Chapter Seven "How long have you been working for them?" Michael paced slowly back and forth in front of Quinn, his gaze never leaving her face. "For whom?" Quinn sat shackled in the metal chair of the White Room, but her expression was indifferent, her demeanor casual. He clenched his abdomen tightly, holding back the urge to grab her by the throat. He was in no mood for games. If Paul and Madeline had captured Nikita, he had very little time. Given the depth of Nikita's anger about her father, and their intolerance of being challenged, he knew he would have to find them and intervene before any confrontation turned deadly. "Don't make it hard on yourself. You know what we can do if you don't cooperate." "I intend to cooperate. But first you have to ask me intelligible questions." "I'll ask you one more time." Michael stopped pacing. He leaned over Quinn, hands gripping her arms. "How long have you been working for them?� Quinn's face remained blank. "I'm not working for anyone." Michael released his grip, straightened and turned away to leave. �I see you'll need further incentives to cooperate. I'll send someone in." "Wait, please!" Quinn called out, alarmed. "I'm telling you the truth. I'm not working for anyone -- just for myself." Michael turned back toward her. Was it possible that she truly knew nothing of Nikita�s whereabouts? "Why did you lie about the telephone call?" "Because I wanted to make Operations look bad. I wanted Oversight to think she had violated direct orders." "Why?" "So that I'd be appointed to take her place." Michael paused. He blinked as he felt a flicker of anger flash through his eyes. "You did this knowing she had been kidnapped and needed help?" he asked, the softness of his tone failing to disguise the underlying menace. Quinn looked him directly in the eye. "As far as I'm concerned, she deserves what she gets." Michael's body tensed. He stepped closer to her. "She never should have been allowed to become Operations in the first place," Quinn continued, coldly defiant. "You know as well as I do she's not qualified. It only happened because Daddy pulled so many strings." "That doesn't justify the crime you've committed." "Crime? You think leaving little Nikita hanging out to dry is a crime? As far as I'm concerned, I was doing Section One a big favor." "Letting the head of Operations die is a strange thing to call a favor." He stared at her, his eyes swirling with barely contained rage. "You haven't been here," she said defensively. "You haven't seen what I have. All of her new policies -- they've just weakened us. Each month our numbers go farther down. And it's only going to get worse. For the past six months, Oversight's been cutting back on our funding. We've had to close substations, cut back on recruiting, hold off on missions...." "So you thought you could do better?" "I know I can do better." She straightened her posture as best she could, given the restraints that restricted her movement. "All I had to do was make sure that Oversight knew it was her fault we were doing so badly, so that they'd give me a shot at fixing things." "Which is why you leaked Walter's and my locations to the August 12 Group. To discredit Operations." "Yes." She smiled, unperturbed by his accusation. "And you didn't care if you endangered Walter or me in the process. Or my son." She shrugged. "Well, I wouldn't be the first to have used your son in a power play." "What do you mean?" His eyes narrowed slightly. "There was that whole matter of him being kidnapped by the Collective. That didn't exactly happen by accident." She gave a dry laugh. "Paul Wolfe arranged that to provide cover for his escape." "Paul Wolfe?" She looked amused. "Don�t be ridiculous. He was set up. My orders were to convince him to try to rescue Adam so that he'd be killed in the process. In fact," she cocked her head and frowned, "I still don't understand how in the world he managed to survive that one." "What do you mean, your orders? Whose orders?" Despite his attempt to remain calm, his voice sharpened slightly with concern. "Why, my orders from the person who really arranged for Adam's kidnapping, of course," she answered, smirking at his discomfort. "Who?" His stance had turned to steel. "Mr. Jones. Who else?" ****** "So why should I believe you? You had every reason to want my father dead," Nikita challenged Madeline. "Because your father was responsible for his own death." Madeline's voice was gentle, and she looked at Nikita with an expression that seemed almost sympathetic. Almost. Nikita could not imagine her feeling genuine sympathy for anyone. The meaning of Madeline's words did not immediately register. But as Nikita made sense out of the statement, she grew outraged. This was lower than she thought even Madeline would stoop. Worse than when she had told her that -- she shuddered to remember -- Paul was her father. "You have no shame, Madeline," she said, shaking her head. "Your lies disgust me. The Collective killed my father, and you were obviously working with the Collective. How else would you have been able to fake Paul's death?" "Did I say he was alive?" Nikita hesitated, trying to read the impassive look on Madeline�s face, but then regained her confidence. "You keep referring to 'we' and 'us'. I assume you haven't adopted the royal 'we'. Although I suppose I shouldn't put it past you." Madeline raised an eyebrow. "Actually, I was using the organizational 'we'." Nikita frowned in surprise. "So Paul really is dead? The Collective killed him?" "No." Madeline shook her head. "He's very much alive. And yes, the Collective helped us make it look like he had died. But we weren't working with the Collective, not in the way you mean." Nikita gasped in exasperation. "All right, that's it. You're playing games with me, and I'm sick of it. You say you want to reach an understanding with me -- well, if you do, then you'd better give me some answers. Real answers, not more of your 'answer a question with another question' routine." "I'm not playing games, Nikita. I'm trying to remind you not to jump to conclusions. If you're finished doing so, I'll be able to proceed." Madeline crossed her arms and looked at Nikita wearily. Nikita shook her head again. This was really too much. She wasn't one of Madeline's underlings anymore, and she deserved a straight answer. "Okay. So tell me, why would my father cause his own death at the hands of the Collective? How would that even begin to make sense?" "You know the answer already," Madeline said evenly. "You just need to calm down long enough to think of it. Think about what his death resulted in." "My taking over Section One," Nikita answered, feeling a slowly growing sense of unease. Madeline regarded her silently, waiting. As Nikita suddenly realized the truth, a stab of nausea pierced her stomach. She looked down at the floor, blinking back tears. My God, she thought, this isn't possible. Haven't I been tormented enough? It took her several minutes to compose herself. Finally, she spoke, her voice nearly choking. "My father arranged for Adam's kidnapping, and proposed the exchange himself, knowing that was the only thing that would convince me to do what he wanted." "What he wanted. Exactly. That's what everything has been about, Nikita, from the very day you were first recruited. All of the rest of us were just pawns in your father's scheme for your future." "You, a pawn?" Nikita looked back up at Madeline, scornful. "Spare me. You used me as a pawn, or at least you tried to." "Did I?" Madeline looked bemused. "What else would you call it? Throwing me together with Michael, and then trying to separate us. Brainwashing me, forcing me to get married, tormenting me every way you could -- if I wasn't a pawn, what was I? A lab rat, maybe?" "A mole for Center," Madeline answered sharply, the pretense of warmth that she had been maintaining vanishing in an instant. "That's what you were. And that's why we did those things. To protect Section from you." Nikita was astonished. "You knew -- how? And when?" "I suspected you from the very beginning. Your recruitment was unusual, to say the least. A direct order from George, with no explanation as to why. I found it troubling." She placed a frosty emphasis on the last word. Nikita stared at Madeline, her discomfort growing. "It was obvious that whoever was behind your recruitment had bigger plans for you. So, at first, we gave you special treatment -- training by our best operative, unprecedented access to me and to Paul both." Madeline enunciated each word crisply, her anger obvious. "Even when you made mistakes, I wanted to treat you with kid gloves, at least until I knew who your sponsor was. But Paul insisted that you be held to the same standards as any other operative. He wanted you cancelled; I felt cancellation would be imprudent, under the circumstances." "You could have fooled me." Madeline ignored Nikita's statement. "I arranged for Michael to be the team leader on your abeyance mission. I knew what he would do. In fact, I counted on it. And after he let you escape, I leaked that information to my contacts throughout the Agency. If your sponsor really wanted you back, I knew you'd be back. If not, I figured that it would be safe to have you cancelled in a year or two. Not surprisingly, you returned. So I knew you were truly important to someone." She let Michael free me, Nikita thought with dismay. And she knew where I was the entire time. "It was the assassination attempt against Paul that convinced me that you were also a mole, and not just a favored recruit being groomed as a future leader. It seemed so out of character for you to agree to work with Petrosian." A brief expression of distaste crossed Madeline's countenance as she mentioned Petrosian's name. �After thinking about it afterwards, I concluded that you must have been following someone's instructions. Am I correct?" "Yes," Nikita admitted. "I was ordered to cooperate with Petrosian until it was clear whether or not Paul would recover." "It took me quite some time after that to put all of the pieces together, to figure out who you were really working for," Madeline continued. "And, unfortunately, I also made a serious misjudgment." "What was that?" "For a long time, I thought you would be objective in your reports to Center. I felt that Paul and I had nothing to be ashamed of, and that Center would be fair in its assessment." Madeline paused, and her eyes grew colder. "Eventually, however, I realized I was wrong. In fact, you were deeply biased against us. If Center were to be influenced by your reports, it would be disastrous." "Disastrous for you," Nikita pointed out. "No, disastrous for Section and the work that it did." Madeline's voice was hard and her expression defiant. "Section needed us, Nikita. Michael wasn't ready, especially with you trying to influence him. Everything that we did was to defend Section. Against George, against Center, and against you." Nikita's eyes met Madeline's, and Nikita recoiled when she recognized what lay in the depths of Madeline's gaze. It was hatred -- a loathing so profound that Nikita gasped, wondering how she had ever thought Madeline emotionless. Dear God, she thought, don�t ever let me feel that way about anything or anyone. It must be a kind of living death. The two women held the look for several moments. Then Nikita watched in fascination as Madeline, by an incredible act of will, forced her hostility back behind a cordial mask. Smiling once again, Madeline resumed her explanation. "Eventually, however, we realized it was hopeless. We decided to get out -- to save Section by replacing it. And we've succeeded in that. Section is irrelevant. You can run it as well or as poorly as you wish. And we�ll leave you alone to do so, so long as you do the same to us." "A mutual nonaggression pact," Nikita said, finally grasping the purpose of the meeting. "Exactly." Madeline nodded. As Nikita considered the proposal, she remembered Michael's warning. These were dangerous people to have as enemies. And he was right -- they hadn't made a move against her or Section One, not in over two years. Perhaps they were better left alone -- although watched carefully. Very carefully. "Well, you're wrong, Madeline. Section is hardly irrelevant. But I see no reason to fight you, as long as we have the same enemies." She drew herself up straight in her chair and lowered her voice. "Mark my words, though, if you ever do anything that I consider a threat to Section, I won't hesitate to declare war." Madeline smiled imperiously and pressed a button on a nearby table. A man appeared at the door. "Our guest is ready to return to Section One," Madeline informed him. He gestured for Nikita to follow. With a polite but cool nod to Madeline, Nikita stood and left the room behind him. ****** Paul watched Nikita's departure on his monitor with a sigh of relief. It had taken all of his self-control not to burst into Madeline's office and confront Nikita himself, despite Madeline's warnings to stay away. He quickly stood up and walked down the hallway. As he entered Madeline's office, he grinned. "That was one of the most entertaining things I've watched in a long time. You always did have a way of unsettling her." "I think the situation is defused for now." "Yes, well, lucky for her. But I had to laugh when she threatened to declare war on us. Little does she know who she's dealing with!" Madeline laughed slightly. "It is somewhat amusing. They both frowned as Madeline�s telephone beeped. "Yes?" she answered. "I see." Paul watched her as she listened attentively to the person on the other end. He saw her brows furrow slightly, and then relax. "You dealt with it? Good. Yes, I think that would be best. That sounds fine. We'll see you then." She ended the call and looked up at Paul. "We need to meet with David. There's a loose end to tie up." ****** Michael stood like a grim sentinel, looking over Jason's shoulder as the young man frowned at his computer screen. Walter sat nearby, his stomach churning. Despite Jason's best efforts, he had been unable to trace the suspect phone call to a specific origin. Jason grimaced. "It keeps going in circles. I can't understand it." "You've got to find something." Walter started, "It's our only chance to--" Walter then froze in shock. He couldn't believe what he was seeing. Nikita turned the corner with a smile and walked toward the three men, strolling into Section like she had been out on an errand instead of kidnapped by her mortal enemies. "Sugar?" Walter asked, more to himself than to her. "Hey, Walter," she answered cheerfully. "Jason. Michael." "What the hell happened?" Walter demanded. "I'm okay, Walter," she answered. "No harm done. Really." She smiled and patted his arm. "It was them, wasn't it?" Walter asked. "Yes." Nikita's smile faded, and a look of deep sadness washed over her face. "It was." "So now what? I thought you were going to go after them." Nikita looked over at Michael. "Someone once told me not to make unnecessary enemies. I think I'm going to follow his advice." Walter watched as Nikita and Michael held a knowing look. "In fact," she continued, "I think his advice would be invaluable here, if he's still willing to stay." "Of course he is," Michael said softly. "And how about you, Walter?" Nikita turned to Walter brightly. "Would you consider coming out of retirement yet again? Munitions hasn't been quite the same without your expertise." Walter grinned. "Just tell me when I can kick that fool out of my workspace." "Excuse me," Jason interrupted. "But there's a message from Oversight coming in." Walter and Michael looked at each other suspiciously. "No, no, it's real. I doublechecked it," Jason explained. He turned back toward Nikita. "They want Quinn to be brought to Oversight for some additional questioning." "Quinn? Why?" Nikita asked. "I'll debrief you on that situation later," Michael said blandly. "There was an incident in your absence." ****** The guards released Quinn's arms as they arrived at the reception desk. She massaged herself with a scowl, anticipating the bruises that would develop from their overenthusiastic grip. It really hadn't been necessary for them to drag her out of the elevator -- it wasn't as if she could run anywhere. The desk was enormous, with a curved metal front that tilted imposingly upwards. Behind it, a petite blonde woman in a powder blue suit had to perch on an elevated chair in order to be seen. She ignored them for several minutes, busy at her computer. I guess I'm not exactly Oversight's highest priority, Quinn thought, wondering how much longer she would have to wait. The woman looked at her sharply, as if she had read Quinn's thoughts. "May I help you?" she asked with a tone of serene condescension. "She's here to visit Mr. Wright," one of the guards answered. "Oh, yes," the woman nodded. "Kate Quinn, from Section One, correct?" "Yes," Quinn answered glumly. The woman gestured toward a door on the left. "He's been expecting you." Quinn looked at the guards. "They'll wait here for you," the woman instructed. Quinn entered the room cautiously. To her surprise, it looked like an ordinary business executive's office, not that of a covert spymaster. But then again, she wasn't really sure what a spymaster's office should look like. A tall, dark-haired man in his forties stood up from behind a desk and stretched out his hand to shake hers politely. "Quinn, it's nice to finally meet you in person after all of those phone calls." She smiled. He seemed friendly. Perhaps she wasn't going to be punished after all. "Pleased to meet you, Mr. Wright." "Please, call me David," he said with a smile. "Sit down." She took a seat in a soft leather chair in front of his desk. He sat and leaned back in his chair. His smile had disappeared. "The report of your interrogation by Michael made for some very interesting reading." She felt a twinge of nervousness return. "While I enjoy seeing operatives with ambition and initiative, I prefer that they not lie to me." "I'm very sorry, sir," she apologized hastily. "It won't happen again." "Oh, it certainly won't,� he said coolly. She waited for him to continue, but he simply sat there, watching her. After several moments, her fear overwhelmed her, forcing her to speak. "Am I going to be disciplined?" Her voice wavered slightly. "That's up to Center. They are very displeased." She looked down at the floor. Cancellation is probably one of the more pleasant options, she thought. David suddenly stood. "Come with me. My superiors from Center are waiting to speak with us about how to handle this." This is not good, she thought, following his lead. I suppose they want to berate me in person before they have me killed. She followed him across the room and passed through an adjoining door. She found herself in a conference room with a long, polished table. Inside, seated on the far side of the table, were Paul and Madeline. Quinn blanched. "You said we'd be meeting with Center,� she said, looking at David in confusion. David chuckled. "They are Center." She was shocked into silence. David pulled out a chair for her. "Why don�t you sit down?" She obeyed and looked numbly across the table at the two figures seated there. Paul regarded her with a blatant smirk. Madeline looked back and forth from Quinn to David, her expression carefully neutral. Quinn turned back to David. He was the only one she dared speak to. "I thought that they were running an independent operation." "That's true, but not the entire truth," David answered. Quinn stared at him, frowning in bewilderment. "Despite your boss' best attempts to interfere," Paul explained, grinning at her with an air of superiority, "we faked our deaths, escaped Section One, and started a new organization. Our goal was to beat Section at its own game -- to do its job so well that Section would become a useless fossil. And we succeeded, even beyond our wildest dreams." "So, how is it that you're Center?" Quinn asked cautiously. "About six months ago," Madeline answered, "one of our contacts in the financial world informed us that the Agency was looking for us. Apparently, our success rate had attracted the attention of the late Mr. Jones' former colleagues, and they realized who had to be responsible. They informed us, through this intermediary, that they had been," she paused and smiled slightly, "most upset to learn about the true nature of Mr. Jones' activities." "Such as--" Quinn began. "Such as the fact that he was running his organization based on the recommendations of a computerized fortune-teller," Paul interrupted with a look of revulsion. "Such as the fact that he was willing to kill off his senior staff in order to promote his grossly underqualified daughter." Quinn failed to stifle a snicker. It was a pity that Paul was probably going to cancel her. They really did think alike. "They told us that they were desperate to find a way to rebuild the Agency," Madeline continued. "They asked if we would be willing to do the job." "And you agreed." "Not initially." Madeline shook her head. "After all, we were pleased with the development of our own organization. Frankly, we thought its structure and administration were much more effective than the Sections ever were." Madeline looked over at Paul, and they shared a smile. Madeline then turned back to Quinn. �However, we recognized that returning to the Agency would provide us with a formal relationship with certain government entities -- the lack of which could be a serious impediment to our growth. So we reached an agreement. We would return to the Agency, but we would fold our own organization into it. We would preserve the Sections -- at least in the short term -- to give us time to integrate our organization into the Agency. But once that process was complete, we would shut the Sections down." "Shut them down," Quinn repeated in disbelief. "We're not quite ready for that yet, however. Our new organization can't afford to be exposed for several more months at least. Until then, we'd like to minimize disruption at the Sections. That's why, when Nikita found us, we had to convince her that we were running a wholly independent entity. One that did not pose a threat to her. This task was rendered much more complicated than it needed to be by your unfortunate decision to interfere." "You wanted us to discover that the phone call from Oversight had been faked. That helped reinforce the idea that you were independent." Quinn suddenly understood. "Nice of you to finally figure that out," Paul said with a look of irritation. Quinn frowned as yet another thought occurred to her. "Was the call really faked?" David laughed. "No, routing a call from the outside through our internal security would have been too much trouble. I had my secretary place the call. We simply played with the records to confuse you." "Oh, my God," Quinn groaned. She leaned her elbows on the table and covered her face with her hands. The thought that she had been so easily fooled -- at precisely the moment when she thought she was fooling everyone else -- left her feeling weak. After a few moments, she lifted her head. "So what's to become of me?" Paul could barely conceal the disgust on his face. "For someone so arrogant, you have a lot to learn. And don't think that I've forgotten that you helped try to kill me -- twice. Believe me, I'd be more than happy to see you cancelled." He stared at her for a few moments. Looking into his cold eyes, she could hardly believe that this was the man that she had -- sincerely -- mourned in the Perch with Walter. Without changing his expression, he continued. "However, Madeline seems to believe that you can still be useful. I'm willing to defer to her judgment. For now." Paul and Madeline looked at each other, and then Madeline turned back toward Quinn. "Our organizational structure is based on many small entities with overlapping functions. We run private companies, foundations, charitable groups, think tanks -- a whole range of organizations. You're going to be assigned to run one of them. A computer software company, to be exact." "A front company?" "In part. It has a legitimate -- and profitable -- business. But it also has a covert side, developing malicious programs to be used against our enemies." "Malicious programs? You mean viruses or worms?" "Among other things. Viruses are actually child's play compared to some of the things we�re working on." "It sounds interesting." "I'm glad you think so. The position has many privileges. And if you do well, there is a possibility of career advancement." Quinn felt lightheaded with relief. She blinked several times to clear her head. This wouldn't be so bad after all. It was certainly better than cancellation, and probably better than being in the Sections when they -- shut down. She frowned. "May I ask something?" "You can always ask," Madeline replied. "What will happen to the people in the Sections when you shut them down? Will they all be cancelled?" "No, actually. If they're deemed to be useful, we'll have them transferred to other entities. If not, since they know nothing about our new organization, they'll be released. Doing so will confuse our enemies for quite some time." "They'll be freed?" "Yes." "Which option applies to Nikita? Will she be transferred or freed?" Madeline merely smiled. �I think our meeting has come to a conclusion." ****** Michael climbed the stairs to the Perch nervously, wondering how he would break the news to Nikita about her father. He knew he would have to tell her himself -- for her to find out by reading his debrief would kill her. As he stepped inside, he saw her standing by the darkened windows, her back toward him. She seemed to be trembling, so he walked quickly to her side. "Nikita," he called tenderly. She turned and looked at him, tears staining her face. He felt himself grow angry. "What did they do to you?" "No, Michael, they didn't do anything. It's something else." She hesitated. "My father . . . Adam . . . ." Her voice trailed off as she struggled for words. Michael reached out and stroked her face. "I know. Quinn. She confessed everything." He took her in his arms as she began to sob. "Is there nothing real? No one who hasn't manipulated me?" "I'm sorry, Nikita," he said, caressing her hair gently. But who was he to comfort her? He had been just as bad as the others. The knowledge of what he had done to her choked him as he clutched her closer. She pulled back and looked at him. "You're the only one who hasn't used me." "No, Nikita, I've been the worst. I don't deserve you." "No. You've never tried to force me to serve your own agenda. You've never tried to make me into something I'm not. Everything you've done has been to protect me. And until now, I never appreciated it. I was too busy looking for a family that I had never known, looking for answers to questions I shouldn't have even cared about. In reality, the only family I ever needed was you, and the only answer I ever needed was your love." A tear ran down Michael's face, but he made no effort to wipe it away. Nikita looked up into his eyes. "Please, don't ever say that you don't deserve me. Not ever again. Can you promise me that?" In answer, he leaned down and kissed her � first tenderly, then passionately. ****** Paul finished the last sip of coffee and set his cup down with a satisfied clink. Dinner, as usual, had been superb. But despite the food and relaxing setting, he couldn�t get the day's events out of his mind. He looked across the table at Madeline. "I can't believe that you actually think we can use Quinn. She's another Hillinger." Madeline looked up at him. The candlelight reflected in her eyes, highlighting her look of amusement. "Oh, I don't think so." "She tried to play each side, and wound up betraying everyone. That sounds a lot like Hillinger to me." Madeline laughed quietly. "It's true she's also an opportunist. But the motivation is different. Hillinger had to prove that he was smarter than everyone else. That requires constant maintenance. Quinn, on the other hand, merely wants power and the material wealth that goes with it. I've given her a little bit of both, with the promise of more to come. That should keep her satisfied for now.� "For now, but what about the long term?" "We'll deal with that when the time comes," Madeline answered dismissively, sounding as if she were beginning to bore of the subject. He frowned. "There is one other thing. Why didn't you answer her question about Nikita?" "Because I haven't made up my mind what to do with her yet." He gaped at her in shock. "Have you lost your mind? How could you consider -- even for a minute -- keeping her as part of our organization? Of course we're getting rid of her." She gave him that haughty look that never failed to annoy him. "I think you're reacting emotionally instead of objectively. There are reasons to keep her around." "Such as?" "She has unique skills. She always has." "Oh, yes. She has a unique way of causing us headaches." "Which is why I haven't decided what to do yet." He glared across the table at her. "No. I absolutely put my foot down. If I have veto power over anything, it's this. I don't ever want to have to deal with her again." Their eyes locked in a silent challenge. Without dropping her gaze, she spoke. "You realize that if we let her go, we have to do the same for the others." "What others?" "Michael. Walter. Jason. Anyone else she's close to." "Michael I understand. But the others? Why? They're still useful." "Of course they are. But they'll look for her, and she'll look for them. Our problems could start right back up again." "So it's all or none?" "I think so." He considered it for a moment, and then sighed. "Fine. Let them all go. It's worth it to have her out of my hair. It�ll be a happy ending for everyone," he added with a slight touch of sarcasm. "I wouldn't say that," she responded, lifting an eyebrow. He was genuinely puzzled by her statement. "Why not? We get rid of problem operatives, they get what they want." "I don't think they'll be happy on the outside. No one can go on to a normal life after Section One. Could you?" He laughed and shook his head. "They're not you and me, Madeline." "I'm not so sure about that." They looked at each other for a few moments, and then she pushed back her chair to leave. "In any event, now that the crisis has been averted, I have a great deal of work to catch up on." He could tell she was irritated with him. Letting so many operatives free was a waste of resources, and she abhorred waste. But he knew she wouldn't stay angry with him for long. She never could. He jumped from his chair and headed her off before she could reach the door. She looked at him questioningly. "This was a celebration dinner," he chided. "You can't just dash off to work." "I see." She tried to look serious, but was only partially successful. "You had something else in mind?" "Surely the Executive Director isn't too busy for a little dancing? I promise that if I bore you I'll let you go back to your budget projections." "Mmmm. Interesting choice. But I suppose I can spare a few moments." He held out his hand gallantly. She took it with a smile.