Stand-In Bride

“I didn’t expect you to, I just wanted to tell you how much I admired her,” Julia murmured. “You must miss her terribly.”

“I don’t let myself dwell on it,” Michael said curtly, uncomfortable at the turn their conversation had taken. “Keeping busy is the best antidote for…” He cleared his throat and shrugged. “For…” He couldn’t bring himself to say the word.

“Grief.” Julia supplied it for him. Her heart swelled with sympathy. “Yes, work does help.”

She wasn’t about to add that talking about the lost loved one helped even more. Obviously, Michael’s style of mourning forbade such an open display of emotion. “I guess working has helped everybody in your family cope,” she added softly.

“That’s true. But unfortunately for my uncle Jake, he is currently facing another crisis that has nothing to do with losing Grandmother.”

Though Michael was rarely this forthcoming, it was a relief to talk about things that had been roiling in his mind for weeks. He felt secure in confiding in Julia. She had a proven track record of loyalty to the company and to the Fortunes.

“I’ve heard from my cousins that Jake’s marriage to Erica is on shaky ground. Their girls, Caroline and Natalie and the twins, are worried sick about their parents. Apparently, Jake’s schedule and his demands are finally taking their toll on Erica, and to make matters worse, she is suffering from a major case of the empty-nest syndrome.”

“Many women have a difficult time adjusting when their children grow up and leave home,” Julia said sympathetically.

“Not my mother. She was only too happy to have her nest all to herself. But Erica is feeling her years without them. Plus she’s spouting all this midlife-crisis stuff about not fulfilling her career ambitions, blaming Uncle Jake for her decision to drop out of college to marry him and stay home to raise children. Like he put a loaded gun to her head and made her do it!” Michael’s disparaging laugh made it very clear whose side he was on in this particular Fortune war.

“Has your aunt Erica ever considered going back to college?” Julia’s psychologist leanings made it impossible for her not to offer help. “Lots of people return to complete their education these days. I’ve read about grandparents in their seventies going for their degrees.”

“Maybe you should give Erica this pep talk,” Michael suggested drolly. “She’s fifty-two, old and fading by her standards, but still full of zest by yours.”

Julia visualized Erica Fortune, who’d always struck her as the quintessential expensively kept, country-club-executive wife. Erica was an elegant blond beauty whose classic looks were ageless. She was married to one of the wealthiest men in the state. She was a mother and grandmother, with strong and healthy progeny.

“It’s hard to imagine a woman with so much not being happy,” Julia murmured.

Michael’s lips curved into a sardonic smile. “Surely you’ve heard the famous maxim, ‘money doesn’t buy happiness’? Not to mention that other old chesnut, ‘there’s more to life than money.’ Of course, all that is heresy to my mother, who staunchly holds the opposing view.”

“There are maxims and chesnuts for that viewpoint, too. How about ‘money isn’t everything, but it sure is far ahead of whatever is in second place’?” Julia cast him a quick, bright smile.

Michael felt queerly disoriented, as if he’d been cast out of time, out of place. For one dizzying moment, he scarcely recognized the young woman at his side. He was accustomed to the calmly bland, impassive mask Julia wore at the office. But when her face was alight and lively, as it was now, she was stunningly pretty!

As if of their own volition, his eyes traveled over her, taking in the sight of her small, firmly rounded breasts bobbing softly as she ran. He realized for the first time that her office clothes were not only loose fitting, they were a downright disguise, hiding a very shapely figure. Nor did those modest, below-the-knee skirts and sensible shoes she wore to work encourage anyone to glance at her legs.

Tonight, Michael’s gaze fixated on them, as if making up for lost time. She was only of average height, about five foot four, but her legs were long and sleek and very well shaped. He stared at the bare smooth skin of her thighs and heat flooded him.

Sweat beaded his forehead and his pulses pounded. He fell several paces behind her, but that tactical retreat only gave him a clear view of the shapely curves of her buttocks. Gulping for air, he began to conjugate Spanish verbs in his head as a very necessary diversion.

When Julia realized he’d stopped running, she paused and turned, looking back at him. By that time, Michael had his unexpected and thoroughly unwelcome lusty impulses under control.

“Leg cramp,” he explained briskly, catching up to her. Well, it wasn’t too far off.

For a while, they ran side by side in a not uncomfortable silence.

Then he said, “Julia?”

“Yes?”

“I apologize for what my uncle said to you today. After Uncle Jake lets off steam, he puts the incident behind him. I hope you can forget it, too.”

“I won’t give it another thought,” Julia promised. “You seem to get along with your uncle most of the time,” she added hesitantly. She hoped she didn’t seem presumptuous, making observations about Fortune family dynamics.

“I’ve always gotten along okay with Uncle Jake, even though he blows up at me from time to time.” Michael shrugged. “He can be demanding and controlling, but I know where he’s coming from.” He smiled wryly. “I think I’m coming from the same place.”

His flash of self-awareness surprised Julia. She tried and failed to suppress a grin.

Michael noticed. “So you agree that Jake and I are cut from the same cloth, hmm?”

“Let’s just say it doesn’t stretch the bounds of reality to imagine you using the term ‘idiotic sycophant,’” she dared to say.

“I’d never use it to describe you.”

“But it just might fit one of Jake’s assistants?” Julia suggested, sliding him a wry, sidelong glance.

“You know, it just might.”

They both laughed. She had a nice laugh, Michael noted. Warm and real. Not one of those phony shrieks or high-pitched trills. He’d always liked her laugh, though they didn’t do much laughing at the office. Lately, even smiles were scarce.

“Uh-oh,” Julia exclaimed.

She saw the group of young women heading toward them at the same time Michael did. The girls were in their late teens or very early twenties and were staggeringly drunk. They were singing and laughing loudly as they careened along the path…and then they spied Michael.

He tensed as one of them shrieked, “Oh, my God, it’s him! One of the top-ten bachelors, the one that lives right here in Minneapolis!”

The girl’s companions joined in the squealing. The scene stirred memories of the newsreels Julia had seen of the Beatles’ arrival in New York back in 1964. She glanced at Michael, who was staring at his admirers, utterly appalled.

Her protective instincts were instantly roused. Perhaps some self-preservatory instincts, too. She didn’t want to be caught in the midst of a wild and amatory throng.

She’d read that highly effective people were supposed to be proactive instead of waiting around to react. Well, here was a chance to prove how effective she could be. Julia walked right up to the girls in what she hoped was a highly proactive manner.

“Do you really think he looks like that guy in the magazine?” she asked the girl who’d first identified Michael. Before she could answer, Julia turned quickly to Michael and called out, “Denny, they think you look like Michael Fortune! Can you believe it?”

Michael stared in confusion.

“That’s my brother Denny,” Julia went on blithely. “He works in the mail room at the Fortune Corporation.”

“The mail room?” one of the girls repeated, her voice ringing with disappointment. “He’s not the Mike Fortune?”

Julia laughed. “He delivers the Mike Fortune’s mail. Is that close enough?”

“I don’t think he looks anything like Mike Fortune,” another girl declared with a disdainful sniff. “Mike Fortune looks like a millionaire. This guy—” she nodded disparagingly in Michael’s direction “—looks like he works in a mail room. You can tell.”

“Denny’s job pays benefits, health and dental,” Julia said. “And he’s eligible, too. He doesn’t have a girlfriend.” She gave them a hopeful look, inviting one of them to volunteer for the position.

That was all it took. The girls weren’t drunk enough not to realize that a guy whose sister was on the prowl for a girlfriend for him did not meet their standards.

“Tell your brother to take out an ad in the personals,” one of them said, as they giggled among themselves. “Maybe he’ll luck out there.”

“We’re holding out for Mike Fortune,” said another. “Or a Mike Fortune type.”

“I think he really does kind of look like Mike Fortune,” Julia called after them, as they hurried on their way. She’d managed to sound credibly forlorn, as the sister of a perennially dateless Denny might.

“He only looks like Mike Fortune if you’re drunk out of your mind, like Wendy is,” one of the girls shouted back.

“Wendy also thought the pizza-delivery guy looks like Tom Cruise,” exclaimed another, and they all laughed raucously.

The girls disappeared around a bend, leaving Julia and Michael alone.

“Denny?” Michael tried to look stern, but he couldn’t quite pull it off.

“It was the first name that popped into my head,” Julia confessed. “And then, somehow you became Denny.” She dissolved in laughter. “You had that glazed look in your eye and your mouth was hanging open. I wouldn’t have been surprised if you started babbling about getting your jollies from opening mail from all of Mike Fortune’s female admirers.”

“My jollies?” he repeated incredulously. Suddenly, he couldn’t stop the laughter that bubbled within him.

They were both too breathless from laughing to run, so they walked along the path, making bad jokes. “I know Mike Fortune, Mike Fortune is a boss of mine and you are no Mike Fortune,” Julia paraphrased. “You are a faux Denny.”

“I think I’d rather be a faux Denny than an idiotic sycophant,” countered Michael. “Although if Uncle Jake were to see us carrying on like this, he’d write us both off as giddy nitwits.”

“No one could ever accuse you of being either giddy or a nitwit,” Julia assured him.

“I suppose not.” Michael frowned thoughtfully, turning serious once more. “I can’t even be accused of smiling, according to my stepmother, Barbara. She told me to lighten up, that lately she could count on one hand the number of times I’ve smiled.”

“There hasn’t been much to smile about at the Fortune Corporation this past year,” Julia murmured.

“No, there hasn’t. We’ve had a series of incidents ranging from calamitous to catastrophic.” A grim and somber Michael proceeded to list them. “There was that fire set in the laboratory by an intruder who was never caught, and Grandmother Kate’s plane crash. Then my cousin Allison was stalked by some nut.”

“At least that calamity had a happy ending,” Julia replied. “Allison married her bodyguard, Rafe.”

“Marriage. A happy ending.” Michael arched his brows in that superior, sardonic way of his. “I suppose you would view it that way.”

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.”

“And what did he say?” Faith pressed eagerly.

“He said no.” Julia sighed. “Sorry. I tried.”

“Doesn’t he know that by being elusive, he is increasing his appeal?” Faith was frustrated. “Think Jacqueline Onassis. Everybody wanted to interview her because she was the one interview nobody could ever get. Well, Mike Fortune is playing by those rules.”

“I don’t think he’s playing by any rules. He just wants to be left alone.”

“It’s not going to happen, Julia. Say, how is the voice-mail system over there? Any problems with it lately?”

“No, thank heavens.” Julia remembered Jake Fortune’s fiery visit the last time the system had crashed. She shivered. “The number of calls have dropped off. I think interest in Michael Fortune is finally starting to fade.”

“Don’t be too sure of that, honey,” Faith said, hanging up.

Julia thought nothing more of the conversation until later that day. Not until the voice-mail system abruptly and unexpectedly became so overloaded with messages for Michael Fortune that it short-circuited. Again! Worse, the company’s entire computer system shut down along with it, like a sympathetic unionist supporting a fellow laborer’s strike.

Michael paced his office, infuriated and distraught. Julia leaned against the wall, her arms folded, staring anxiously at the pearl gray carpet.

“Faith Carlisle is responsible, I’m sure of it,” she murmured. “She made a threat, but I didn’t recognize it as a threat at the time. I’m positive she orchestrated this call-in campaign, just to show she could do it. And she’ll keep on doing it until you give her an interview, Michael.”