Christmas at Timberwoods - Fern Michaels [4]
“Angela, I—” Heather hesitated. “I don’t know what to say.” Tactful and true. And the best she could do.
“I want to ask you a question. When’s the height of the season?”
“The week before Christmas.”
Angela paled as she mentally counted the days. “Today is December fifteenth.”
“Yes, and Christmas Day is next Thursday. The stores are open until six on Christmas Eve,” Heather said, alarmed. “Why?”
Angela rubbed her temples. “Ten days to Christmas.” Her voice was a choked whisper, frightening Heather again.
“Angela, your parents—what if I went with you to discuss this? Would that help?” Heather’s manner was slightly cajoling. She wanted Angela Steinhart out of her office as soon as possible, and missing lunch had nothing to do with it. Not a Christmas went by without some people going off the deep end. She hoped and prayed that Angela wasn’t going to do the same thing, but it wasn’t her job to psychoanalyze or open up a holiday hotline for the unstable.
“What for? They’ll tell you it’s a nervous condition or another of my bids for attention.” Angela laughed uneasily. “My mother wants me locked up. If she finds out I’ve come to you, it’ll give her all the ammunition she needs to have it done. Regardless of what my father wants. And do you know something? At this point, I almost don’t care. Sometimes I think my mother’s right. Maybe I am a lunatic.”
The blunt speech ended as suddenly as it had begun. Angela shook her head and got up, slinging her bag over her shoulder and going to the door without a word of good-bye. Heather was speechless as she watched her visitor leave the office. She breathed a sigh of annoyance. Why did she have to come and dump on me? she thought. Now I’ll probably have to fill out a report.
And the report would have to be filed with her boss, the chief of security. It did come under the heading of strange and unusual circumstances. Heather groaned. Security would overreact and say that they were following mandated guidelines. Instead of seeing that Angela Steinhart was in need of psychiatric help, they would go off the deep end themselves and create chaos. The bomb squads would arrive with their sniffer dogs, all the employees would have to work overtime, the Steinharts would be alerted, and Angela herself would be hauled in for questioning.
And all because an imaginative girl had bad dreams—Heather would bet anything that had been the trigger for Angela’s forebodings—and let holiday jitters get to her. Throw in a dysfunctional family and everything intensified. She’d wanted to vent or simply wanted attention and was obviously afraid of her parents. Well, Heather got to vent, too. She would do what everyone else did around here: she would dump on Felex Lassiter.
Breezing through the outer office, past the receptionist’s desk and down the wood-paneled corridor, she opened the door to the office which bore Felex Lassiter’s name and title. Nodding to his assistant, she said, “I’d like to talk to Felex.”
The assistant managed a thin smile. “Go in. Don’t tell him I sent you.”
Heather opened the door marked PRIVATE.
“Can’t you read?” he said with a wink.
“Felex, something’s come up. But first, pour me a drink, will you? A really, really small one,” she directed firmly. “And in answer to your next question, I’m not driving home for another two hours.”
Felex Lassiter pushed his chair back from his desk and frowned at the beautiful woman opposite him. His eyes narrowed. She was upset. Sometimes he wasn’t sure she had what it took to handle the high level of stress that came with working in a big, famous mall like Timberwoods. Her guts weren’t encased in steel like the others in security. Not that it was now, or had ever been, his decision to hire her. Dolph Richards, the mall’s obnoxious CEO, had insisted, saying she had the best-looking legs he had ever seen.
It wasn’t politically correct to say so out loud,