Well, this day had taken a turn.

Linus' meeting to inform the Tysons that he was calling off the merger had been hijacked by David entering hand in hand with Elizabeth.

David proceeded to distribute printouts he had made himself, compiled from financial reports he had analyzed on his own, while Elizabeth beamed at him with the steady calm of an intelligent woman with the man she's proud of. From the glances David kept sneaking at her in return, maybe he even deserved it.

Linus had done little but sit and gape, or nod in belated agreement, for the whole meeting.

Mack had slipped over to Linus' desk after the Rons filed out and handed him the refund slip for the Paris tickets. "Refunds are impossible to get on such short notice; but as always, the name of Larrabee works wonders," she quipped as she withdrew.

Maude had come over to where he slouched mutely, not seeing the papers on his desk, not seeing anything, and brushed back his hair. "David doesn't think Sabrina went to Paris," she said, more gently than usual. "He said he let her go, because you showed him how."

Linus laid aside his glasses and rested his head in his hand. His mother gave him a final pat and clicked out of the room.

He listened to the footsteps of the floor clearing out as the sunlight mellowed and the dinner hour approached. He shook his head without looking up when Mack stuck her head in to ask if he needed anything before she left. He heard the ding of her elevator, the last one down. Then he was alone. Again.

Linus' stomach rumbled. He checked his snack stash. Empty. He glanced at his bar. Whiskey for dinner two nights in a row would be inexcusable. Who was he? David?

That thought kicked him back. He didn't know which David irritated him more — the slacker who let Linus carry the whole corporation on his back, or the hotshot who'd upstaged him in his own office.

Well, he thought, he was always after David to show some initiative in any area of his life besides womanizing. Now David had. What else could Linus want?

Sabrina.

No. He wouldn't think that way.

Both times she'd come to his office, it had been at this hour. He looked around. Every spot in the room had a memory of her in it. He couldn't stay here one more second.

Lurching out of his chair, he found his coat and hat — the ones that made David call him Mr. Monopoly — and just as impatiently threw them aside again. He had to fix this before he left.

After forty-five minutes of tugging furniture into strange new placements, Linus had sweated through his shirt and lost his bowtie, but his objective was accomplished. The feng shui was probably off balance now. He didn't care.

He gathered his things and took one last glance around. The windows, concealed washroom, and sunset view were all the same. Everything else looked alien, like he was trespassing in someone else's office. Good. He could no longer picture Sabrina here.

The giant gray block of alleged art was still the first thing one noticed from the entry. He stepped out and wrote a quick note to Mack.

Different Rothko for office. More color.

Time to grab some takeout and get to his apartment as quickly as possible. The liquor in his office was nice enough for company; the home bar was where he kept the good stuff.

Halfway down the building, he realized there was no car waiting for him. He'd refused to let Maude send Fairchild back for him once she'd gotten home. He didn't know how to face the man.

Well, nothing like a new experience. Maybe he'd take the subway.