desire to make things go your way, and that you take pleasure in controlling your environment and the people in it. You're quite single-minded when you set your sights on an objective and you're devoted to the art of the successful maneuver. In short, Mr. York, you're the quintessential businessman."
She was no longer looking at him, her glittering eyes focused once more on the shimmering pool. But she could feel his sudden stillness beside her and knew he was scenting trouble. When he spoke there was a new chill in his tone.
"I'm lost for words. You'll have to clarify your comments a bit further. Were they compliments or accusations?"
"What do you think?" she challenged softly.
"I'm beginning to think they might have been accusations," he admitted dryly.
"They were statements of fact, Mr. York."
"Mr. York?" he repeated, the grittiness of his voice more pronounced. "Are you going to insist on addressing me that way because you now work for me?"
"No," she responded with false ease, drawing a deep breath and turning lightly on her heel to face him.
The long black dress swished softly around her ankles.
"I've taken to calling you Mr. York this evening because it's a useful way of putting some formality into the situation."
"And why do we need formality at this point?" he charged softly.
She could feel all of his senses come alert and knew he was instinctively preparing for battle even though he couldn't yet know what she was about to do.
"Because I'm going to tell you that I've decided not to be a part of the acquisition package. The inventory you just purchased from Lester Chapman includes a lot of instruments but not a manager of planning and resources."
She waited with her regal head held high, her eyes clear and determined, while the silence between them lengthened dangerously. She knew he was running through a variety of approaches before selecting the one with the most steel in it, and she tensed herself for the slice of the razor.
The amber and gold eyes hardened into a tempered alloy as he watched her calm, composed features in the shadowy light. He didn't move from his casual position but Calla felt as if he had gathered himself to spring.
"You were part of the deal. You know that."
The words were soft, devoid of any emotion whatsoever. And that made them all the more menacing.
"I know you chose to believe I was going to stay with the firm after the sale but I never said as much, nor did I sign any contract to that effect."
"You allowed both Lester and myself to think you were more than eager to stay on. Neither he nor I saw any need to put it in writing."
Calla touched the tip of her tongue to the edge of a dry lower lip and quickly cursed herself for the small betrayal of tension. "I know what you believed."
"Because you engineered those beliefs?"
She didn't deny it. There was nothing she could say. She had deliberately allowed him to think what he wished.
"Why?" It was a blunt, no-nonsense question and, perhaps, she decided honestly, it deserved an answer.
"I knew you wanted me," she said simply.
"There was never any doubt about that. You are an extremely valuable asset. As I said before, you've got a head full of Lester's secrets and those secrets are going to be very, very useful in the coming months."
"No," she said very carefully, quite softly, "I wasn't referring to that. I knew you… wanted me."
There was a short, incredibly charged second of silence. Calla stood with unconscious dignity, her fingers clenched into the wooden rail beside her. She tried to imagine it as a barre such as she used in ballet class and deliberately tried to relax her fingers to the proper degree of tension. It was an interesting exercise but not especially effective in relieving the tautness of the moment.
"Ah," he breathed finally. "I understand. Now that I thought I had kept from you during the negotiations." He inclined his head once in a small gesture of mocking admiration. "My congratulations.
You
She was no longer looking at him, her glittering eyes focused once more on the shimmering pool. But she could feel his sudden stillness beside her and knew he was scenting trouble. When he spoke there was a new chill in his tone.
"I'm lost for words. You'll have to clarify your comments a bit further. Were they compliments or accusations?"
"What do you think?" she challenged softly.
"I'm beginning to think they might have been accusations," he admitted dryly.
"They were statements of fact, Mr. York."
"Mr. York?" he repeated, the grittiness of his voice more pronounced. "Are you going to insist on addressing me that way because you now work for me?"
"No," she responded with false ease, drawing a deep breath and turning lightly on her heel to face him.
The long black dress swished softly around her ankles.
"I've taken to calling you Mr. York this evening because it's a useful way of putting some formality into the situation."
"And why do we need formality at this point?" he charged softly.
She could feel all of his senses come alert and knew he was instinctively preparing for battle even though he couldn't yet know what she was about to do.
"Because I'm going to tell you that I've decided not to be a part of the acquisition package. The inventory you just purchased from Lester Chapman includes a lot of instruments but not a manager of planning and resources."
She waited with her regal head held high, her eyes clear and determined, while the silence between them lengthened dangerously. She knew he was running through a variety of approaches before selecting the one with the most steel in it, and she tensed herself for the slice of the razor.
The amber and gold eyes hardened into a tempered alloy as he watched her calm, composed features in the shadowy light. He didn't move from his casual position but Calla felt as if he had gathered himself to spring.
"You were part of the deal. You know that."
The words were soft, devoid of any emotion whatsoever. And that made them all the more menacing.
"I know you chose to believe I was going to stay with the firm after the sale but I never said as much, nor did I sign any contract to that effect."
"You allowed both Lester and myself to think you were more than eager to stay on. Neither he nor I saw any need to put it in writing."
Calla touched the tip of her tongue to the edge of a dry lower lip and quickly cursed herself for the small betrayal of tension. "I know what you believed."
"Because you engineered those beliefs?"
She didn't deny it. There was nothing she could say. She had deliberately allowed him to think what he wished.
"Why?" It was a blunt, no-nonsense question and, perhaps, she decided honestly, it deserved an answer.
"I knew you wanted me," she said simply.
"There was never any doubt about that. You are an extremely valuable asset. As I said before, you've got a head full of Lester's secrets and those secrets are going to be very, very useful in the coming months."
"No," she said very carefully, quite softly, "I wasn't referring to that. I knew you… wanted me."
There was a short, incredibly charged second of silence. Calla stood with unconscious dignity, her fingers clenched into the wooden rail beside her. She tried to imagine it as a barre such as she used in ballet class and deliberately tried to relax her fingers to the proper degree of tension. It was an interesting exercise but not especially effective in relieving the tautness of the moment.
"Ah," he breathed finally. "I understand. Now that I thought I had kept from you during the negotiations." He inclined his head once in a small gesture of mocking admiration. "My congratulations.
You
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