Chapter Ten
Just three days back from Reno, Oliver Dancer stormed into my office. "Ms. Nightengale, we need to talk. It’s your choice. In my office now or dinner tonight?" It was the strangest dinner proposal I’d ever had. Considering the way his eyes flashed angrily and the firm and forceful tone of his voice, I expected that I was about to have the dressing down of my life.
"Why do I feel like a naughty child?" I asked him.
"Oh, is that how you feel?" he asked. "Perhaps you should." Eyebrows raised, his dark eyes bore into me as if he was casting a spell, an evil one, across my thoughts. "What will it be?"
"Perhaps you could tell me the nature of this meeting, Mr. Dancer," I said in my calm psychologist’s voice.
"I’ll tell you over dinner or in my office." Not content with
