| ON THE DOTTED LINE |
"If neither of you has any further questions or any concerns, then we'll have you both sign on the dotted line, so to speak, and it'll all be a done deal."
They both produce pens, signaling their readiness to move forward with the process.
After signing and initialing what seems like one hundred pages, they all shake hands and exchange thanks. The senior Mr. Jameson tells them, "My office will file the necessary legal documents and include copies of everything when we forward the packets for each of you later this week containing your formal partnership agreement. Congratulations on your new venture, Dr. Foster, Dr. Lightman. We wish you great success."
"Are we doing the right thing?" she asks again, looking at him uncertainly.
"Of course we are, darling," he reassures her in his maddeningly over-confident manner that makes everything sound sane even if it isn't. "This is absolutely the right thing."
She looks around, longing plain in her eyes. "It's a lot of money, Cal." She still sounds dubious. One needn't be an expert in vocal stress analysis to hear that.
"Yeah, it is. It is a lot of money. I know. But look at this place. Look at this place and tell me you can't see it, that you can't envision us doing our work here. We'll have room for the state-of-the-art lab we've been dreaming about and that room-within-a-room I've been telling you about—"
"That 'Cube' idea? I'm still not sold on that, you know," she interjects, levelling him with a look of disapproval tinged with amusement.
"Yeah, I know, but it'll grow on you. Like I have. Aye-aye?" He waggles his eyebrows at her in comically exaggerated lewdness, and when he gets exactly the reactions he hopes for (she tries to remain stern but can't help herself – she rolls her eyes and laughs), he takes the opening and bulls ahead. "And look, we'll have so much space! We can take on more and bigger cases, hire staff, have places for them to work… You've got to admit, this is loads better than my kitchen, yeah? It's even got its own kitchen. –ette."
"Now you sound like a realtor," she tells him, but she says it with a smile that crinkles the corners of her sky-blue eyes.
He's grinning like a madman now. He's on a roll. He grabs her hand and drags her through a doorway. "I reckon this could be my office and that big room off the reception area could be where I keep, y'know, my research and that." He stops suddenly and turns to her. "Or you could have this one. Whatever you want. You take first choice of the offices. I want you to be happy here and to know that we belong here."
He's so earnest and so excited that she can't help herself. It's contagious and compelling, just like it was when he first asked her to be his partner in the business. She's carried away in his current.
He's watching her closely, reading. Her smile widens and the look in her eye tells him right then that she's on his side. "You take this one," she says. "I've got designs on that one near the end of the hallway, the one with all the windows and great natural lighting."
He's smirking at her and making some quip about her choice of office being like a fishtank and – come to think of it – he quite fancies the notion of her being on display (complete with leering and more exaggerated eyebrow waggling).
And even as the last words leave his lips, Cal is catching her up in a bear hug and spinning her around. They're laughing and breathless and happy and scared all at once, but it feels like the right thing to do, the right decision to make.
They're going to do this, make this place theirs. She takes his hand, and they go back to the reception area where the realtor awaits so they can sign on the dotted line.