decided to make sure I can protect myself.”

“Isn’t the first principle of self-defense to avoid placing yourself in a dangerous situation?” Michael frowned. “Your class has given you a false sense of confidence, Julia. Promise that you won’t go running alone at night again.”

“Mmm,” Julia murmured noncommittally, putting her hand in back of her and crossing her fingers, undoing her vague promise even as she gave it. After all, it wasn’t Michael’s business where she spent her off-work hours.

They were standing under the light, and he gazed down at her flushed cheeks, at the brown hair that had escaped from its braid to frame her face. She looked small and soft and very feminine.

He cleared his throat. “Would you like to go somewhere for a drink or something to eat?” he asked impulsively, surprising himself. He rarely acted on impulse.

“Looking like this?” Julia glanced down at her sweaty clothes and ran her hand through her tousled hair. “I’d scare away the other customers.”

“You wouldn’t, but I certainly might. Why don’t we make use of the drive-through window at one of the places along the boulevard? That way we wouldn’t have to leave the car. We could sit in the parking lot and have a sandwich and a cup of coffee or a soda or something.”

Julia understood that he was going through the motions of being polite, but there was really no need. “It’s kind of you to offer, but I have to get home.” She glanced at her watch, startled by the time. “In fact, I have to go right away.”

It was almost time for her nightly telephone call to Joanna. And tonight it was important that she call a bit early, because Joanna watched a program on television in the lounge with a group of other young patients. The weekly program had become a regular social event, with popcorn, soft drinks and candy shared among them.

Julia was thrilled that her little sister had gained the interest and the ability to socialize. And to be able to comprehend and concentrate on a plot was a major accomplishment for Joanna. For a year and a half after the accident, the girl’s attention span had been as short as a toddler’s. She’d barely been able to follow the fast-paced, visually stimulating programs designed for preschoolers.

But now… A small smile curved Julia’s lips. Joanna had a circle of friends and enjoyed age-appropriate shows. She was showing improvement every single day.

“You’ll have to give me directions to your place,” Michael said as he walked her to his car. He wondered why she had to rush home—or if the real reason for her hasty departure was because she was eager to escape from his presence.

Michael Fortune, currently being pursued by hundreds of women who claimed to be willing to do just about anything with him or for him, could not even persuade Julia Chandler to drink a soda with him in the parking lot of a fast-food restaurant. The irony was not lost on him.

His lips twisted in a grim smile. Wasn’t there a verse about a prophet not being valued in his own land? Or words to that effect. It seemed that the same principle applied to the appeal of an eligible bachelor boss in his assistant’s eyes. Julia spent hours in his company at work. Who could blame her for wanting to steer clear of him in her off hours?

Still, the notion rankled, and the fact that it did bothered him even more. Withdrawing into a moody silence, Michael steered his car through the steady stream of traffic, turning on the radio to a station broadcasting a Minnesota Twins baseball game. The game was meaningless, since neither team had a chance of making it to the play-offs this year, and the Twins and their opponent were merely filling time with lackluster performances.

Neither Julia nor Michael spoke, except when she told him where to turn. When he pulled up in front of her three-story frame apartment building, she opened the car door before he had braked to a full stop.

“Thanks for the ride,” she called, jumping out and slamming the door behind her.

Her abrupt departure was jarring. Irritating, too. Michael watched her dash into the building. He wondered which apartment she lived in. It occurred to him that he didn’t know if she lived alone or with someone…or if that someone was a man. Julia never talked about her personal life at work, at least not with him. He’d never bothered to ask her anything about her life outside the office, and she had never volunteered any information.

Michael drove to his own apartment, a penthouse in a futuristic new building downtown, not far from the Fortune Building. His jumpsuit disguise was in the back seat, and he groaned at the thought of having to put it on again. Luckily, his admirers had given up for the night, and the entrance to the building was clear.

He hurried inside, punching in the code to disengage the security system of the private elevator, then riding it to the top of the building. The elevator doors opened onto a small vestibule directly in front of the door to the penthouse. To the left stood a wall of windows that provided a spectacular view of the Twin Cities skyline.

Michael didn’t pause to glance at it.

Four

The new issue of Fame finally hit the stands, and the top-ten most eligible bachelors in the U.S.A. were last week’s news. The syndicated TV tabloids and talk shows stopped calling, as did the out-of-state newspapers. The number of letters began to drop off. Denny informed Julia that one of the new hires on the “Fortune bachelor team” had been let go, but the other had been asked to stay on in the mail room, as he’d proven himself to be both efficient and accurate on the job.

Though the national media had lost interest, locally Michael was still very much a celebrity in demand. Since his new home phone number was unlisted and he used an answering machine to screen his calls, he was safe from the telephone overtures of his admirers, at least while in his apartment. He continued to be plagued by amorous phone calls at work, but fortunately, the voice-mail system was able to handle the reduced number of them.

However, the Twin Cities media kept up their requests for interviews. They were well aware of local interest in the area’s own homegrown bachelor and knew that information about him would capture the attention of the all-important 18-to-34-year-old female market share.

“Just one interview with Mike and we’ll back off,” promised Faith Carlisle, among the most persistent reporters on the “local beat” at Channel 3 News. Somehow Faith consistently managed to elude the Fortune Corporation’s receptionists, secretaries and voice-mail system, and though her calls never made it through to Michael, she talked to Julia at least once every day.

Julia was amazed by Faith’s proficiency. And one could only admire the newswoman’s tenacity. Faith Carlisle said she would never give up until she’d landed her interview with Mike Fortune, and so far, she hadn’t.

“You’re wearing me down,” Julia confessed when Faith’s second call of the day came through. “I actually told Michael that I thought it would be a good idea if he met with you.”