abruptly. "Selling this week's bestsellers to
tourists is a much more honest way to make a living. Not to
mention a much more honorable way."
The whiskey glass in his hand came down on the table with a
controlled crash. "Don't lay your prim little liberal concepts of
right and wrong on me, lady. I'm not interested in them. You know
nothing about my career or what it meant to me."
"I know about that knife you carry, and I can guess about things
like covert missions in Central America," she snapped, suppressing
a twinge of alarm at his display of temper. "I'm not a big fan of
the military mentality."
"It's probably not all that much different from the corporate
mentality!"
"Exactly!" Sabrina sat back in her chair, crossing her legs with
an aloof nonchalance she was far from feeling. "Just between you
and me, I'm no fan of corporate life, either. The hierarchy is
based on military protocol, and it shows. The men in command give
orders as if they did so by divine right. I can just imagine how
much worse it would be in the military, where there aren't such
things as unions and boards of directors and stockholders to
intervene."
"I'll be damned if I'm going to sit here and justify my career in
the Army," Matt gritted savagely.
"Especially since you no longer have one to justify? Like I said,
I think you're better off out of it. If you want my opinion, the
kind of skills you perfect running commando missions in Central
America have nothing to recommend them."
"I've already tried to indicate I don't want your opinion. I
think you'd better shut up, Sabrina, before we find ourselves at
each other's throats."
"Good idea, especially given the fact that tonight you have the
knife," she agreed with saccharine charm. She could feel the
adrenaline racing through her in much the same way it had last
night when she hurled the knife into the wall beside Matt's head.
It didn't take much intuition to know that Matt was equally alive
with tension. She saw him draw a slow, steadying breath, and then
a mask of control fell into place.
For just a few minutes there, Sabrina acknowledged, she had been
able to read the raw expression in his eyes. Anger, bitterness, a
distant pain, and an overall grimness had glittered in the hazel
depths. All of that was gone, concealed now by the familiar hooded
gaze. Only the grimness remained.
"I didn't intend to spend the evening arguing with you," he said
quietly.
"I believe you." Her voice was equally quiet.
For a moment they regarded each other in a manner that reminded
Sabrina of two circling cats looking for an opening or a way to
back down without losing face.
"Viewed very objectively," Sabrina finally offered, "I suppose an
outside observer might say we had something in common. Neither one
of us appears to have gotten very far in the careers we originally
chose for ourselves. In a way both of us managed to get
cashiered."
"With that understanding between us, do you think we can get
through the rest of the evening in peace?" he wondered.
"I think so," she agreed softly. "Tell me about the bookstore. I
freely admit that my family is violently opposed to my new
career."
"Why?"
"They're all bankers. I got a degree in accounting because I was
more or less bullied into it. It was a barely acceptable
alternative for someone from a banking family who had made it
clear she definitely was not going to become a banker. Or a
banker's wife."
"I can't imagine anyone bullying you."
"My family consists of my father and two brothers. All of whom
are large, brilliant, and eminently respectable. I am neither
large, brilliant, nor particularly respectable. Especially not
after that fiasco in California. But I have finally put my foot
down when it comes to living my own life. It took me long enough,
and it's been a constant battle. Dad and the Brothers Grim are all
very concerned for me."
"Brothers
tourists is a much more honest way to make a living. Not to
mention a much more honorable way."
The whiskey glass in his hand came down on the table with a
controlled crash. "Don't lay your prim little liberal concepts of
right and wrong on me, lady. I'm not interested in them. You know
nothing about my career or what it meant to me."
"I know about that knife you carry, and I can guess about things
like covert missions in Central America," she snapped, suppressing
a twinge of alarm at his display of temper. "I'm not a big fan of
the military mentality."
"It's probably not all that much different from the corporate
mentality!"
"Exactly!" Sabrina sat back in her chair, crossing her legs with
an aloof nonchalance she was far from feeling. "Just between you
and me, I'm no fan of corporate life, either. The hierarchy is
based on military protocol, and it shows. The men in command give
orders as if they did so by divine right. I can just imagine how
much worse it would be in the military, where there aren't such
things as unions and boards of directors and stockholders to
intervene."
"I'll be damned if I'm going to sit here and justify my career in
the Army," Matt gritted savagely.
"Especially since you no longer have one to justify? Like I said,
I think you're better off out of it. If you want my opinion, the
kind of skills you perfect running commando missions in Central
America have nothing to recommend them."
"I've already tried to indicate I don't want your opinion. I
think you'd better shut up, Sabrina, before we find ourselves at
each other's throats."
"Good idea, especially given the fact that tonight you have the
knife," she agreed with saccharine charm. She could feel the
adrenaline racing through her in much the same way it had last
night when she hurled the knife into the wall beside Matt's head.
It didn't take much intuition to know that Matt was equally alive
with tension. She saw him draw a slow, steadying breath, and then
a mask of control fell into place.
For just a few minutes there, Sabrina acknowledged, she had been
able to read the raw expression in his eyes. Anger, bitterness, a
distant pain, and an overall grimness had glittered in the hazel
depths. All of that was gone, concealed now by the familiar hooded
gaze. Only the grimness remained.
"I didn't intend to spend the evening arguing with you," he said
quietly.
"I believe you." Her voice was equally quiet.
For a moment they regarded each other in a manner that reminded
Sabrina of two circling cats looking for an opening or a way to
back down without losing face.
"Viewed very objectively," Sabrina finally offered, "I suppose an
outside observer might say we had something in common. Neither one
of us appears to have gotten very far in the careers we originally
chose for ourselves. In a way both of us managed to get
cashiered."
"With that understanding between us, do you think we can get
through the rest of the evening in peace?" he wondered.
"I think so," she agreed softly. "Tell me about the bookstore. I
freely admit that my family is violently opposed to my new
career."
"Why?"
"They're all bankers. I got a degree in accounting because I was
more or less bullied into it. It was a barely acceptable
alternative for someone from a banking family who had made it
clear she definitely was not going to become a banker. Or a
banker's wife."
"I can't imagine anyone bullying you."
"My family consists of my father and two brothers. All of whom
are large, brilliant, and eminently respectable. I am neither
large, brilliant, nor particularly respectable. Especially not
after that fiasco in California. But I have finally put my foot
down when it comes to living my own life. It took me long enough,
and it's been a constant battle. Dad and the Brothers Grim are all
very concerned for me."
"Brothers
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