sheets. And less annoying
lawyers.”
Randall's
smile disappeared. “It reminds me of my youth.”
“Don't
tell me that you're getting sentimental all of a sudden.”
“Have
I made a bad deal yet?”
“No,”
Tom admitted. “But this one isn't making sense to me.”
“Just
get it done,” Randall said, as he turned back to his computer.
Tom
recognized his cue to leave but he felt like probing Randall's mood. “How was
your date on Friday?”
Randall
ignored him.
“That
bad?” Tom said in a saccharinely sympathetic tone. “Well, I'll leave you to
brood over your lack of success with the lady.”
“There's
nothing to brood over. If anything, I was too successful.”
Tom
sat forward in his chair. “How can you be too successful?”
“We
never made it to dinner.”
“Incredible,”
Tom said, shaking his head in admiration. “You seduced her in the back of your
car?”
“Why
am I having this discussion with you?”
“Because
this is as close as you get to a locker room bragging session, and we all need
to brag about our sex life occasionally.”
“If
you have some more business to discuss, go ahead. Otherwise, this meeting is
over.”
Tom
got up to go. “First, a sentimental attachment to a two-bit regional bank.
Next, complaints about a woman who's too willing. I'm starting to worry about
you; you must be getting soft.”
There
was nothing soft about Randall's expression, however, and Tom decided that
retreat would be wise. As he passed Gail's desk, he bent down and whispered, “I
wouldn't go in there for at least a half an hour.”
By
Friday, Kate's fragile optimism was fraying around the edges. No one had a
part-time job for a civil engineer or even a draftsman, and she was getting
desperate.
She
had come to regard the ring of the telephone with the same enthusiasm as she
would the rattle of a diamondback. She couldn't ignore it in case it was a job
offer. But each time she picked up the receiver she braced herself to either be
turned down by another engineering firm or, even worse, to hear Randall
Johnson's drawl on the line. He had said he would call, and she was quite sure
that he didn't make idle threats. Just thinking of her evening with him made
her blush with shame. However, sometimes as she lay in bed on the edge of
falling asleep, memories of the physical pleasures drifted through her mind.
She
enjoyed those memories more than she wanted to admit.
That
afternoon Clay and Patrick presented Kate with their first week's pay.
Together, the three of them cleaned out a cookie jar, labeled it Dog Dough and stashed their earnings in
it. They all agreed that whatever they hadn't spent at the end of the following
week would be divided equally between the boys.
“I'm
going to save up to buy a CAD-CAM program for the computer,” Clay announced.
“I
have one already,” Kate said.
“Mom,
that one's obsolete.”
Kate
winced. She had used that program for her consulting business. She hoped that
Clay's comment didn't apply to her qualifications as well.
Patrick
thought for a minute. “Can I put it in my savings account?” he asked.
“Well,
sure,” said Kate. “But isn't there something you'd like to buy with it? You've
earned it, you know.”
Patrick
shook his head firmly. “I like to earn interest best,” he said.
Kate
rolled her eyes. “A budding J. P. Morgan.”
“I'd
rather be Bill Gates.”
Kate
laughed. “You'll be even richer than Bill Gates if you start saving your money
at this age.”
“Isn't
Mr. Johnson rich, too? Clay says he owns a whole bunch of companies.”
Kate
looked at Clay, who shrugged. “I looked him up on the Internet. He owns an
airline, an oil company and a bunch of other stuff.”
“And
a helicopter,” Patrick added. “It showed a picture of him getting in it. Mom,
it's a Bell JetRanger!”
“I
imagine that it belongs to the company,” Kate said in an attempt to quell his
enthusiasm.
“Well,
he owns the company, so he owns the
lawyers.”
Randall's
smile disappeared. “It reminds me of my youth.”
“Don't
tell me that you're getting sentimental all of a sudden.”
“Have
I made a bad deal yet?”
“No,”
Tom admitted. “But this one isn't making sense to me.”
“Just
get it done,” Randall said, as he turned back to his computer.
Tom
recognized his cue to leave but he felt like probing Randall's mood. “How was
your date on Friday?”
Randall
ignored him.
“That
bad?” Tom said in a saccharinely sympathetic tone. “Well, I'll leave you to
brood over your lack of success with the lady.”
“There's
nothing to brood over. If anything, I was too successful.”
Tom
sat forward in his chair. “How can you be too successful?”
“We
never made it to dinner.”
“Incredible,”
Tom said, shaking his head in admiration. “You seduced her in the back of your
car?”
“Why
am I having this discussion with you?”
“Because
this is as close as you get to a locker room bragging session, and we all need
to brag about our sex life occasionally.”
“If
you have some more business to discuss, go ahead. Otherwise, this meeting is
over.”
Tom
got up to go. “First, a sentimental attachment to a two-bit regional bank.
Next, complaints about a woman who's too willing. I'm starting to worry about
you; you must be getting soft.”
There
was nothing soft about Randall's expression, however, and Tom decided that
retreat would be wise. As he passed Gail's desk, he bent down and whispered, “I
wouldn't go in there for at least a half an hour.”
By
Friday, Kate's fragile optimism was fraying around the edges. No one had a
part-time job for a civil engineer or even a draftsman, and she was getting
desperate.
She
had come to regard the ring of the telephone with the same enthusiasm as she
would the rattle of a diamondback. She couldn't ignore it in case it was a job
offer. But each time she picked up the receiver she braced herself to either be
turned down by another engineering firm or, even worse, to hear Randall
Johnson's drawl on the line. He had said he would call, and she was quite sure
that he didn't make idle threats. Just thinking of her evening with him made
her blush with shame. However, sometimes as she lay in bed on the edge of
falling asleep, memories of the physical pleasures drifted through her mind.
She
enjoyed those memories more than she wanted to admit.
That
afternoon Clay and Patrick presented Kate with their first week's pay.
Together, the three of them cleaned out a cookie jar, labeled it Dog Dough and stashed their earnings in
it. They all agreed that whatever they hadn't spent at the end of the following
week would be divided equally between the boys.
“I'm
going to save up to buy a CAD-CAM program for the computer,” Clay announced.
“I
have one already,” Kate said.
“Mom,
that one's obsolete.”
Kate
winced. She had used that program for her consulting business. She hoped that
Clay's comment didn't apply to her qualifications as well.
Patrick
thought for a minute. “Can I put it in my savings account?” he asked.
“Well,
sure,” said Kate. “But isn't there something you'd like to buy with it? You've
earned it, you know.”
Patrick
shook his head firmly. “I like to earn interest best,” he said.
Kate
rolled her eyes. “A budding J. P. Morgan.”
“I'd
rather be Bill Gates.”
Kate
laughed. “You'll be even richer than Bill Gates if you start saving your money
at this age.”
“Isn't
Mr. Johnson rich, too? Clay says he owns a whole bunch of companies.”
Kate
looked at Clay, who shrugged. “I looked him up on the Internet. He owns an
airline, an oil company and a bunch of other stuff.”
“And
a helicopter,” Patrick added. “It showed a picture of him getting in it. Mom,
it's a Bell JetRanger!”
“I
imagine that it belongs to the company,” Kate said in an attempt to quell his
enthusiasm.
“Well,
he owns the company, so he owns the
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