has to come first. I'll help you find a replacement, sit in on the interviews, advise you. I'm going back to Mirimar Consulting, part-time."
Cal glowered at the line of cedar trees that edged up against the back of the house. Tight lips, rigid jaw.
"Think of it as my finishing my original consulting job for Tremaine's," she said, telling her pulse to quiet. Employees quit all the time. Leaving might make an unpleasant scene, but it wasn't fatal for either the employee or the boss. "Originally, you hired me to organize Tremaine's administration. The end of the contract should have been my finding an administrative manager for you. I'll do that now."
"No."
She swallowed. "All right. I—then I'll get someone in, another consultant. Tim Mirimar or—"
"Samantha, shut up." He threw the door open on his side of the helicopter, swung out of his seat, and slammed the door behind him, jerking her body as if he'd slapped her.
She grabbed her computer case and scrambled out. She ran, caught up with him five paces from Dorothy's veranda.
"Cal, listen to me!"
He stopped and swung to face her. "What?"
"You don't have time for this! It's going to be dark soon!" She was shouting at him, screaming. She gulped and swallowed panic, forced her voice to calmness. "If you don't take off soon, you'll be stuck here overnight."
The fury in his eyes drained so fast it left her disoriented.
"I can handle that," he said quietly, in the sort of voice one probably used to calm hysterical babies. "Where do you want to talk?"
"I needed to tell you I'm leaving, and I've done that. Now I have to go next door and get Kippy. I don't have time for business tonight. I have a child to look after."
He studied her with those gray eyes.
"Cal, I appreciate how helpful you've been with the helicopter, how understanding." Had he been understanding? She wasn't sure. "Let's have a phone conference tomorrow morning? Let's say about ten-thirty?"
"No."
"But—"
"Sam, you're a fantastic manager. None better. But you're not managing me." He took her arm and she jerked, but he held on. "Go into the house, put away your computer case; then we'll go over and pick up the baby."
He was moving her toward the house. She resisted, pulling against his grip, finally pulling her arm free.
"Cal, I want to be alone. I need you to leave." She was proud of the reasonable tone of her own voice, especially considering the ragged state of her breathing, as if she'd been running uphill.
"I'm not leaving."
"I'll call the police."
"No, you won't. You've said your bit, Sam. Now it's my turn, but it's crazy to discuss anything as serious as this when you've got a baby waiting for you, when you haven't had supper. I'm starving. Aren't you?"
"No."
"Of course you are. Why don't you give me the computer and your keys? I'll go in the house and start cooking something for us to eat. You go get the baby—unless you want me to come with you? If she's heavy, I can carry her. How far is it?"
"Just next door." He wasn't going to give up. She knew that light in his eye, and he wasn't going to leave her alone, not until he'd had his say.
He held out his hand.
"Damn you," she muttered as she gave him her computer case. "The house key's in my wallet, front pocket of the case."
She didn't want him making himself at home in Dorothy's kitchen, making it more difficult for her to keep the distance appropriate between employee and boss—ex-employee and ex-boss. But if he didn't cook, he'd have nothing to do. He'd probably pace, watching her tend to Kippy. Observing, making her nervous.
"There's chicken in the fridge," she said. "And fish in the freezer." Then she turned and walked away, along the path joining Dorothy's property to Diane's.
Cal put Sam's computer case on the old oak desk beside the front door, rubbed his shoes on the welcome mat, and headed for the kitchen.
He needed to handle her very carefully, he decided as he stared at the contents of the refrigerator. Sam