Free Sweeter Than Revenge by Ann Christopher Page B

time—as if he’d ever been in charge where Maria was concerned.
    “Yeah, why not? I’ll give you a shot, Maria—”
    Her sweet, delighted grin signified his defeat and was more than he could take right now. Hurting her would make him feel better, so he lashed out.
    “—and I’ll watch while you blow it, just like you blow everything.”
    Ignoring the flash of pain in her eyes, he snatched the door open and waved her through it. And as he followed her back down the hall to his office, he cursed himself for his weakness where this one woman was concerned, and for his stupidity. The protective wall he’d built, brick by brick, around his heart, would notcrumble. No way. Soft feelings toward Maria were not allowed, and he would notgo easy on her. He wouldn’t admire her, either. So what if she was gutsy? So what if she’d cleverly outmaneuvered him? So what if she seemed vulnerable?
    It didn’t matter. None of it mattered—except his revenge.
    He’d be strong. He’d make her pay. Only then could he be whole again.
     
    As soon as they’d finished the meeting with Anastasia and Uri, David turned to Maria and stared at her with glittering, stony eyes. “Why don’t I show you your office?”
    No,she wanted to say. Judging by his expression, going anywhere with him would be about as safe as accepting a ride in Ted Bundy’s Volkswagen Beetle. She’d one-upped him this morning, and obviously he had no intention of letting her get away with it. Even so, she was no coward.
    “Okay,” she said, and he steered her down the hall. “Is it the big empty one next to yours?”
    “Uh-uh. You can’t leapfrog over all the other people who’ve been here longer, Maria,” he told her. “As I believe I mentioned, the boss’s daughter gets no preferential treatment here.” His sharp, smug gaze swung back around to her, obviously hoping she’d pitch another fit for his amusement. “That won’t be a problem, will it?”
    Even though she had a sudden and fierce urge to punch him right in his smug grin, she managed a carefree laugh. “Of course not. I’m a team player.”
    “Good.”
    He stopped. They’d gone through a heavy door and reached a gloomy, remote corner of the office so far away from his it probably had a different zip code. Overhead, a fluorescent light hummed and blinked ominously, threatening to die at any second. David opened a door, turned into a dark office, and flipped a switch, illuminating a space that looked much better unlit. She couldn’t bring herself to go inside, so she just stood in the doorway and peered in, aghast.
    The cavelike, windowless office, barely bigger than a walk-in closet, had apparently been given over to storage. Labeled banker’s boxes stacked three deep covered most of the floor and pressed-wood desk. A clear plastic bin filled to the top with cords and wires graced one corner. Three trash cans on wheels and several ugly metal file cabinets took up most of the remainder of the floor space.
    Maria gaped.
    Only when she looked closely did she see that one postage-stamp-sized patch of desk was relatively uncluttered. On it sat an ancient computer with a huge, flickering screen, so old it probably still needed punch cards. A clunky black phone, no doubt personally made by Alexander Graham Bell two centuries ago, sat next to it. A folding card table chair—unpadded—completed this little slice of heaven.
    “I know it needs a little work,” David said with exactly as much sincerity as a used-car salesman trying to unload a 1965 Dodge Dart, “but I think you can make it work.”
    Frozen, she blinked, but the view didn’t get any better. It was inconceivable that this grungy little hovel occupied her father’s elegant, impressive offices. She felt as though she’d made a trip to the White House and discovered a Port-O-Let down a side hallway. Her office was ugly, filthy and quite possibly a health hazard. Nothing in there should be touched without the use of thick rubber