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stern frown that spoke volumes . . .
I’m not impressed with you.
    He ignored it. “What’s that?” Beside the diplomas, a strange plaque hung, near enough for her to easily reach out and touch while seated at her desk.
    â€œA healthy dose of humility” was all she said.
    It was an honest-to-goodness cross-wise section of a valve with a hole blown through it. He leaned forward to read the inscription . . .
    PROOF THAT THEORY ≠ REALITY AND REALITY CAN BITE YOU IN THE ARSE CONFIRMED BY ALISTAIR MCDONNELL AND HER DESIGN TEAM
    â€œWrong size valve for that particular high-pressure line,” she admitted candidly. “I keep it close to remind me that if I don’t do my job correctly, I could cost someone their life.”
    His mouth went dry and he couldn’t speak. What could he say? That he understood her? His dad and a multitude of others had died in industrial accidents. Max was in the same business as Pippa was in—preserving lives.
    She cleared her throat. “I haven’t received anything in writing from MTech yet. Did you bring the proposal with you?”
    â€œNo. I understand they’ll e-mail it soon. We have time,” he reassured her.
    She shook her head as if they didn’t.
    He’d been given only a few selling points.
Straightforward,
Miranda had said. Max’s job was to check out their facility, review the specs on the valve—make sure the valve was viable—and then get NSV to partner with MTech.
    He told Pippa what he knew about the deal. “The crux of it is, MTech would supply the research facility for testing the subsea shutoff valve. In return, MTech would receive a small percentage of the profits when the product goes live. Easy.”
    â€œNothing is ever
easy
, Mr. McKinley. When the contract is ready, the McDonnell and myself will go over it with a fine-tooth comb.”
    â€œI understand.” If he was in their position, he would, too. “We’re hoping your father will make a decision by Christmas or by the latest, the New Year.”
    â€œAbout my father . . .” The phone rang.
    She pointed to it. “Do you mind? I’m expecting a call.”
    â€œNot at all.” He turned to his notes.
    She listened for a moment, and then her brows crashed together. “Hold on a second.”
    She placed her hand over the receiver and spoke to Max. “We’re going to have to cut this short, Mr. McKinley.” As an afterthought she added, “Come to dinner tonight, six o’clock. It’s time you met the McDonnell. You can share your ideas with both of us then. We’re the house nearest the postbox—red roof, green door. Can you find your way out?”
    â€œSure.” He shut his notebook and headed for the door. On the other side, he found Taog standing by the CNC machine, sizing it up.
    â€œDo you need any help?” Max asked.
    â€œMurdoch is retrieving the front loader.” Taog walked to the corner and looked at it from that side. “Just trying to figure at what angle to go about it.”
    â€œI’ll give you a hand.” Max was pleased to set his notebook aside and get his hands dirty.
    They spent the rest of the morning maneuvering the CNC into the machine shop, while Max took the opportunity to learn more about their processes andprocedures. The fact that he was accruing brownie points with the natives wasn’t lost on him.
    When the machine had been situated in its new home, Taog and Murdoch offered to buy Max a drink that night at the pub. Max accepted, wondering if Pippa would be behind the bar again. In the lobby, he grabbed his damp suit hanging by the door and headed out. That’s when he remembered his dinner date at the house with the red roof and the green door.
    Ugh, their house sounded like Christmas. Max wasn’t sure he could stand any more decorated trees and holiday cheer.
    *   *   *
    Pippa