Callan Dow was immensely impressed by what he heard whenever he spoke to her, and particularly so with the way she had turned the risk factor section of the prospectus into an almost positive treatise on the company's behalf, an art form she had carefully developed. In fact, he was delighted with everything she did, and couldn't believe his good fortune in working with her.

A week before the road show was to begin, the lawyers they used sent the final prospectus to the SEC for approval, and Callan was understandably nervous about it, but once again Meredith reassured him. She told him it was one of the best IPOs she'd ever worked on, and he didn't need to worry about it.

By the end of the last week, all the loose ends had been tied up, and she felt confident that they had thought of everything. The syndicate was set up, the analysts were pleased, the salesmen were as excited about Dow Tech as she and Callan were, and even the SEC wasn't giving them any trouble. The only thing she was worried about by the end of the week before the Labor Day weekend, was how little time she had spent with Steven, and she could tell from her phone calls with him that he was upset about it. But there was very little she could have done about it in the last two weeks. She had too many important details to attend to, to spend time with her husband.

“I feel like I'm married to an imaginary friend,” he complained on Thursday night when he called her from work. She was still in the office at one A.M., and mercifully he had just come out of surgery himself and wasn't due to get off duty until noon on Friday. He had been at the hospital on and off since Tuesday morning. And he'd been called in four times for emergencies when he was on call over the weekend, so he couldn't complain too much that she was busy.

“I'm sorry,” she said, sounding tired but pleased. She was thrilled that everything had gone so smoothly. It had been an unusually good deal for the firm, and one of the rare ones where no unexpected dragons reared their heads with surprise disasters at the last minute. “It'sjust been crazy for the past two weeks, but it's been worth it. I don't think we've ever been as well prepared for an offering as we have this time.” She felt good not only about the validity of the company, but about the quality of its products. Even Steven had told her that the instruments they made were exceptionally good ones. Meredith had talked to him about it right from the beginning, and he had reassured her on that subject.

“If you have to work this weekend, Merrie, I'm going to kill you.” And for once, he sounded as though he meant it.

“I swear I'm going to try to wrap up everything by noon tomorrow, and I'm all yours till Monday.” She had promised herself and him that she would keep the Labor Day weekend sacred for him. He deserved it. “You're not on call, are you, sweetheart?”

“No way. I don't care if half of New York bleeds to death or if a volcano erupts in Central Park, I'm off call, and I'm throwing my goddamn pager in the garbage can at noon tomorrow. I intend to spend the weekend in bed with you, if I have to handcuff you to the headboard.”

“That sounds pretty kinky,” she giggled as she listened to him, but she could hear that he was tired too. And when he finally came home at noon the next day, she was already there waiting for him. It was another one of those steamy humid days that everyone in New York expected at the end of August, and she was wandering around their living room in her underwear when he walked in, in wrinkled scrubs and a two-day-old beard he hadn't had time to attend to. It had been a hellish week for him, but as promised, he had walked out of the unit at noon, and when he saw his wife, he grinned, and tossed his pager on the kitchen counter.

“If that thing goes off in the next three days, I'm going to kill someone,” he said as he helped himself to a beer and sprawled across the couch with a look of admiration at his wife's white satin bra and panties. “I hope this isn't a preview of what you're wearing on the road show. You might sell a lot of stock, but you could cause a riot.”

She leaned over and kissed him, and he ran a practiced hand up her silky thigh, and then took another sip of the icy beer before setting it down on the coffee table. “God, I'm tired,” he admitted. “Half of New York must have shot each other this week, and the other half fell on their asses and broke something. If I see another damaged body, I think I'm going to have a psychotic break.” He smiled at her then, beginning to unwind from the pressures of three days straight at the trauma unit. “It's good to see you. I was beginning to wonder if we were still married. It's like being married to a flight attendant, every time I'm here you're not, and when you're home, I'm working. It gets a little old sometimes, doesn't it?”

“It does, but I just couldn't help it for the past two weeks. When I get back, everything will calm down again. I promise.”

“Yeah, for about two minutes,” he said, looking uncharacteristically weary, but he'd had roughly a total of six hours’ sleep in the past seventy-two hours. She wondered how he did it. At least she got to come home at night, and get some rest, before rushing back to the office again the next morning. “I hope you don't have another IPO for at least another six months,” he said, and she smiled.

“I'm not sure my partners would be too thrilled with that,” she said, taking a sip of his beer and sitting down next to him on the couch. Even with the air conditioning on full blast, it was still warm in the apartment. It had been over a hundred degrees all week, and still in the nineties at midnight, and several times that week they'd had a brownout in her office, but she and her associates worked right through it. Only the hospitals were unaffected by it, as they had their own generators and couldn't afford to lose power, in the midst of surgeries, and with all their essential life-preserving equipment.

“What do you want to do this weekend?” he asked, looking at her lovingly, and running a hand gently over her pale blond hair. He was dead tired, but he couldn't help noticing that she looked sexy and pretty. She never looked like an investment banker to him, just a very beautiful woman. Her professional expertise was purely coincidental, and about as unimportant to Steven as her income. He was proud of her, but he had never cared about how much money she made. When he married her, when she was in business school at Columbia, she had been on a full scholarship, and didn't have a penny. And all the good fortune, and rich rewards that had come her way since seemed nice to him, but he wouldn't have cared if they'd been starving and living in a studio apartment somewhere on the Upper West Side, which they would have been, if they had been living on his wages. But the financial disparity between them had never been an issue to either of them. She made a huge salary, and had made some excellent investments over the years, but he regarded it as a bonus for them, and in truth, it was of no real importance to him.

“I'd love to go to a baseball game,” she admitted with a grin. She was an avid baseball fan, when she had time, and so was he, but for once he was less than enthusiastic about the suggestion.

“In this heat? I love you, but I think you're crazy. How about a movie … after I spend the next twenty-four hours in bed with you. First things first, Mrs. Whitman.” He smiled at her lasciviously and she laughed. He had a healthy appetite for her, even when he was dead tired. It was rare for him to be too worn out to have sex with her, except when he'd had a particularly depressing day at work and lost a patient. Only she knew how much he suffered when he lost them, particularly children.

“Actually, I was thinking of getting my packing out of the way this afternoon, so I won't have to bother with it all weekend. Why don't you relax, clean up, have a nap, and by the time you wake up, I'll be all finished.”

“That's not a bad idea. I'm beat … but I'll only agree if you swear you won't sneak back to the office while I'm sleeping.”

“I swear. They don't expect to see me for a full two weeks, and I just want to remind you that I'm coming home to be with you next weekend, after we finish San Francisco. Callan is going to spend the weekend with his kids, and I'm taking the red-eye on Friday night. I'll be home at six o'clock Saturday morning, and I'm here till we leave for Boston on Sunday.”

“That's something at least. I guess I should be grateful for small favors.”

“You know, you could meet me in London the following weekend, or Paris, when I finish the road show.”

He looked momentarily intrigued as he thought about it and calculated briefly. “What weekend is that? Two weeks from now?” She nodded in answer. “Shit, I'm on call. Lucas has to be in Dallas for a meeting, and I'm in charge that weekend.”

“Don't worry about it, I'll come home. We can go to Paris some other time.” She leaned down to kiss him, and then wandered off to their bedroom to do her packing. And Steve headed for the bathroom and stood in the shower for nearly half an hour, to wash away the smell and the exhaustion and the sorrows of the trauma unit. And after that, he lay on their bed, relaxed and naked, and watched her moving quietly around the room to pack her bags, and within five minutes he was sound asleep, looking like the handsome man he was, as she stopped once or twice to smile, and watch him sleeping. As challenging as their lives and schedules were at times, they were still very much in love with each other, and she didn't overlook the fact that part of why their relationship worked so well was because he was so understanding and so patient. She knew that a lot of other men would have felt threatened by the demands her work put on her. But Steve never did, he was happy that she enjoyed what she did, and fulfilled by his own work. It was the perfect combination.