Page 37 of Takeover
The script finished. Pass.
Together they sat and watched the last script run, both leaning forward toward the screen. When the script entered the cleanup phase, Sam hissed.
“Come on, come on,” Michael muttered. This job would give him an aneurysm one of these days.
Pass.
Neither of them moved. “Holy shit,” Michael whispered.
“Told you.” Sam leaned back, his voice low as well. “You’re the best.” Finally, he took his hand from Michael.
The loss of the warmth, the pressure, the knowledge of Sam’s presence sent a bolt of sadness straight through the joy and relief coursing through Michael. Unsettled, he stood. “I guess we should tell the team.”
Sam rose as well, and pushed the guest chair back to its place. “You should let them know. It’s your victory. You’ve been working toward this for so long.”
Sam didn’t mean the release. “Thanks.” Michael needed to calm down. Good God, they were done. Everything passed. “Mind if I send everyone home?”
“God, no. Kick ’em out.” Sam’s grin was huge. “They deserve the rest.” He turned to leave, then paused. “Michael?”
“Yeah?”
“Good job.” Then Sam was gone.
Michael grabbed the back of his chair. The words had been professional. The tone, however, had been a caress, like silk on skin, as if Sam had spoken entirely different words, as if he had said—
Michael shook himself and walked out of the cube. Enough with fantasies. Time to spread the good news.
* * *
In the end,they sent everyone home, even HR and support. Michael finished his rounds and found himself in front of Sam’s office. Inside Sam tapped away at his keyboard, seemingly oblivious to Michael’s presence.
“You should go home, too,” Michael said.
Sam started and whipped around in his chair. “God. Don’t do that!”
“Sorry.” He leaned against the doorframe and tried to keep the smile from his lips.
Sam snorted. “The fuck you are.”
Seeing Sam breathless and reddening? He’d never grow tired of that. Michael shrugged. “Didn’t think I was being all that quiet. And you should go home.” So damn good to be able to banter again, if nothing else.
Sam waved his words away. “Can’t. I have presentations for Forum to work on.” He cleared his throat. “Actually, I’ve been meaning to ask you something about that.”
“I’m an idiot with PowerPoint.” Michael pushed himself off the doorframe and took a seat in one of the guest chairs. “So, I can’t help you there.”
“Not about the presentations. About Forum.”
That was interesting, as was the ruddy hue of Sam’s face. “What about Forum?”
“They would like to meet one of the engineering staff. Someone from the technical side of things.”
They? “The board?” That didn’t make sense. The board knew Michael, all too well.
Sam shook his head.
A little flutter, like a micro bolt of electricity ran through Michael’s chest. If not the board, then Sundra Networks. Still, he had to ask. “Why?”
“Why do you think?” Sam leaned back in his chair. “Sundra wants to see if we really know our shit.”
