"It's
not what you think, though."
She stopped what she was doing for a moment and shot him a
warning look. He had come to understand that look very well in
the last few months. She went back to her business, placing the
box atop a few others.
He shifted on his feet and then all at once his face brightened.
"Hey, guess what! We're back to our original plan!"
She settled an antique serving dish inside a new box. "Good for
you."
"Didn't you hear me?"
She poured foam puffs into the box.
"Greta?" he said, gripping her wrists.
"Get your hands off me," she said calmly, wriggling from his
grasp. The box between them trembled dangerously. She quickly
righted it.
"Greta, please," he said. "What you saw today was just lunch."
"Horseshit," she said, getting worked up. Then she checked
herself. She had no intention of getting into an argument with
him after the shit she had been through today. "Matthew, listen
to me. I'm only going to spell this out once. I gave you the time
you asked for. Now you've pushed me too far. Besides, it doesn't
matter."
"It does," he insisted. "What I'm saying is, it's all over. ICP's
going to buy Wallaby after all. And I'll become president of the
subsidiary, just like we planned. And we can go back to New York
if that's what you want. Or we can stay here. Or whatever.
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