She felt herself flush with embarrassment, and maybe just a teeny bit of pure female pleasure. “Do you boys prefer olives or cocktail onions?” Ric...ard asked. “Darling, there are no cocktail onions!” he said, that damned eyebrow raised up high enough to make it look like a question mark. She smiled sweetly and moved lightly and quickly back to the kitchen, returning in moments with a small silver dish of cocktail onions. Richard beamed at her from his favorite wing backed leather chair. It was. "I hope that ham-and-potato casserole is okay for you tonight," Lana said, as she held me, but did not look directly in my face. I could not detect any expressions of guilt or evasion at this point. I told myself not to give away anything on my part until I could learn more about the dynamics of her work environment and any changes that might be transpiring--especially if this dick, Van Horn, was sexually harassing her."You know that I am always up for your ham-and-potato bake," I said."Look at. More

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