Never Leave Me by Harold Robbins Page A

said.
    “Get him for me,” I said, going on into my office. I looked around. Yesterday’s mess had been cleaned up.
    Mickey came in behind me and put some papers on my desk. She turned to walk out without saying a word.
    I stopped her. “Thanks for fixing up, Mickey,” I said.
    She stared at me, a puzzled bewilderment on her face. “What got into you, Brad?” she asked. “I never saw you like that.”
    I shrugged my shoulders. “I guess I been working too hard,” I answered. “And it caught up to me.”
    I could see she didn’t buy my story, but I was the boss so she let it go at that. A few seconds later she had Pete Gordy on the phone.
    Pete was one of my best accounts. He owned the largest independent chartered airline in the East.
    He accounted for about twenty-five per cent of my business.
    After the usual greeting I got down to business and asked what I could do for him.
    An embarrassed tone crept into his voice. “Well, Brad,” he said in his best New England twang, “I don’t quite know how to tell you this.”
    For a moment I held my breath, then I let it out slowly. I guess he didn’t really have to tell me. I had known somehow from the moment I came into the office and got his message. “What, Pete?” I asked, making my voice flat and blank.
    “I’m going to have to pull my account,” he said.
    “Why?” I asked. I knew why, but I wanted him to tell me. “I thought we were doing a hell of a job for you.”
    “You are, Brad,” he said quickly. “I got no beefs there, but——” “But what?” I insisted.
    “Certain things came up,” he said. “My bankers insisted.”
    “What the hell do they care who does your work?” I exploded. “I always thought you were the kind of a guy who ran his own business.”
    “Brad, don’t make it any tougher for me than it really is,” he pleaded. “You know how I feel about you. I can’t help this thing. I gotta do it or they’ll close down my financing.”
    My anger left me. In a way he was right. There was nothing he could do about it. Matt Brady had put out the word. Who would dare say no to him?
    “Okay, Pete,” I said. “I understand.”
    I put down the phone gently and hit the buzzer. I told Mickey to send Chris in. I spun in my chair and looked out the window. It was hard to believe that one little old man could have so much power.
    The intercom squawked. I flipped the switch and Mickey’s voice came from it. “Chris’s secretary tells me he left the office before you came in this morning.”
    “When will he be back?”
    “She didn’t know,” came the answer. I turned off the switch. This was great. The house starts tumbling down and the fire chief takes off.
    The buzzer rang and I picked up the phone. It was another client. Same story. Sorry, old man.
    Good-bye. It kept up all day. One after the other called me. I didn’t even have time to go to lunch, I was so busy taking cancellations.
    By five o’clock the phone had stopped ringing. I looked at my watch gratefully. I was glad the business day was over. Another two hours of this and I would be back in the telephone booth I started from.
    I crossed the room to the liquor cabinet and opened it. All the Scotch was gone. I smiled grimly.
    Mickey had taken no chances when she cleaned the office this morning. I opened the door and looked out on her.
    “Where’d you hide the Scotch, baby? “I asked. “I need a drink.”
    She looked up sceptically. “Brad, you’re not going to do that again?” I shook my head. “No, baby. I just need a drink.”
    She took a bottle from the file cabinet next to her desk and followed me into my office. “I can use one too,” she said.
    I watched her make two, then took the drink she handed me. I sipped it gratefully. “Hear from Chris yet?” I asked her.
    She shook her head. “I wonder where he is.”
    I had an idea. “Did he see Matt Brady yesterday?” She looked puzzled. “When I told you to send him in to Chris,” I