Calculated Risk Read Online Free

way down to a slouch. She pressed her hands against the seat cushion and straightened her posture. Thinking about Jason and Daddy had to stop. It depressed her.
    If Nick would talk to her, she could rise above this glum moment. Should she ask him about work? That hadn’t gone well over their meal. She could start a debate. What controversy would get Nick talking? Sports, most likely. So, Nick, what’s your position on salary caps for professional athletes? After a few minutes of that discussion, thoughts of Jason and Daddy might be a welcome change.
    She leaned against the headrest. Here beside her sat a man ranking in the lowest quadrant on the social ability scale. A perfect specimen for Angela’s The Challenge Game.
    The game, of course. Working on her challenge would lighten her mood. She’d always liked tests of her skills and creativity. Hadn’t Daddy instilled in her a competitive spirit?
    Nick could benefit from her skill in bringing out even the most unsocial people. Daddy had taught her a trick or two, but it was mostly a gift. God made Nick a man of few words, but wouldn’t he be happier if over the long weekend she helped him feel freer to communicate?
    While Nick had ordered their meal, and she’d wiped grease and condiments from a table, the Nick-challenge had taken root in her mind. But to make it an official challenge, she needed to share her idea with accountability partner Angela, who right now was in the air with all their friends flying to Colorado.
    Cisney peered down at her tapestry handbag at her feet. The yellow sticky reminder to call Angela that she’d jotted in the restaurant was still plastered to the leather strap.
    Hopefully, Nick would someday appreciate her efforts. He was the authority with numbers, but she was the expert with relationships—well, OK, her own romantic attachments were outliers.
    Her task would be to hold a conversation with Nick that lasted fifteen minutes. Any pause in the dialog that stretched longer than a minute ended an interchange. And to up the stakes, she had to accomplish her goal before midnight Friday.
    To hide her smile, she turned her face to the window. For the next couple of days, she’d create her own entertainment while the LeCrone actuaries got out their mortality tables and debated who was scheduled to die next.
    She stifled a yawn. If she counted the green mile markers on the shoulder of the highway, maybe she could drift off for a while. It wasn’t like she was by herself and could sing show tunes to pass the time.
     
    ****
     
    Shock of all shocks. Cisney was quiet and seemed content to listen to the music. While she’d picked at her salad and told him about hiring another assistant, she hadn’t been boring, but he didn’t talk work on his time off.
    Did she ever eat a full meal? Probably not, as slim as she was. She looked nice in the sweater with the big whatever-it-was-called rolled collar against her long neck. Her skirt, covering the top half of her ridiculous boots, showed off her great figure.
    She lifted her hands like goal posts.
    He startled. What did that gesture mean?
    “OK,” she said. “I’ve planned torture methods to get you to talk. I’ve counted eighteen mile markers, and I’ve tried to sleep, but now certain thoughts about a certain person are making me sad. I refuse to be gloomy.”
    He smiled. No, the woman wasn’t boring. “You want to talk about it?” Had he really opened that door? Great. Let the Jason lamentations begin.
    “OK. Sometimes the mile markers seem as if they’re more than a mile apart, and sometimes they seem spaced less than a mile. Do you think Virginia saves money by not hiring civil engineers? Do road workers just take a stab at when the next mile has been reached?”
    He laughed, and she giggled.
    She pointed at him. “Made you laugh.”
    “So, you weren’t having morose thoughts about a certain someone?”
    “Yes, I was. Thanks for bringing him back to mind.”
    He’d just reopened