X) The Speech

He watched her pace in front of him, containing her fury for now, while there were still people mingling around them. Patiently waiting for them to leave before she'd unleash it.

When the last boring intellectual left the room and she'd mustered her final fake smile, she turned to him with an icy look that could kill.

It surprised him a little. The depth of her anger.

This was Gillian Foster after all, not Zoe Lightman. Calm, soft-spoken Foster who just shrugged her shoulders when someone cut her off in traffic. Who'd do little more than roll her eyes when he got into one of his moods and decided she needed a little antagonising.

"I can't believe you, Cal," she hissed, not bothering to mask her contempt anymore. "You want me to find you a gun so you can shoot yourself in the other foot too?"

"Please," he shot back. "One with a silencer, in case the noise is one more thing that'll piss you off."

Disbelief mingled with her anger. "You think this is funny, do you?"

"I don't know what the hell I'm supposed to think," Cal told her. "What do you want me to tell you, Foster? That I'm sorry I pissed off some snotty Harvard profs who probably haven't ventured outside their ivory towers in the last twenty years?"

She was seething and pacing, in her short black dress and tall black heels.

He tried not to stare at her legs.

"Do you know how hard I worked to get us this venue? This exposure?"

He bit his tongue this time.

"Do you have any idea?" she repeated. "I called in about three favours...so that we might swing some investors out of this. Instead, you go and throw insults at the audience?"

"What was I supposed to do?" he argued. "Nod my head when they started mocking my science, or I should say, our science?"

She stepped right in front of him, getting into his personal space the way he sometimes liked to get into hers. "No, you were supposed to give them documented, scientific proof to rebuke them...not tell them that they're a bunch of closed-minded wankers, or plonkers, or whatever the hell it was that you called them!"

"Plonkers."

"Go to hell, Cal."

He guessed that was Foster's way of saying she didn't appreciate the clarification.

"If you think I'm gonna stand there and politely quote data for you while those sanctimonious snits equate our science with some late-night infomercial, then you don't know me at all, Foster."

Gillian sat down, finally done with her pacing. Tired from her own anger, as it was apt to tire those who didn't resort to it often. "You could have said it differently," she mumbled as she bit her fingernail, no longer caring to look at him. "Instead of lashing out like a five-year old."

Cal tightened his lips. That one stung. "I was being honest. Thought they might be able to handle that. Or at least that you would."

She glared in his direction in silence this time. Not that she needed words. Screw-you-Cal was written all over her face. Normally, her integrity was one of the things he liked best about her. But this afternoon it was all a little much. Ventured too far into self-righteousness.

You go to hell too, Foster.

He took a seat at the lone table in the room, both of them staring into the empty space.

Tired.

Neither of them wanting to look at the other.

Cal figured they sat like that for several long minutes before she finally stood back up.

"I'm going home."

When he saw her about to leave it suddenly made him realize he didn't want the day to end like this. "Let's get a drink first."

Foster eyed him. "Not in the mood."

He wasn't in the mood either but he figured they needed it. Needed to figure out how to argue without walking away angry. If they couldn't do that, they had no business running a company together.

"One drink," he insisted. "On me."

Maybe she did have a point. Maybe he could've taken the high road instead of letting a bunch of self-important university professors rile him. Instead of stooping to their level.

He could see her expression soften. "I don't think you'll enjoy my company right now."

He draped an arm over her shoulder as he nudged her out of the room. "Eh...doubt it."

It wasn't a complete lie, meant to appease her. For the most part it was the truth. Even when part of him wanted to kill her, he liked having her around. It had been a while since he'd had a close friend and confidante, other than Zoe.

They found a college pub near the university.

One drink turned into two, and two into four. Or more, he couldn't quite remember.

Two drinks in she was still furious with him. But she stayed and had a third, and at one point he said something that made her laugh. Which in turn made him laugh, because it was impossible not to join her when she did. And after that, just about everything they said sounded hilarious. Hysterical.

It made him think they might be in it for the long haul after all.

He remembered eyeing her more than he usually did that night. It was hard not to, given the way her dress slid up her legs and hugged her thighs.

Part of him felt guilty for it. He was married and crazy about his wife, after all, no matter how much they argued.

But Cal wasn't the only one staring at Foster in that dress. There were a bunch of frat boys that did the same. They were jealous of him and that felt good.

Nothing would ever come of it, Cal knew that. Didn't think he even wanted it. No matter how much he enjoyed looking.

By the time they left both of them were more than slightly drunk.

Alec wouldn't be amused. Neither would Zoe.

But tonight he'd be lying if he said he cared.