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He shrugged. "It's a lot like work. You take orders from your tables, don'tyou?"
"That's different. I can always refuse service." I held that right and I knew Alex would back me up because I wouldn't just do it withoutreason.
"It's the same thing with us. You can always say no, and we'll respect that. I've told Knix no manytimes."
"You have?" That didn't sound all thatbad.
"Orders aren't really orders, they are more like requests, but we call them orders. And yes, I have. There are some things I can't do, some things I'm uncomfortable doing – not many, albeit – butstill..."
"So, I can say no? Just like that?" Cleo purred into myfingers.
Marv pursed his lips, silence lingering as I supposed he thought about his response. "You can always say no," he started. "But we – Iris and especially our teams – ask that you consider each and every option before you refuse something. If you say no without truly contemplating your abilities to do a task, or what it could do or who it could help, then the likelihood of people coming back to you for help or for requests goes down. Our whole organization runs on people who have agreed to helpothers."
"But you're not all 'yes' men?" It was less of a question and more of a statement, yet I heard my tone go up at the end as if I wanted to make sure I understood what he wassaying.
"No, we're not all 'yes' men." He glanced over with that smirk of his back in place. "Or 'yes'women."
I stroked Cleo's fur and concentrated on where we were heading for the rest of the drive. Marv drove down I-77 for another fifteen miles before pulling off onto a different road than Bellamy had taken before. Weaving in and out of morning traffic, he avoided potholes and rough patches along the pavement. Cleo whined when my hand stilled and I jumped. Big, kitten eyes stared up at me, upset and hungry for attention. I kissed one little kitty ear – the undamaged one – and continued to scratch down herback.
The song on the radio changed, the melody slowing considerably as one of Yiruma's more recognizable pieces,River Flows in You, began to play. The song was so familiar and sweet that I smiled, tilting my head to therhythm.
"You know this song?" Marv's tone suggestedsurprise.
"Sure," I replied. "It's one of myfavorites."
"What other kind of artists do youlike?"
"Classical or otherwise?" Iasked.
He turned down a narrow street. Trees arched over the road, Spanish moss darkening theway.
"Either, Isuppose."
"Well, I really like Julian Lloyd Webber for classical music. His take onThe Moonwith the English Chamber Orchestra was beautiful. I obviously like Yiruma. I think he's a very talentedpianist."
"What got you into classical music?" I blushed, not wanting to say. "What?" he demanded. I tried to think of an excuse while I covered one cheek with my free hand, keeping the other on Cleo. "You're red, is it really thatbad?"
I groaned. No hiding it, I guessed. "Watching cartoons growing up, Bugs Bunny had a few episodes where there was classical music playing in the background and it made the show funnier and I realized that classical music wasn't as boring as everyone thought it was. It had a lot of emotion, not just sad or loveydovey–"
"Lovey dovey?" Helaughed.
"Hush," I commanded. "You asked." Cleo butted my hand again when it stilled. "Anyway," I drew out the word. "Hearing it on those old cartoons, I decided to look up more and learn a little bit about the artists and their instruments, Iguess."
"You like Webber, so you must like cellists,huh?"
I shrugged. "Sure."
"What else do you listento?"
"Pop, soft rock, classic rock." I listed them off. "Breaking Benjamin is one of my favorite bands." He nodded and we fell back in comfortablesilence.
