Susan Elizabeth Phillips Hot Shot

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Homebrew meeting with her, he'd felt like a goddamned prince. But being with her wasn't just an ego
trip. There was something else. When he was with her, he heard this click in his head. It was weird. This
weird click. Like maybe some of his missing parts had just slipped into place.
The idea was odd, and he shook it off as he exited the freeway just west of Palo Alto and drove into the
hills. It wasn't long before he spotted the entrance to the Castle. The FBT complex occupied 125 acres
of land. Sam turned into the palm-lined drive and approached the central building. His lip curled in
distaste. If he had built the place, he would have done the whole thing differently. That phony Greek
revival style belonged on Wall Street, not in Northern California. And there were too many columns, too
much marble. Total crap.
After a hassle with the security people over the sample case containing the computer motherboard, Sam
was escorted across the lobby to the elevators. His aesthete's eye gave high marks to the paintings on
exhibit in the lobby at the same time that his idealist's heart attempted to ignore the plastic visitor's badge
that protruded from the pocket of his leather jacket. Once again he found himself torn between his
determination to give Yank's beautiful design to the world by selling it to FBT and his distaste at the idea
of turning it over to such a huge, impersonal corporation.
The receptionist on the top floor was young and attractive. Her mouth tightened at his appearance, so he
let his eyes slide insolently to her breasts. Fuck her. He didn't have any use for women like her phony
sophisticates who thought that class was something they could buy at a high-priced boutique. After he
gave her his name, she checked an appointment book, then led him down a corridor. He grew
increasingly contemptuous. The interior decor might be first-class, but the atmosphere at the FBT
offended him the guard-dog secretaries, the elitism of the closed doors, the sterile, hushed silence. With
every step, he yearned for the rowdy openness of the Homebrew Computer Club. If only he and Yank
had enough money to start their own company. If only they had more options.
Susannah was sitting in a wing chair in the reception area outside Faulconer's office. As he spotted her,
he heard that click in his head again. That strange, comforting click. Her auburn hair was neatly brushed
back from her face and arranged in a French twist. She looked composed and costly in a beige wool
dress with a single strand of pearls at her throat. The sight of her gave him a rush. He wanted to touch
her, to hear the soft tones of that expensive private-school voice.
Susannah lifted her head as Sam approached. Her heart plummeted to her stomach and then catapulted
back into her throat. She felt breathless and disoriented. The effect he had on her was so strong that
several seconds passed before she could take in his appearance, and then she was barely able to hide
her consternation. Despite what he'd said, she hadn't actually imagined that he would show up in jeans
and a leather jacket for his meeting with her father. Her gaze lingered on those jeans and the intimate way
they cupped him.
The secretary disappeared. She remembered how displeased Joel had been when she'd asked him to
meet with Sam. He had insisted she be present for the meeting, and she suspected it was a subtle form of
punishment for imposing on him. With a sinking dread and an awful exhilaration, she rose and stepped
forward.
"Hello, Sam."
His eyes swept over her appreciatively, and he nodded.
She tucked her purse under her arm. As she spoke, she tried to hide the fact that her pulse was racing
out of control. "My father's not pleased about this, I'm afraid. He doesn't approve of family interference
in business, and he probably won't be very receptive to you."
"I'll make him receptive."
His arrogance maddened her. How could someone who was only twenty-four have so much
self-confidence? "I told him you were a friend of one of the new board members at the Exploritorium." It
wasn't entirely untrue. She was a new board member.
"I won't lie to him about us."
She gripped her hands together. Why was he being so unbending? He had catapulted into her life without
invitation and upset everything. "There isn't any us," she said stiffly. "And sometimes lies are a kindness."
He looked at her for a moment, and then the hard lines of his mouth softened. "Trust yourself, Suzie.
Don't be so afraid of everything."
No other person had ever accused her of being afraid. Even when she was a child, people had told her
how brave she was for surviving her kidnapping. How could Sam know these things about her?
Joel's secretary appeared and led them through paneled doors into her father's private office. He rose
from behind his massive desk with its polished malachite top. Not by a flicker of an eyelash did he betray
any reaction to Sam's long hair and informal attire. Yet even as he graciously extended his hand,
Susannah felt as if she could hear his contemptuous, unvoiced scorn.
Sam took his time moving forward to return Joel's handshake. Susannah experienced an uneasy
combination of dread and admiration. What kind of man wasn't intimidated by Joel Faulconer?
"Thanks for agreeing to see me," Sam said. "You won't be sorry."
Susannah inwardly winced.
"My pleasure," Joel replied.
Not waiting for an invitation, Sam began talking about Yank's design and the future of the microcomputer
at the same time that he was tossing his sample case onto a chair and flipping open the latches. "I'd like to
have been able to give you a full demonstration of the machine in operation, but apparently you didn't
have the time." Did he linger on the last word deliberately, she wondered, or was that vaguely insulting
emphasis accidental?
Susannah turned toward the wall of windows that overlooked the manmade lake outside. A series of
seven stone fountains shaped like obelisks rose from the water. They represented the seven continents of
the world, all of them part of the FBT empire. As she watched their spray shoot high into the sky, she
wished she were anyplace but in her father's office. She hated being in a tension-ridden atmosphere. She
always thought it was her responsibility to somehow make things better.
Sam took out the motherboard and pushed aside a neat stack of reports to set it on the desktop in front
of Joel.
"This is the wave of the future. The heart and guts of a revolution. This machine will shift the balance of
power from institutions to individuals."
Without waiting for an invitation, he launched into a technical explanation of the efficiency of the design.
Her father asked a number of quietly uttered, overly polite questions. She retreated to a leather chair on [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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