Free Daughter of Light by V. C. Andrews

important position. And yet, although it would be impossible to explain to anyone outside of our special family, I wasn’t inordinately nervous, nor did I feel foolish.
    “I’ll save my answers for my actual interview,” I replied.
    Instead of being offended by the tone of my reply, Michael nodded, impressed. “Okay. Let me give you a little advice, though, if I might.”
    “That’s fine. Thank you.”
    “Ken Dolan’s picture is next to ‘workaholic’ in the dictionary. As Mrs. Winston might have told you, he suffers no fools. He can be abrupt and very impatient. He expects everyone who works for him to be fully prepared whenever he or she speaks to him. He built his father’s little business into what it is today. You’ll find him very competitive and”—he paused to lean toward me—“very anal about what he wants done. Michele Levy has been with him for nearly three years, which is a little more than two years longer than the last secretary he had. The one before that lasted a little less than two months.” He stared at me a moment to see the effect his description had on me.
    I shrugged. “If I don’t get this job, I’ll get another,” I said, so matter-of-factly that he dropped his jaw for a moment and then roared.
    “That’s just the sort of attitude Ken admires. Anyway, thar she blows,” he added, nodding at the very large fenced-in warehouse and office building just ahead of us. It had taken only a few minutes to get there. I realized it was walking distance from the Winston House.
    There were a half-dozen delivery trucks parked outside the warehouse, and on the opposite side was a parking lot for employees’ vehicles. Two spots had signs posted to reserve them, one for Ken Dolan and the other for Liam Dolan. That parking space was empty. Michael nodded at it when we parked.
    “Liam is Ken’s son. Ken would be the first to say in name only,” Michael said.
    “What does that mean?”
    “Here’s a hint. The parking spot has been empty all day. He’s not exactly a chip off the old block. Ken gives him responsibilities, but more often than not, he comes up with some excuse for why he hasn’t done the job. I don’t know how much Mrs. Winston’s told you about her nephew’s family. Anyway,” he quickly added, as if he’d just realized how much he was saying, “it’s not my place to talk about it. I’ll show you to Ken’s office.” He got out of the truck.
    I glanced again at the empty parking spot reserved for Liam Dolan and then followed Michael into the building. We went directly into a showroom filled with all sorts of plumbing fixtures. There was a second showroom just to the right of it. Glancing through the door, I saw sinks and tubs, whirlpools and shower stalls. We continued down a hallway, passing an office where two women were working furiously on computers.
    “Accounting,” Michael said.
    We almost paused at the door of another office that had “Liam Dolan, Assistant Manager” printed on it. Michael just smirked, and we continued to a very nicely appointed outer office. There was no question that the woman standing behind the desk and filing something in the cabinet was Michele Levy. When she turned, I saw that she did indeed look like a woman hours away from the delivery room. She instinctively put her hands at the bottom of her stomach, as if to keep her baby from being born right in front of us, and gazed from Michael to me, her hazel eyes widening with surprise. I thought she had a pretty face, but because of some bloating, I didn’t think her very short haircut worked. She wore a plain light blue maternity dress.
    “This is Lorelei Patio,” Michael told her. I couldn’t see his face when he spoke, but I imagined he was telegraphing his surprise, too.
    Michele looked at me with disappointment. I had the sense that a few candidates, maybe more than a few, had come and gone, and she was hoping for a replacement as soon as possible.
    “Hello,” she said.