Fisher saw the indecision, the desire, the desperation on Stacey’s face. A couple of those he didn’t like, but he didn’t give her an inch. If she told him no for a second time, he’d go. Lick his wounds and figure out what he’d done wrong. But he wouldn’t come begging for a third time.
Fisher had learned over the years that some things were worth fighting for, and while he’d never thought he’d credit his father for much of anything, he had to give him that. It had been his mother who’d taught him to hold his tongue, wait when he wanted to speak, listen when he wanted to prove he was right.
He knew absolutely that Stacey wanted to go out with him again.
“I’m in the middle of my staff meeting,” she said.
Fisher stepped over to the leather couch, hoping it was half as comfortable as it loo
