"We'll pull the shade," Jean-Pierre said. He nuzzled his nose in her hair.

"No," she said, planting herself firmly. "Not now. Not with him this close."

"Then when, Greta? When?"

This had been a mistake. She had to get away. "Tomorrow," she said, pulling away from him. "Tomorrow, Jean-Pierre." She tugged at her dress, putting some more distance between them as she rearranged herself. Her expression was final, forbidding. She wanted to remember him just like this, standing before her with his arms at his sides, his bright white teeth and eyes, the silvery sharp edges of his muscled chest.

"Where?" he asked, taking her by the elbows.

"Matthew is going to New York. I'll call you." Afraid that the gentle yet firm and alluring touch of his powerful hands would stall her, she forced herself to pull away.

He handed her her jacket, and followed her into the light of the living room. She opened the door, turned around, and slipped on her jacket, zipping it firmly.

He clasped one hand on the door's edge. With the other he gripped her wrist and pulled her close. She gasped. He kissed her long and deeply. The cold night air chilled her back, while the heat of his mouth warmed her insides. She drew away with a frustrated moan.

He raised her good hand to his lips and brushed it lightly. The stubble of his beard on the silken material caused a sound that had an extraordinary effect on her lower regions. She pressed her upper thighs together.

"Tomorrow," he said, and released her.

She nodded, then was off and back into the night, back to her home.

Running through the chilly night she remembered the gloves in her pocket. She stopped and removed her silk gloves and put on the pair he had given her. They made her feel secure and warm, but not all the way. Perhaps they would feel right once she had the left one tailored to accommodate her shortcoming.

Whatever it takes, she solemnly vowed, whatever it takes.

Chapter 10

"Mr. Harrell, Mr. Locke has arrived."

"Send him in, please," came William Harrell's voice thinly from the intercom on his secretary's desk.

Matthew was surrounded by the kind of opulence afforded only by companies at the highest reaches of the Fortune 500. Plush carpets, deep, rich wooden desks, fine art originals, and people referring to one another as Mr., Ms., Mrs., and "sir." It was a sobering contrast to Wallaby's compact, Herman-Miller modular part.i.tion offices, open-air buildings, and first-name protocols.

Had it been only three years since Matthew had occupied an office at International Foods very much like this one, so expansive it was more like a penthouse apartment than an office? Matthew's own office at Wallaby was no larger than the standard manager's office, just big enough to move around comfortably in. He felt queerly out of place entering the ICP building, surrounded by such abundance, such magnitude. He had even forgotten how long it took for elevators to climb tall buildings; Wallaby's tallest building was only three stories high, and almost everyone used the central atrium stairs to travel between floors.

He shrugged his shoulders to straighten his suit - yet another difference between casual West Coast wizardry and starchy East Coast Big Business. He had felt uncomfortable walking through the city, unable to see more than a few blocks in any direction, surrounded by noise, exhaust, and serious faces. Indeed, California, with its rolling hills and vistas, mild weather, and no-hurry att.i.tude had affected him more deeply than he had realized.

In one hand he carried his briefcase, in the other a large binder containing all of Wallaby's product plans, financial summaries, and forecasts, as well as the strategy he had worked on two nights ago. He had finalized the strategy on the plane yesterday and printed the finished copy in his hotel suite last night with his Joey Plus and portable printer.

He had come to think of the binder as his clay, molded into the shape of a new Wallaby, a gra.s.sroots company deemed a serious player by the most important counsel of all, based in this very city: Wall Street. Since last week's introduction of the new Joey Plus, Wallaby's stock had climbed four points, and reviews were glowing.

It was all very exciting. So much so it had affected him in his sleeping hours. Last night he had had a shadowy, romantic dream, that he was as a gemologist transporting precious jewels for Sotheby's of London...then it shifted, and the gems had changed to secret doc.u.ments for the CIA...then it turned out that he was working not for the CIA, but for them...the other side. When he left the hotel this morning for his meeting, he felt as if he were holding in his hands his fate, his life. Many lives. And then a macabre thought entered his mind, left over from his exotic dream: Where was the cyanide pill? He had no cyanide pill if he was caught. It was a preposterous notion of course, his imagination getting the better of him. Nevertheless, still a little intrigued by the role his dream had cast him in, he strode into William's office with his life in his hands and a feeling of pure elation, and just a little fear. Good fear.

"h.e.l.lo, Matthew," William said heartily, rounding his wide desk with his hand extended. He wore a perfectly tailored charcoal business suit, a crisp white shirt, and a burgundy tie. The man's entire appearance exuded sharpness, Big Business. In other words, ICP.

Matthew set his briefcase on the thickly carpeted floor, clutching the binder in his left hand. He noticed William's impeccable manicure as they shook hands. Matthew's own fingernails were chewed and dry, and he could not remember the last time he had had a manicure himself. He was beginning to feel as if he were underdressed, as if he had underestimated the importance of this date. Gripping the binder with both hands, he grasped all at once that it was not his costume that should match William's incomparability; it was the binder's contents: Wallaby.

This was not just his life in his hands, it was his love. And it was perfect.

William's secretary returned with a tray of coffee, tea, and pastries. She placed the tray on the table, and Matthew asked her for a gla.s.s water.

"What's the matter? No more city fuel?" William said as he poured himself a cup of steaming coffee.

"Haven't touched the stuff in over two years."

"Next thing you'll tell me is that you're into flotation tanks and sushi."

"The sushi part, yes," Matthew said with a light laugh.

"How's Greta?" William asked, sipping his coffee.

"Oh, she's fine, thank you." Matthew accepted the gla.s.s of water and finished half of it in one drink.

"And how does she like California living?"

"She likes it. She keeps quite busy."

"Sounds nice."

"Yes," Matthew said, setting the gla.s.s down. He placed his briefcase on the table. With the mention of his wife, he thought for an instant of what he had hidden inside his briefcase. Since he had placed it there, he had never once taken it out again and looked at it. Would he ever?

"Let's get started," William said. "I got your e-mail, and I'm pleased to hear everything went well with your executives and board. It hasn't been easy on my end. My advisers keep scratching their heads, thinking their boss has gone crazy, especially after your introduction last week. They want us to build something to 'blow the doors off the Joey Plus,' as my technology adviser puts it. But, to his dismay, I've not approved any new development, other than revisions and enhancements, since you and I had our first meeting."

Matthew was pleased with this confirmation of the Joey Plus's success. It meant that to William and ICP, Wallaby, and he, Matthew, were even more valuable now than when they had first met to discuss their secretive pact.

"I'll tell you," William said, indicating the binder with his eyes, "I'm glad I can finally reveal our plan to my board of directors and the executive staff. As I've a.s.sured you already, they will vote unanimously in favor of our plan. They'll have no choice."

"Here it is. The complete strategy, as outlined." Matthew handed the binder to William, who opened it in his lap and was silent for a few moments as he browsed through the various sections.

"Oh yes," he said, "this is a trade after all." He lifted a folder from the table and handed it to Matthew. "Here are all the connectivity specifications for the 990 series, as well as the file compatibility specs for the BP series."

Matthew took the slim nearly weightless folder in his hands and all of the sudden felt a bit let down. The folder felt like nothing compared to the binder he had just turned over. No girth.

No satisfaction. No substance between his fingers. This information would go to Alan Parker and his engineering organization, and perhaps to them it was attractive, but Matthew already missed the extensive, intricately organized volumes in the thick binder now in William's possession. The exchange felt uneven, unbalanced. Unfair.

"I especially like your idea of calling our plan a 'strategic alliance,' " William said. "Tell me more about how you plan to handle the announcement."

Matthew stood up and removed his jacket. "I think what we should do is announce our relationship in three months, when we have a working prototype of the Joey II, which will be the first Wallaby portable computer that's compatible with your computers."

William nodded, crossed his legs, and continued to browse through the lengthy doc.u.ment, glancing now and then at Matthew.

"We'll announce that we're working together on strategic connectivity products from an engineering, marketing, sales, and customer service standpoint. We'll reveal that you and I met, several months ago - and by the way, my executive staff and board are aware of today's meeting - and you will explain ICP's election for Wallaby Joey II systems as an alternative to your own portable computer, and that you will continue to support the older ICP BP computer, as well as facilitate co-sales with our people for Joey II computers. And finally, once you begin the merger process, we'll determine Wallaby's value, and you'll follow up about a year later with the acquisition announcement."

William snapped the binder closed. "Excellent."

"Yes," Matthew agreed under his breath as he seated himself. He felt a little dizzy. Perhaps the building's height and the change in environment were getting to him. He wanted to finish this meeting and get back down on the ground as soon as possible.

"It's exactly how I had envisioned it, but better," William said.

"You've managed to smooth the transition with the alliance aspect, so we're careful to unveil our deal a little at a time."