Time After Time

Copyright © 1987 by Billie Green Australian copyright 1987 New Zealand copyright 1987 Philippine copyright 1987

First printing 1988

First Australian Paperback Edition June 1988

ISBN 0 373 09415 9

Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the permission of the publisher, Silhouette Books, P.O. Box 810, Chatswood, N.S.W., Australia 2067.

All the characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all the incidents are pure invention.

Printed in Australia by

The Book Printer. North Blackburn, Victoria 3130

If, then, true lovers have been ever cross'd, It stands as an edjct in destiny

—Shakespeare,
A Midsummer Night's Dream

BILLIE GREEN'S

college professor once told her that she was a
natural
writer. But her readers and editors find it hard to believe that she writes one good story after another only because she comes by them naturally. Maybe someday this devoted wife, mother of three and romance writer
extraordinaire
will create a heroine who is a writer. Then, possibly, we will get a hint of her trials and tribulations.

Chapter One

The actors are at hand:
A Midsummer Night's Dream
—Act V, Scene 1

W
hat
in
hell
is
this
supposed
to
be?"

Leah, who sat on the other side of the desk, looked up from the papers she had been examining and took in Mr. Gregory's frown. The notorious frown. The same one that drew the eye away from the hawklike nose and the unusual green eyes. The same one that warned Universal Air underlings to either run and hide or find a damn good explanation for whatever had displeased the vice president of marketing.

She rose to her feet in an unconsciously graceful movement and walked around the desk to stand beside him. The north Dallas skyline, seen through a wall

of gold-tinted windows, framed her as she glanced over his shoulder at the paper he held.

"Sorry, that wasn't supposed to be in there," she said. "Posner was having a bad day—trouble with his girlfriend, I think."

"I don't care if Posner is having trouble with two dozen Egyptian belly dancers," Paul Gregory said flatly. "If he can't do better than this, he shouldn't be working here."

Leah turned her startled laughter into a discreet cough. If timid little Leonard Posner were ever confronted with twenty-four dancing girls, he would faint dead away.

Leaning forward, she picked up a sheet of paper from the file in front of him. "You mean like this?" she asked, outwardly calm. "I had Leonard do it again. It was my fault the original wasn't discarded."

The look in her superior's eyes assured her that he had never doubted for a minute that it was her fault. Shaking her blond hair back over her shoulder, she moved a step to the side. Being this close to him always made her uneasy; a little like standing on the edge of an active volcano.

She glanced down at her watch. "Do you need more time to look through these? There's an exec meeting in ten minutes, but I can skip it if you want me to stay."

"That won't be necessary," he said, closing the file. "I've seen enough."

That doesn't sound promising, Leah thought, keeping her expression bland. Rule number one— never show fear to a predator.

He handed her the file. "Except for that piece of trash from Posner, it looks as if this might work. I'll expect to see a cost analysis and revenue projection on my desk tomorrow," he added without even glancing up.

Leah didn't say that getting those two things together by tomorrow would keep her working half the night. She didn't say that "this might work" was not exactly overwhelming praise for a project she had been working on night and day for more than two months.

She didn't say those things because neither of them even entered her head. Leah had worked under Paul Gregory for more than four years. She knew that if her work on this report hadn't been A-number
_:
one, top-notch material, she would not be walking out of his office now; she would be slinking out with her tail between her legs.

"Miss French?"

She was at the door with the file under her arm when he called her name. Pausing, she glanced back. "Yes, sir?"

"I see you're up for the associate VP job in San Francisco."

"That's right."

Leah's classical features showed none of the excitement and none of the anxiety she felt over the possible promotion. The move from airline advertising executive to associate vice president in charge of pub-

lic relations would be a major step in her career, the kind of step she had been working toward for more than four years.

"You'll get it," he said casually. "There's no one as sharp in the running." He frowned, the subject forgotten as he went back to his work.

Seconds later, Leah stood in the outer office in a bright purple daze. Mr. Gregory had almost paid her a compliment. Did that mean he would give her a good reference? she wondered, biting her lip.

She had no way of finding out, because she was too proud to ask, and he certainly wouldn't volunteer the information. Knowing her boss, he had probably meant that the people up for the promotion were all idiots, but that she was the least idiotic of the bunch.

One floor below, in her own office, Leah took a minute to freshen her lipstick before going to meet with the other advertising executives. Her work area in no way compared with the understated luxury of Mr. Gregory's. It was merely a twelve-by-twelve-foot room with gray carpet, and without a single window. But Leah was sinfully proud of the room. It was a real office, not a cubicle. And outside the office was a secretary. The fact that she shared Charlotte with two other executives didn't matter. Nor did it matter that Charlotte was too fainthearted to put off unnecessary calls. All that mattered was that Leah had a secretary.

After blotting the pink lipstick, she gave a short, breathless laugh, shaking her head. She was still slightly unnerved by Mr. Gregory's parting comment. It had never occurred to her that he would give

more than a passing thought to her promotion. In the time Leah had been with Universal Air, she and the VP had occasionally worked together on projects— not often, but often enough for her to have formed definite opinions concerning his character. Paul Gregory wasn't the kind of man to take notice of what his people were doing unless it directly affected the work they were doing for him. He had a reputation for being a man with a will of iron who didn't try to disguise his fiery wrath when he encountered the failings of mere mortals. His rigid personality had prompted the people who worked under him to label him—behind his back, of course—Vulcan, after the Romans' dark god. He possessed the heat of the forge and the cold, unbending strength of steel.

Although his sober-faced pronouncements were sometimes startlingly funny, by no stretch of the imagination did he intend them to be, and he would use his notorious frown to wither anyone who dared to laugh. As a result, Leah had quickly absolved him of having anything as human as a sense of humor.

So, according to Leah's estimation, Mr. Gregory had neither a sense of humor nor a high regard for his fellow man. What he had instead was one of the sharpest minds in the country, and for that Leah admired him wholeheartedly. She was as single-minded about her career as her boss. Although she would rip out her tongue before letting him know, she had used Paul Gregory as a role model since first coming to Universal Air.

Her brow creased in thought as she leaned back in the black vinyl chair. Deep down, Leah was afraid she would never really be like her iron-willed role model. She tended to bubble rather than growl, and as often as not, her frown trembled at the corners and stubbornly became a smile. And her sense of humor insisted on embarrassing her by popping up at the most inappropriate times. No matter how she tried, she simply couldn't project a cold, stern image.

A last quick glance in the mirror assured her that her image—good or bad—would hold up for a while longer. Grabbing her briefcase, she left her office for the meeting room down the hall.

The executive meeting didn't take as long as she had anticipated. Even after Leah had taken a few extra minutes to try a few ideas on her associates, she was left with enough time to leave the building for lunch— something that happened perhaps twice a month under normal circumstances. She usually asked Charlotte to have a sandwich sent up from the coffee shop in the lobby.

She had just walked into the busy Italian restaurant two blocks from the Universal building when she heard her name being called. Glancing around quickly, Leah spotted Tanya Brice and three other women from the office waving frantically at her from a table in the corner.

As soon as Leah reached them, she pulled a free chair from a nearby table, and the four women shifted to make room for her.

"Wait until you hear this," Tanya said, leaning forward eagerly. "Shelley says Lester brought a six-foot brunette into his office this morning and locked the door... and they were in there for
two
hours."

Leah rolled her eyes. She wasn't overly impressed by Lester Walker's amorous adventures. As far as Leah was concerned, he was an incompetent fool whose only function at Universal was to provide everyone else in the building with an unending flow of material for gossip.

"That's not all," Bitty said portentously. Her real name was Betty, but her lack of stature had provided a nickname she couldn't shake. "Guess who caught Shelley with her ear at the keyhole?"

Leah glanced at the tall redhead across the table. Shelley groaned, covering her face with her hands. "I thought I would pass out. It would have been a relief to pass out," she added, shuddering. "He gave me the Frown and I froze—I mean it, Leah. I absolutely froze."

Leah had no need to ask who had caught Shelley. Her laugh had a rich, throaty sound. "I love it. And wouldn't I have given my Aunt Nola's girdle to have been there to see it." Her golden-brown eyes sparkled as she imagined the scene. "What did you say when he caught you?"

"What
could
I say?" Shelley asked helplessly as she shoved back her short, curly hair. "Mr. Gregory leaves me tongue-tied at the best of times. There I was on my knees, with my ear to the door. I looked up and wished

there were a history of heart attacks in my family so I would have a chance of dying on the spot."

Leah paused to give her order to the waitress, then turned back to Shelley. "What did Mr. Gregory say?"

Shelley giggled. Her wholesome, attractive face was red from a mixture of laughter and embarrassment. "He said—you know, with that killer tone of his— 'When you're through praying, Miss Koznovski, I'd like to see Walker's report on the traffic at Orly Airport."'

The whole table broke up. Paul Gregory would not be pleased to learn that he had provided them with so much amusement, Leah thought, then immediately changed her mind. The man probably wouldn't care one way or the other.