She pecked his impassive lips. "That," she said, toasting the
bowl with her glass, "is pure brilliance."
"How much brilliance?"
"A steal, Darling. I got it to celebrate your success. Let me get
you something to drink." She left him alone with "his" present.
He inspected her newest purchase. He had to admit, it was
magnificent, and as he scrutinized it more closely, he began to
forget about his labored day and the impending showdown. He
studied one of the etched salmon that circled the bowl's rim. It
swam against a powerful, unseen force, compelled onward with
inner strength, driven by instinct to fulfill its obligation. It
was that way in business, he reflected, one had to be driven by
instinct and a sense of obligation, plain and simple -
But that word, simple, was like a hook that snagged his mind and
reeled him from the peaceful waters that were his thoughts. Once
more, his thoughts returned to the damnable Peter Jones, his
excited voice raiding Matthew's mind like an unwelcome visitor.
"'If you get simple beauty and naught else, you get the best
thing God invents,'" Peter would wistfully recite, the poet
Robert Browning's words, during design meetings. Forever
distrusting complexity, Peter made it his utmost priority that
Wallaby's products were unaffected in their design and easy to
use.
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