"I don't want to fight you, Bert. Not that I'm afraid to. It's just that you're so wrong about everything. Good heavens, man—"
"On top of everything you're yellow." Bert spat the word out.
Miles pulled his hands from his pockets and his grey eyes hardened. "You shouldn't have said that, Bert. I don't have to take that from anyone, not even my closest friend."
"Then take this!" Tanner swung his right hand in a sharp uppercut swing. But two things prevented the blow from landing. One was Miles Berendt's swift backward move, and the other was the sharp slamming of the office door and a gay feminine voice.
"Hi, gang! Hey, what's going on in here? You boys fighting over someone?" she laughed.
Bert's fist stopped its movement and his arm fell to his side. He turned to see Carol Grant standing inside the closed door to the office, papers in one hand, the other placed provocatively on her well-rounded hip.
"Well? Are you both a couple of statues? Somebody say something."
It was Miles who cleared his throat and forced a grin. "Sounds silly, I'll admit, but I had a crick in my neck—Bert was going to try and straighten it out...."
Carol laughed. "Seems like a pretty drastic kind of cure. Bert, you looked like you were all set to land a haymaker!" She moved over to the desk and dropped the papers on top. "If you've still got that crick, Miles, I've got a better way to get rid of it. Sit down."
She moved between the two men and gently shoved Miles toward his chair. Embarrassed, Miles sat down, his eyes lowered from hers.