I have had all day to think about it and, as unbelievable as it may sound, I am actually more apprehensive about having to dine with the Mayor than I am about the danger that I’m in with my new admirer, the thug. I want to get ready the way I deem necessary and my goal is to get to my house and avoid Novak altogether. No sooner do my heels hit the pavement than a man’s voice is bursting through the silence and interrupting my thoughts. “Ma’am, I’m here to deliver you to Mr. Sims.” “Well as enticing as the offer of being delivered is, I believe I will just carry on in my wayward state,” I inform the man who sits behind the wheel of a luxury sedan. He chuckles, “Mr. Sims said that you were a spitfire. I have him on the phone and he would like to speak with you.” My heart immediately begins to race. It is becoming a habit lately.
