Free Think About Love by Vanessa Grant Page B

away, she got to the far side of the kitchen before she stopped, standing under the archway to the living room. If it weren't for the fact that she was rubbing her hand, the one he'd held, he might have been fooled by the coolness in her eyes.
    "Thank you," she said, remote voice matching her eyes. "If you'll go sit in the living room, I'll make coffee."
    He ignored her attempt to take over the kitchen. "I think we've both had more than enough coffee at the open house. I'll pour us some wine." He pulled out the bottle of white wine, opened a cupboard, found a massive selection of teas. Herbal teas, black teas, varieties he'd never imagined existed.
    He closed the door, opened another. Plates, bowls.
    "Here," she said, opening the next cupboard and taking out two thin-stemmed glasses.
    He poured the wine, concentrating on the level of the liquid in the glasses, aware of the soft sound of her breathing, the scent of her shampoo... almonds. He corked the wine, followed her into the living room. She didn't stop walking until she got to the window, then turned, placing her back to the view.
    Careful, he thought, be very careful. She would flee in an instant if she knew the thoughts in his mind. "You said you'd help find your own replacement?"
    She nodded, her eyes meeting his. "Yes, of course I will."
    He wanted to shake her, but he needed to suppress his anger. It would weaken his position. He thought of the Lloyd deal, of meeting with Jake Lloyd in New York knowing that other firms, bigger firms had tried to get a contract and failed. Yet Cal had felt confident, certain he could demonstrate the benefits, using Jake's own paranoia to make his case.
    A piece of cake compared with this.
    "So..." He made his voice thoughtful, saw her eyes narrow and wondered if she could see through to his anger. "What sort of person are we looking for? Where will we find this person?"
    "You'll need more than one person." She was more comfortable now, talking business. He saw her body relax as she spoke, and she lifted the wineglass to her lips, sipping unconsciously. "My job has grown into a collection of different jobs—some finance, some human resources, some planning, a little marketing. Eighteen months ago, you needed one person to look after the top level of all those functions, but now it's different. Human resources is shaping up very nicely with Jason Prendall in charge, but with your projected rate of growth over the next year or so, you're going to need an experienced negotiator in finance."
    "Stacey," he suggested, knowing their accountant was no negotiator, wondering why he'd never understood that Sam's quiet enthusiasm showed only the tip of her own passionate fires. On some level, he realized, he'd known and had responded with fantasies of another kind of passion.
    She was saying, "...not going to be able to move up to more responsibilities. You need a CFO, someone from one of the big companies, experienced in negotiations. We brought in Oscar to help out with the Lloyd contract, but you're going to need someone of your own."
    How could he have been so stupid as not to know how much he wanted her? Why had it taken the threat of her leaving?
    "You need to start searching for that CFO now, and for someone to head up the technical sales force, an expert in the kind of technical presales research you do yourself. You won't be able to handle it all now, so you need someone you can trust. Your job's going to change, Cal. You'll need to spend more time liaising with these new people or look at someone as vice president."
    "Vice president?"
    "For the moment, you should hire someone to replace me, someone you can groom for vice president. You'll need to be sure. Compatibility's a big issue."
    "I know who I want."
    She frowned. "We can start—"
    "You're my vice president."
    "I told you. I can't."
    He crossed the carpet and took the wineglass from her hand. He set it and his own glass on the windowsill before he took her shoulders in his hands.