Discovering Duncan. Mary Wilson Anne

at Duncan on the other side of the desk. “Damn it, that doesn’t have any bearing on this. There are no friends in business. We need his routing division, and Tellgare runs a half-baked company that doesn’t need it. So, we get it…any way we can.”

      Although Duncan never wore a beard, and his hair was dark brown with gold highlights, he matched his father physically with a solid, six-foot-three-inch frame, tanned skin, dark brown eyes and a penchant for dark, three-piece business suits. But other than DNA, right now they had nothing in common. “You’ve crossed the line if you try to ruin Tellgare.”

      D.R. rocked his leather chair back, tented his fingers and studied his son with eyes as dark as night. “Crossed the line?”

      Duncan leaned forward, pressing both palms down on the reflective surface of the cold desk. “Damn straight.”

      “Oh, come on,” D.R. said with an exaggerated sigh. “I don’t have time for this bleeding-heart garbage. Just get it done.”

      Duncan had heard those words before, and he was incredibly tired of them. He felt numb from watching his father destroy anything in his path. “I don’t have time for this, either,” he finally said as he straightened.

      “Then get on with it.” D.R. pushed a folder on his desk over to Duncan. “Get to Legal and tell them to change this.”

      He ignored the file. “No. If you’re going after Tellgare, count me out.”

      The folder sat between them as D.R. drilled Duncan with a ferocious glare. “What?” he demanded.

      “Are you going after Tellgare?”

      “To use your words, damn straight.” The older man sat back and crossed his arms on his chest. “Damn straight.”

      Dark eyes held dark eyes without blinking. For one week, Duncan had known this move was coming. He’d known there was no hope of stopping D.R. this time. “Unless you let me take over now and you step down, I’m out of here.”

      D.R. uttered a profanity that rocked the room around them. “Fat chance of me stepping down and handing you all of this.”

      “It’s your company and your decision. Live with both of them,” Duncan said. “I’ve had it.”

      “You’ve had it?” D.R. stood to his full size. “News flash, Duncan, so have I. I’ve put up with your arguments and your flawed reasoning more than I should have because you’re my son. But no more. It’s my company, and I’ll do things my way. So get over it, and get on with this business with Tellgare.”

      Now that he’d made the decision to quit, Duncan was shocked he had no second thoughts. “That’s it?”

      D.R. exhaled. “And I quote, ‘Damn straight.’”

      Duncan turned for the door, but D.R. wasn’t finished.

      “Don’t you walk out on me like this!” the man thundered.

      Duncan reached for the brass door handle.

      “Don’t you think you’re going to use anything I taught you to go up against this company,” D.R. said, enraged. “If you walk out the door, you’re dead in this town. You’re done.”

      Duncan twisted the cold handle.

      “What in the hell do you think Adrianna is going to say about this idiocy?” D.R. demanded.

      Duncan stopped, but didn’t turn. Adrianna? Tall, blond and no stranger to the business world, Adrianna Barr was the only child of one of the most powerful bankers on the West Coast. They’d dated, had fun, and they understood each other. “She’ll understand.”

      D.R.’s boom of laughter filled the office. “God, you’re deluded. She’ll drop you like a bad habit.”

      Maybe D.R. was right, and maybe he was wrong. It didn’t matter right then. Maybe it would later, but not then. Duncan was used to being alone. He’d always been alone. “Whatever.” Duncan jerked the door open.

      “Where are you going?” his father asked, closer now, almost behind him.

      Duncan turned and stood eye to eye, toe to toe with his father. “Anywhere but here.”

      D.R. exhaled, raking his fingers through his thick white hair, then waved a hand vaguely. “Oh, just go home, get drunk, get Adrianna and take a break. I can handle things on this end.”

      “And Tellgare?” he asked in a low voice.

      “Leave it to me. I’ll do it if you don’t have the stomach for it.” There was no backing down when it came to his father. None at all. There never had been. “Branch or Gills can take over for you this time.”

      D.R. still didn’t get it. “There won’t be a next time.”

      D.R. flushed red and he rocked forward on the balls of his feet, bringing his face inches from his son’s. “Listen to me. You’re a Bishop, born and bred. You are my son, and the only Bishop left once I’m gone. Walking out won’t change that.”

      Duncan shook his head. “No, nothing can change that, but I’ll learn to live with it.”

      Then he turned and walked away. D.R. yelled from the door of his private office, but not at Duncan. He yelled at his secretary, a middle-aged woman who had been with D.R. for ten years. “Helen, call security. Mr. Bishop is leaving. He’s to take nothing with him, have no access to his office or anything to do with this company.”

      Helen chanced a furtive glance at Duncan, and he could see the look of commiseration on her face. She knew what it was like to be browbeaten by the CEO. As he strode out the main office door, the last thing he heard was Helen saying, “Yes, sir, right away, sir.”

      Duncan didn’t go anywhere near his office. He went straight down to the parking garage, got in his car and took nothing with him when he went through the security gates for the last time. He didn’t look back as he pulled out onto the congested streets of downtown Los Angeles bathed in the late afternoon sun of a clear May day. He drove to his apartment, packed his bags, told the superintendent he’d be in contact and left.

      When he met with Adrianna, he found out the old man had been right about at least one thing. Adrianna wasn’t having any part of his explanations. She didn’t get it, either. Finally, he gave up and left her, too. When he drove away from Los Angeles, he drove away from his old life and everything in it. And he didn’t look back.

      Los Angeles,

      Six Months Later:

      “I’M A MAN OF PATIENCE,” D. R. Bishop said as his secretary left, closing the door securely behind her. “But even I have my limits.”

      Lauren Carter never took her eyes off the large man across the impressive wood-and-marble desk. D. R. Bishop was dressed all in black. He was a huge, imposing man, and definitely, despite what he said, a man with little patience. He looked tightly wound and ready to spring.

      Lauren sat very still in a terribly uncomfortable chair, her hands in her lap while she let D. R. Bishop do all the talking. She simply nodded from time to time. The longer he talked, she got the impression he was the type who drove his life by the sheer force of his will, the same way he did business.

      “My son walked out on everything six months ago,” he said.

      She finally spoke. “Why?”

      He tented his fingers thoughtfully with his elbows resting on the polished desktop as if he were considering her single-word question. But she knew he was considering just how much to tell her. His eyes were dark as night, a contrast to his snow-white hair and meticulously trimmed beard. “Ah, that’s a good question,” he said, hedging for some reason.

      “Mr. Bishop, you’ve dealt with the Sutton Agency enough to know that privacy and discretion are part and parcel of our service. Nothing you tell me will go any further.”

      He shrugged his massive shoulders