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"He was terrific," Sabrina assured him. "In between my meetings, he took me from office to office, and cubicle to cubicle. He introduced me to everyone from the VPs to the cleaning staff. I started with Marie, whom I thanked profusely for making my new apartment feel like a home. Incidentally, she's the most efficient, insightful assistant I've ever come across. And talk about multitasking—wow. Be good to her; you won't find another like her."
"Gotcha. What else?"
"Rita Whiting. She and I really hit it off. We tossed around some pretty wild marketing ideas. The energy in that office could've blown up a tanker."
Carson chuckled. "I knew you two would be on the same wavelength." He gestured at her notes. "Go through the whole rundown."
Sabrina launched into an extensive elaboration of her back-to-back interactions, giving him every detail, touching on the various unique talents she'd perceived, the outstanding employees she'd zeroed in on—those she referred to as "the best of the best"—and the occasional weaker link she detected.
The latter were few and far between, a smattering of B's and B+'s in a company full of A's.
"Nothing to sit up nights about. Just things to stay on top of," she clarified to Carson. "And remember, these were only first impressions. I have a long way to go before they're etched in stone."
"Damn good start... Right on target, in most cases..." Carson had listened intently, his forehead creased in concentration. But now Sabrina could see how exhausted he was.
"Enough," she concluded, putting away her notes. "I just crammed a nine-hour day into twenty minutes. You need to rest. Suffice it to say, you're right. I'm hooked. Even the visit to the lab, and watching the perfume being made, was fascinating. I could picture you doing the extractions, mixing and testing, creating all your groundbreaking fragrances." A brief pause, and she regarded Carson soberly as she realized how true her own words were. "I can't thank you enough. This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity."
"Um—I'd say it's a draw." Contentment softened the lines of pain and fatigue on his face. "Having you in my life and in my company—those are pretty once-in-a-lifetime, too."
Sabrina rose. "You get some sleep."
"Where're you going?"
"To pump my mother for information."
A faint chuckle. "Don't bother. She won't tell.... She's the one you inherited the diplomacy part of the combo from." He turned to Dylan, who'd also gotten up. "You look crappy... like you're about to keel over...."
"Thanks," Dylan retorted dryly. "But I'm holding up fine."
"Yeah. Right." A sudden thought seemed to strike Carson. "Did either of you eat today?"
Dylan squinted, trying to remember. "I had a muffin after the meeting. Other than that, nope. Just lots of coffee."
Carson grunted. "What about you?" he asked Sabrina.
"Same," she confessed.
"Then go get dinner," Carson ordered. "Jesus, you're like two damned college kids.... You treat your bodies like shit----Now go get some food... and I don't mean a sandwich and coffee.... Something substantial. Sabrina, you've got a huge corporate expense account now.... Use it."
Her lips twitched. "I already had a corporate expense account."
"Sure you did." Another grunt. "How much does food cost... up there in the sticks?... You're in the Big Apple now.... That CCTL expense account won't buy a pretzel and a soda."
"Damn." Sabrina snapped her fingers. "And that's just what I was in the mood for, too—a salty New York pretzel and a Diet Coke."
Carson glared at her, then shot Dylan a look. "She's more stubborn than you are."
"What a surprise," Dylan replied. "I wonder who she could take after?"
"Get the two of you fed..." Carson commanded, ignoring Dylan's barb. "Go somewhere good.... Your expense account's nothing to sneeze at either.... You run the show.... Just take her to dinner."
"I intended to. No mandate or expense account necessary." Dylan arched a brow. "Just tell me, are you picking the restaurant again? Or does that fall under the category of my running the show, meaning I'm allowed the privilege?"
"It depends.... Where'd you have in mind?"
Dylan turned to Sabrina, addressing her as if Carson wasn't in the room. "Do you like Spanish? I know a great place in the Village. Amazing shrimp in green sauce and the best sangria around."
"That sounds wonderful," she said. It did, too. The thought of relaxing over a glass of sangria was like a balm to her senses. "And seafood's perfect. After not eating all day, I don't think I could handle anything too heavy."
