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Claire dragged her lips into a smile.
    "See you later, Claire," the assistant said.
    The rest of the office geography assumed the visual equivalent of white
noise as Claire honed in on the ladies' sign at the end of the hall and
simply walked.
    She had no idea what had happened to Jack Brook, but she had no
intention of hanging around to discuss details with him—or worse, to
listen to some mealymouthed vote of sympathy. The veneered surface of
the restroom door felt smooth and cool beneath her fingers and at last
she was alone. She couldn't even look at herself in the mirror, afraid
all of her emotions would be painfully obvious: disgust,
disappointment, anger, betrayal.
    God, when would enough be enough in this world? When would her
achievements measure up for these people? When would her skills and
talents be acknowledged?
    She threw her handbag and briefcase onto the marble vanity and at last
faced her reflection in the mirror. To her surprise she looked calm.
Cool. Hard. Determined.
    She snorted. The great irony of her life was that a childhood of
insecurity and disappointment had helped her build a tough fortress of
impenetrability as an adult. So now when she was disappointed, no one
ever knew. Except for her.
    Angry tears burned at the back of her eyes and she clenched them shut
for a moment. She would not cry. She hated that when she became angry
one of her first responses was to feel tears coming on. It felt weak,
ineffectual—a child's response to being thwarted or hurt. If she were a
man, she wouldn't be in Page 19

    here being a big sooky -la-la. If she were a man, she'd be off
somewhere kicking a hole in a wall or punching up some innocent
bystander in a bar.
    Inspired, she took a step toward the wastepaper can and gave it a good,
solid kick. It slid across the tiled floor and slammed into the far
wall, toppling to one side and spilling out a morning's worth of
scrunched-up paper towel and tissue.
    "Hah!" she said out loud.
    As an expression of her anger and hurt and disenchantment, it felt
woefully inadequate. And now there was a pile of tissue all over the
floor. Unable to stop herself, she knelt and scooped the scrunched-up
paper back into the bin.
    Just like a man,she mocked herself.
    The outer door swung open and one of the finance directors' assistants
entered the room. Claire shot to her feet, smiled awkwardly, then
entered a stall as a way of avoiding explanations. She waited until the
other woman had left, then emerged to wash her hands. Patting them dry,
she checked her watch: a good five minutes since the meeting had ended.
She could head for the elevators now and be confident of avoiding Jack.
She could ride the elevator all the way down to the foyer, and just
keep on walking. She'd always planned to come back to the office after
her appointment with Hillcrest and work late, as usual, but now she
impulsively decided to take the rest of the afternoon off. Perhaps if
she went for a really punishing run she could lose some of the anger
coiling in her belly. And then she could return to Beck and Wise
tomorrow and show them that she wasn't going to let them beat her.
    It felt like a plan. If only she didn't still want to scream at
someone. Her hand shook a little as she reclaimed her bag and
briefcase, and she took a deep breath before exiting. To her relief,
the waiting area near the elevator bank was empty, and she pressed the
call button stiffly. A car eased its doors open almost immediately, and
she stepped in and pressed the foyer button. The doors had almost slid
to a complete close when a tanned arm shot into the narrowing gap. The
doors automatically bounced open, and she gritted her teeth as Jack
stepped into the car. She refused to look at him, but she could feel
his eyes on her as the elevator gathered momentum and sped downward.
    Silence stretched between them. She kept her eyes glued to the floor
indicator, just wanting an out from the elevator, this day, her life.
    "Look—" he began to