“You tell me.”
She concentrated hard, unconsciously gnawing on a corner of her lip. “I was going to say that he would be crushed, but, on second thought, that would be out of character.” She shook her head. “No, he’s too egotistical to let a university professor destroy his ambition. I think he would be furious. Livid.” She formed claws with her hands and held them at the sides of her head. “Explosively, volcanically enraged.”
“How does he channel that rage, Maris?”
“He confronts Roark with the letter.”
“No, he doesn’t.”
“Parker,” Mike cut in softly.
“He’s not honest enough to take that approach. He—”
“Parker,” Mike repeated.
“He waits. He—”
“Parker.”
“He—”
“Parker!”
“Goddammit, Mike! What?”
He rounded on the older man, but Mike didn’t flinch from his hard look. In fact, he returned it. The air was electrically charged, as it had been in the kitchen this morning. In both instances, thoughts were telegraphed that Maris couldn’t interpret.
Parker was the first to relent. He closed his eyes and massaged his forehead. “I’m sorry, Mike. Forgive me. I was following a train of thought.”
“It’s okay. I know you hate distractions when you’re on a roll.”
“Dinner was great.”
“So you said.”
“Oh. Yeah. Right. Well, thanks again.”
“You’re welcome. I’m glad you enjoyed it.” Mike stood and picked up the silver serving tray that held the empty carafe and coffee cups. “Before the mosquitoes carry me off, I think I’ll go in.”
“Good idea. Good night.”
“Good night, Mike,” Maris echoed.
At the door Mike turned and addressed Parker. “Do you want me to wait up and help—”
“No, no. I’ll be fine tonight. Go to bed.”
The older man hesitated, glanced at Maris, then nodded and went inside.
Once they were alone, Maris raised her hands in a helpless shrug. “Explain to me what just happened.”
“When?”
“Just now. Between you and Mike.”
“Nothing.”
“Parker,” she cried softly.