Part 56 (1/2)

Instead he put the pen down, looked her in the eye. ”What do you feel?”

”Feel? About this? Excellent.”

”No. I mean about me.”

”You?” She looked away for a second. He could see her expression soften. ”I'm not sure.” She met his eyes. ”But it's not anger anymore. Really it isn't.”

”No, I don't mean that.”

”Guilt? Nah, I'm done with that.”

”No,” he said. ”No, not that.” He looked at her forehead.

Unwrinkled and smooth, pure. Eyes so sharp, intense, curious.

Cautious. He remembered what it had been like to touch her neck, her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. Back to her eyes.

”Is there anything else?” he said. ”I don't know. I mean - love?”

She blinked her eyes closed for a few moments, and when she opened them again they were glistening. But from what emotion he could not tell.

”Peter, just sign it.”

PART V

Chapter 21

He had not slept all night.

It was not because he missed sleeping in the same bed with Greta.

That, of course, had ended. Nor was it because he missed sleeping with Laurence. At almost exactly the same time Wallaby started its merger negotiations with ICP, Laurence had taken a temporary leave of absence to, she said, care for her ill father. It was just as well, considering what had happened to Greta and everything that had followed. Besides, the majority of his speaking engagements had been postponed or canceled, and he spent his time attending meeting after meeting, and putting together piece of the business plan, which consumed most of his waking and sleeping hours. Relentlessly, he studied ICP's complex corporate structure and product line. Once more his favorite bed partner was paperwork - binders, reports, a.n.a.lyses, and technical doc.u.ments, a courts.h.i.+p that all led up to today.

Today. The reason he had not been able to sleep all night. He climbed out of the bed and strolled leisurely through the dark house, crossing through the living room. A few months ago, after Greta's accident, he had moved the sofa and furniture against the wall, among the many stacked boxes that occupied the room.

Today was the most important day of his life. After more than three long and arduous years of cultivation, he was about to harvest his greatest achievement. The merger of ICP and Wallaby.

Finally his monumental plan would reach its climax. And afterward he would begin his new plan - But not so fast, he warned himself. One step at a time.

The emerging dawn lit up the kitchen with a dull gray. He opened the refrigerator, considered making breakfast, then decided against it. He had no appet.i.te. Instead he poured himself a gla.s.s of milk and gazed out the kitchen window while he sipped, pondering his new and exciting future.

His presence would be required in both New York and California.

Maybe he would set up his primary residence in New York, and find something smaller in California, perhaps even in San Francisco.

Such a commute would be trivial, for with ICP's takeover, the issue of highway miles would disappear and he would do his work on his rides between office and residence in the chauffeured limousine he would be ent.i.tled to.

A rush of elation coursed through him, and he decided to go for a run. Besides, it was too early to leave, and a run would pa.s.s the time until he had to get ready and meet William Harrell at the announcement.

He placed his gla.s.s in the sink and left the kitchen, changed into sweats. He needed to be at the hall by nine o'clock. He tied his sneaker and stretched through a few warm-up exercises, then collected his house keys.