I sat down, keeping my back straight and holding my purse tightly in my lap.

“Can I offer you some tea or coffee?” he asked.

“No, thank you,” I replied, keeping my voice as steady as possible.

Dante walked over to his desk and sat down in his leather chair.

He leaned back, his dark eyes locked onto mine with an intense, quiet focus.

“You look nervous,” he observed.

“I read the news this morning,” I said. “I know who you are, Mr. Russo.”

He smiled slightly, though the expression did not reach his eyes.

“Then you know I am a man who gets what he wants,” he said.

“And you think you want me as a dancer?” I asked.

Dante shook his head and rested his hands flat on the desk.

“No,” he said. “I have plenty of girls who can dance.”

He reached into a drawer and pulled out a thin paper folder.

“I had my people look into your background,” he said, opening the folder.

“You completed three years of a psychology degree at the university with honors.”