Free Angels at Christmas by Debbie Macomber Page A

his property.
    â€œConsider it done,” Wilcoff said. He seemed eager to leave. “Was that all, Mr. Fletcher?”
    â€œActually, no,” Roy said slowly. This next part nearly stuck in his throat, but he had no option. “I’d like to offer Julie a small settlement to compensate for her pain and suffering.”
    Shocked, his head of security held up both hands. “That isn’t necessary. In fact, I think Julie would be upset—”
    â€œI insist. I’ll have my attorney draw up the papers and we’ll consider the matter closed.”
    Wilcoff shook his head. “None of this is necessary. Anyway, you should talk to Julie about it, not me. But I know she’ll feel the same way.”
    â€œPerhaps,” Roy said, although he didn’t believe it. He was a prime candidate for a lawsuit. He’d behaved stupidly in not getting his lawyer involved earlier. That oversight was a rarity for him; he hadn’t come this far in the business world by ignoring the obvious.
    â€œWhatever you decide, Mr. Fletcher, is between you and my daughter, but I’m certain Julie isn’t interested in a settlement.”
    That’s what they all say , Roy thought cynically. Julie Wilcoff was no different from any other woman he’d ever met—or any man in the same situation.
    He was worried, but he didn’t dare let it show.
    Wilcoff left, and Roy started to read over the Griffin paperwork, but he still couldn’t concentrate. The truth of it was, he’d quite enjoyed his exchanges with Julie Wilcoff. True, she wasn’t the most attractive woman he’d encountered, but she possessed a quick wit and a quirky sense of humor. He couldn’t recall the last time any woman had joked with him about her size or weight. He had to admit he found it refreshing.
    His phone rang and he answered it. “I’m sorry to bother you, Mr. Fletcher,” Eleanor Johnson said, “but your mother is here.”
    â€œMy mother?” Oh, yes, now he remembered. He’d even put it in his daily planner. She’d asked about meeting him on Thursday and he’d suggested lunchtime. In his current frame of mind, he had no interest in food, but he couldn’t slight his mother. He sighed, then said with obvious reluctance, “Send her in.”
    â€œMerry Christmas, Roy.” Disregarding his mood, his mother came into the office and hugged him.
    â€œHow are you, Mother? And isn’t it a little early for Christmas greetings?”
    â€œNot at all,” she said, smiling at him with sparkling blue eyes. “Once December arrives, it’s never too early to say Merry Christmas.” Roy smiled in return. He sincerely loved his mother. She often frustrated him, but he did love and admire her—although he didn’t understand her. She’d allowed his father to swindle her out of a huge amount. Roy had wanted her to fight, had urged her to drag his father back into court and make him pay. Roy wanted his father’s reputation destroyed, which was what Burton Fletcher deserved, but his mother had refused to do it. His father seemed to have some regrets, if his efforts to contact Roy were any indication, but so far Roy had adamantly rejected any kind of relationship.
    Instead of fighting, his mother had apparently forgiven Burton and become a hermit, living in a ridiculously small cottage on a tiny San Juan island. What really upset him was that she claimed to be “reasonably happy.” She’d been cheated, dumped and cast aside like yesterday’s junk mail and she was happy? Roy just didn’t get it.
    â€œAre you ready for lunch?”
    Roy couldn’t think of a way to tell her he didn’t feel like having lunch without disappointing her. He checked his watch.
    â€œIs your meeting over?”
    â€œYup, I have half an hour.” His problem was that he couldn’t be around his mother and ignore the past. When he was