Sam's fingers had loosened on her wrist. She drew away from him, then crossed her hands on the table to keep them steady. She forced herself to forget about Sam, to concentrate only on Mitchell Blaine. "You have the reputation and the experience we lack. On the other hand, we have something you need. I've studied your career, Mr. Blaine. Sometimes you've been a bit too bold for your employers, haven't you? It must be frustrating to have some of your most innovative ideas curbed by men who are more conservative than you."
She thought she saw a flicker of surprise, and she pressed her point home. "At SysVal, you'll find the aggressive, creative climate you've been looking for-something to relieve that boredom that's been bothering you. Because of our inexperience, we don't have preconceived notions of how things have to be done. We have a chance to build a humane, progressive company from the bottom up-a company that cares about people as well as its product. The three of us would very much like to have you as a fourth partner, Mr. Blaine; however, as president of this company, I have some conditions of my own."
Sam made a small exclamation, but she ignored him. "Your offer of a $100,000 line of credit with the banks is generous, but not quite generous enough if you want an equal partnership. I handle the books, Mr. Blaine, and we're going to need double that if we want to put the self-contained computer on the market without going to the venture capitalists right away. I'd also like to see you toss in $25,000 of your own money as soon as possible to show good faith and get us out of our immediate cash bind." She turned to Yank. "Is that agreeable with you?"
Yank nodded vaguely.
"Sam?" She forced herself to look at him.
He had clamped his teeth together so tightly that a pale rim had formed around his lips. "What the hell do you think you're doing? Mitch is holding all the cards. We're not in any position to bargain with him."
"That's not true. This is our company. As much as we may want him to be part of it, we have the final say. Isn't that correct, Mr. Blaine?"
"Up to a point, Miss Faulconer. But only to a point." His voice was soft, barely above a whisper, but it conveyed a cold authority. "Without me, you won't have a company much longer."
"Without you," she said quietly, "Sam will find someone else."
Silence fell over the table. For the first time since their confrontation had begun, Mitch had lost some of his composure. She continued to press her advantage. "Don't make the mistake of underestimating him. Sam is brash, arrogant, and lousy with details. But he has a gift. It's a gift few people have and even fewer know how to use, but he happens to be one of them. Sam has the ability to make sensible people do impossible things."
"Sensible people like you, Miss Faulconer?"
"And like you, Mr. Blaine."
For a moment he looked at her thoughtfully, and then he rose and tossed some bills down on the table. Without saying another word to any of them, he left the restaurant.
The air outside was chill. Mitch picked up his steps as he crossed the parking lot, the soles of his loafers slapping angrily on the pavement. He prided himself on his analytical mind, his ability to make decisions without being influenced by emotional overtones. But he had blown it badly in that restaurant tonight.
She wasn't anything like Louise. He couldn't imagine the woman who had gone into battle with him tonight abandoning a seven-year marriage without making any effort to confront her husband with her grievances. Despite her distant air, she was a fighter and not quite the dilettante he had imagined.
But then, maybe he was wrong. Maybe he was still so shell-shocked from his impending divorce that he couldn't judge women anymore. He slipped the key to his rental car out of his pocket and fit it in the lock. What would happen if she got her way? Would she grow bored and start looking for a new diversion?
"Mr. Blaine."
He reluctantly turned his head.
Although she was walking toward him quickly, she gave no real appearance of haste. He had noticed that about her from the beginning-the restraint in her movements, the stillness about her, the closed, cool facial expression. Those mannerisms reminded him of someone else. Louise, of course. But no, that wasn't quite right. Now that he had watched Susannah in action, he realized that she wasn't like Louise at all. She was like someone else. But who?
She stopped next to him. He drew his eyes away from her and removed the key from the door lock. "Haven't you finished raking me over the coals yet, Miss Faulconer?"
She started to speak and then stopped, no longer quite the confident woman she had been a few moments earlier. Her hesitation pleased him. He didn't enjoy finishing second place to a woman, and certainly not to one who was a neophyte.
"Just one more thing," she said. "I'd like to know why you dislike me so much. It's because of my father, isn't it?"
She was so earnest, so proper. Once again he experienced that twinge of familiarity, the nagging sense that he had met her before. "I don't like your father, but I respect him. He has nothing to do with this."
He saw that his response had thrown her off balance, and he was pleased.
"Then what? Have I done something specific? I know it can't be because of what I said tonight. You've disliked me from the beginning, haven't you?"
She was determined to press him, and he was equally determined not to put himself at any further disadvantage. He certainly wasn't going to tell her about Louise. "Do you mind if we just let this discussion go?"
She caught her bottom lip between her teeth, and he knew she hadn't finished with him. To his surprise, he heard himself saying, "Whatever my original opinions were, you've changed them this evening."
The slow smile that captured the corners of her mouth was hesitant, but so winsome that he felt his own lips begin to curve in response.
"Is that actually a compliment?" she asked.
"It's a compliment, Miss Faulconer. Definitely a compliment."
And then he realized what it was about her that seemed so familiar. The perfect manners, the quiet courtesy, the steely determination. She didn't remind him of Louise. She reminded him of himself.
The realization floored him, and then, unexpectedly, he felt his spirit lighten. In that moment, he made his decision, knowing even as he said the words that he had set his life on a new and dangerous course. "I'll accept your terms, Miss Faulconer. But don't feel too confident, because I'm going to be looking over your shoulder every minute."
"Fair enough, Mr. Blaine. Because I'll be looking right back."
He laughed. In her own way, she had as much gall as Sam Gamble, but she packaged it so much more discreetly.
Pulling the car door shut, he pressed the button to lower the window. "Tell our business partners that I might have a better name for our new computer than the SysVal II."
"Oh?"
"Maybe we should name it after you."
Her eyes widened in surprise. "After me?"
"Yeah." He leaned out the window. "Maybe we should call it the Hot Shot."
She laughed, a lovely sound, like the tinkle of antique bells. "Hot shot? Me?"
He drew in his head and slipped the car into reverse. "You, Miss Faulconer."
Susannah watched him pull his car out of the parking lot. She was still smiling as he turned out onto the highway. Imagine anyone calling her a hot shot. It was ridiculous, of course. But nice.
She heard footsteps approaching from behind, and her smile faded. Sam's hand touched her shoulder. He sounded more weary than angry.
"Just what in the hell do you think you're doing? God, you're the last person in the world I would have ever expected to have hang-ups about power."
She wanted to make some scathing retort that would hurt him as he had hurt her, but all the spirit she had summoned for her confrontation with Mitch faded. She followed Yank to the Duster, which was parked at an awkward angle in the next row.