“I understand your concerns with the sequence. You cannot continue to stalemate, me, though, by encouraging your subcontractors to work off a different script.”

“I notice that’s not stopping you.” Bob was simmering. Shenar had never seen him redder, heard him redder.

“I own the company now. I can get to the money quicker.”

“Do you expect the client to pay to choose from two different products? Tomás has trouble with your idea, too. He owns half the company, remember.”

Bob turned away from Shenar, toward the bay window. The smoked glass seemed to cool his features. Shenar noticed he kept the lights off in his office. She watched his profile harden into brick.

“Why are you so damned interested in this project, anyhow? You don’t have anything to prove to anyone. You can be the grieving widow and start all over. Let Tomás buy you out. Frank’s death is like a writ of forgiveness.”

He had turned back and was studying Shenar again, his eyes narrowing, glinting. She could feel her neck heating. She knew her stare was as hard as his.

He blinked. He had noticed her flush. Apparently he had expected her to be cowed, not aroused.

Suddenly, he had to go. He was making some sort of excuse about having to meet Larry.

Shenar savored momentary triumph. She was beginning to understand the joy of conflict. She was realizing rivals as worthy opponents, rather than an obstacles.

Bob ducked his head, gathered some papers from the desk and turned sharply toward the door. She knew he was restoking his anger. She wanted him to stay, wanted this to continue until she understood what was so important. She knew, from the vaginal contractions, the warmth, that she was wet. She wasn’t sure whether it was the struggle or sex. She didn’t care. Everything happening in this office, in this moment, was peculiarly invigorating.

“You’re not getting off that easily,” she shot at him.

His eyes glittered, then turned dull. He reeled away. “All right. Look. Come by my place on Saturday. We’ll talk about it then.” He continued forward, tossing the suggested arrangement behind him like a crumpled piece of paper.

She wondered if he was expecting they would fuck, then.

“It’s firm for Saturday, then,” she stated.

“Oh. Yeah. Sure.”

Text & Graphics © 1999 by Gail Rae Hudson

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