The Hamilton Heir. Valerie Hansen

heavy, brass doors of the elevator slid open and Tim stepped out on the ground floor. He knew better than to pass through the lobby and engage either Louise or Herman Gordon in casual conversation so he whipped around and ducked into the newspaper office. The elderly Gordons took their jobs as Hamilton Media greeter and guard far too seriously to suit him, and both were terrible gossips. Unless he wanted to listen to their opinions on everything from the weather to their favorite TV shows, he knew it was best to avoid them entirely.

      He waved to his sister, Heather, in passing. She absentmindedly returned his greeting with a nod and a smile while toting an armload of paper out the door toward the elevator. Tim figured she was probably headed back up to her Nashville Living office on the second floor. He was pleased to see her applying herself. It was never easy to manage staff and he sure didn’t want to have to reprimand anyone in his own family. There were times when he secretly envied his father’s unwavering sternness. Wallace Hamilton was not a man to trifle with. All six of his children knew that, even Jeremy.

      Thoughts of his older brother made Tim’s jaw muscles clench. Now that they all knew the truth about Jeremy’s parentage it explained a lot. No wonder he’d never had the inherent drive or the business savvy of Wallace’s other children. The biggest puzzle was why a perfectionist like Wallace had allowed a laid-back guy like Jeremy to run Hamilton Media at all.

      Tim brushed aside his troubling musings and headed straight for the editor’s office. Bradshaw’s desk was so piled with papers it looked like a copy machine had exploded on it. Tim would have chastised him for his lack of organization if he’d been present.

      Frustrated, Tim whirled and accosted the first Dispatch employee he came to. “Lyle. Where’s Bradshaw? Have you seen him?”

      “Sorry. Don’t have a clue, boss,” the seasoned reporter said. “Maybe Felicity knows where he’s at.”

      Wondering what the man’s grades in English class had been, Tim scanned the half-walled cubicles in the newsroom. Heads down, fingers flying on keyboards, everyone was so busy looking busy it was hard to tell who was who.

      He finally spotted Felicity Simmons, his brother Chris’s girlfriend, returning from the company break room. “Felicity!”

      “I was just getting a cup of coffee, Mr. Hamilton,” she said quickly as she glanced at her watch. “I was only gone twelve minutes, so technically I’m coming back early.”

      “I don’t care about that,” Tim said, annoyed. “I want to know if you’ve seen Bradshaw.”

      She glanced over her shoulder. “Ed? I passed him in the hall. He was just leaving. Said something about a sick cat, I think. I suppose he was going home.”

      “Terrific.” Tim scowled. “Okay. Maybe I can catch him in the parking lot. Thanks.”

      “You’re welcome, Mr. Hamilton. Have a good day.”

      Tim’s scowl deepened. A good day? A good day was when things flowed smoothly, not when you had unforeseen changes foisted on you. If Bradshaw really had gone home to look after a sick animal instead of keeping their appointment, Tim was going to mention more than his poor office housekeeping. He wasn’t about to try to run a publishing empire like Hamilton Media without the complete support of his staff, from the senior editors all the way on down to the likes of Louise and Herman Gordon. Wallace had always understood that and so did Tim. There was no other way to ensure success.

      He took an incoming cell phone call with his usual efficiency, waving at the Gordons in passing but not slowing his pace as he left the building. “Oh, hi, Mom. How’s Dad this morning?” He knew the answer but felt he had to ask.

      “There’s been no change,” Nora said sadly. “Are you sure you can spare the time to have lunch with me? I know how busy you are and—”

      “Nonsense. I always have time for you, you know that.” He slid behind the wheel of his silver BMW, slammed the door and turned the key in the ignition.

      “I know, but…”

      “Where are you now?”

      “At the hospital. Where else?”

      “Exactly,” Tim said. “You’ve been spending way too much time there for your own good. You won’t do Dad any good if you ruin your health, too.”

      He slipped the car into Reverse and started to back out of his reserved spot in front of the old brick building they’d renovated to house Hamilton Media. Before he headed for Bradshaw’s house he’d cruise the employee parking lot and see if the editor’s car was still there. Felicity might have been wrong. There was no sense running all over town if he didn’t have to.

      Tim had the tiny cell phone pinned between his chin and shoulder. He felt it starting to slip and made a grab for it, leaning to one side in the process. “Oops!” He recovered. “Sorry, Mom. Almost dropped you.”

      That moment of inattention was all it took to ruin his morning completely. He glanced up, never dreaming he’d see another car so close. The sun was in his eyes, half blinding him. His foot twitched instinctively, only it was poised over the accelerator, not the brake pedal. In the split second it took for him to realize his mistake and switch to the brakes, his bumper had smashed the other car’s grille.

      Astounded, Tim bit back a colorful comment. That idiotic driver had come out of nowhere! Why didn’t people watch where they were going?

      “Tim?” his mother said, “are you okay? I thought I heard a crash.”

      “Fender bender,” Tim said. “I’m fine.”

      “Oh, honey. I’m so glad you’re all right. I’ll talk to you later, okay? Call me if we’re still on for lunch?”

      “Sure.”

      Flipping the phone closed, Tim climbed out of his luxury car, fully expecting to confront the careless driver who had run into him. He shaded his eyes from the glare that had temporarily distorted his perception during the accident. His jaw went slack. There was no adversary to argue with. He’d smashed into an empty parked car! How embarrassing.

      He removed his suit jacket as he circled the accident scene and hunkered down to assess the damage. The car he’d hit looked like a clunker but its owner probably valued it just the same. He’d better jot down the license number and drop it off for his administrative assistant to deal with before he left the lot.

      Rather than phone from there and possibly have to explain his stupidity in the presence of passing employees, he decided to return to the office and make sure Dawn understood his wish to assume complete responsibility for what had occurred.

      He still couldn’t fathom how he’d made such a careless mistake but he had. Naturally he’d pay for whatever repairs were necessary. The poor old junk heap he’d hit was probably on its last legs, anyway. Chances were, taking the little dent out of his bumper would cost as much or more than fixing the crumpled fender and grille of the car he’d hit!

      Moving the BMW into the nearest available slot, Tim headed for his office. The sooner he got this over with, the sooner he could get his packed schedule back on track.

      Dawn was seated at her computer, transferring the requested personnel files to paper, when Tim rushed through the door and startled her. “Did you forget something?”

      “Yeah,” he grumbled, “My common sense. You won’t believe what I just did.”

      She swiveled her chair to face him, noticing that he was carrying his jacket and looked a lot less GQ than usual. “Excuse me?”

      “Out there.” He nodded in the direction of the parking lot. “I was talking to my mother and I fumbled the phone. By the time I caught it, I’d run into another car.” He tossed a scrap of paper onto Dawn’s desk. “There’s the license number. It wasn’t much of a car to start with but it’s less of one now. See if you can find out who it belongs to and offer to fix it, will you?”

      “Of course.”