"Well, then. See you," she said. She was satisfied with the way that had come out, a practiced social indifference to her tone. Pressing her heels into the horse's ribs, she trotted off past the buildings and toward the hills across the low, golden, grassy field. She let herself look back. He was still standing there, watching her ride off. She hastily returned her attention to the path.
After Mighty Boy warmed up she pushed him hard, leaning into his powerful gallop. As if testing her will, yesterday's clear, hard thoughts of Matthew's secret plan and of her celebration bowl melted away, and were supplanted by fantasy. Her heart raced, and her mind ran free with raw and fiery images of the provocative Jean-Pierre.
* * *
"Thank you, Martin," Matthew Locke said.
Peter turned to Hank Towers for an explanation for this break in custom; it was he, Peter, who always started the meeting with opening remarks. But Hank's attention, like that of everyone else in the room, had shifted to Matthew. Something was wrong, but before he could speculate, Matthew spoke.
"As we are all aware, Peter and I have been at odds about how this company should be managed."
Peter threw his pen down on the table. With an audible huff he pushed himself back in his seat with straightened arms. "What's going on here?"
Matthew ignored this and continued, his eyes roaming from person to person in careful, measured doses.
"Peter and I have very different styles and strategies, which is positioning you, the executive staff and board of directors, in the middle of our discord. The situation isn't healthy for Wallaby." He let this sink in for a moment while he got up and walked toward a pitcher of water. Slowly he poured himself a glass.
"Peter," he started, resting the glass, "I've decided to ask the board of directors to accept my resignation - "