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Jacob’s Point Of View.
We had a standoff, and from my past experiences in combat, I knew nobody was leaving the meeting until compromises were made. The deal was too good for either party to walk away, but danger lurked.
Amid a stony silence, I stood, strolled to the hospitality bar, and made Travis a cappuccino, pouring lemon and chamomile-infused water for Kate, delivering both to the warring factions.
“You must keep hydrated, sweetheart. Hopefully, a shot of caffeine will bring Travis to his senses.”
He scoffed at me, then noticed how close I was and smiled to defuse the anger he thought I might feel. I figured Travis was used to some of his meetings descending into such considerable acrimony that fists often flew.
“I’m not annoyed, Travis, and I’m generally not a violent man, so it seems odd that you flinched when I moved.”
“Force of habit. I usually have a security detail.”
“So, what you do is so dangerous you need protection?”
“Sometimes. Why do you ask, Jacob?”
I sat on the conference room table at the corner edge near my wife, staring at Travis mid-table. I reckoned he was the government chief of covert ops but not a trained agent, hence his skittishness when he felt threatened.
I knew his type, flying into hotspots surrounded by hired guns, agents, or the military, suited and booted, carrying suitcases full of cash or gold to buy off a warlord, negotiate a truce, or release hostages.
He had my respect because it was dangerous work, which was rather my point.