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huh?”
    â€œSam,” she chastised with a soft, weary sigh. It was policy, yes, though Gordon had always preferred not to know what he didn’t have to. She had maintained the same Don’t tell me what I don’t need to know attitude.
    As she stepped away from him, she heard Justin whisper, “Policy? Like hell. For some of us, maybe, but not for others.”
    Even as she extended a hand to the Atlas standing before her, Shannon wondered just what his words meant.
    Who, exactly, had been fraternizing with whom?
    And why the hell did this simple question suddenly make her feel so uneasy?
    She forced a smile. “So you’re Doug’s brother. We’re delighted to have you. Doug is something of a special guy around here, you know.” She hesitated slightly. “Did he drag you in by the ears?”
    The man smiled. Dimple in his left cheek. “Something like that,” he said. “He has a knack for coming up with just the right come-on.” His handshake was firm. “I’m Quinn. Quinn O’Casey. I’m afraid that you’re going to find me to be the brother with two left feet. You’ve got one hell of a challenge before you.”
    Her smile stayed in place, though the uneasy sense swept through her again.
    One hell of a challenge.
    She had a feeling that he was right. On more than one level.
    What the hell was he really doing here? she wondered.
    â€œElla, could I get a chart for Mr. O’Casey, please?” she said aloud. “Come into our conference room, and we’ll see what we can do for you.”
    The conference room wasn’t really much of a room, just a little eight-by-eight enclosure. There was a round table in the middle that seated five at most, surrounded by a few shelves and a few displays. Some of the teachers’ trophies were there, along with a few she had acquired herself, and several indicating that they had won in the division of best independent studio for the past two years.
    Ella handed Shannon a chart, and the others, rather than discreetly going about their business, stared. Shannon arched a brow, which sent them scurrying off. Then she closed the door and indicated a chair to Quinn O’Casey.
    â€œHave a seat.”
    â€œYou learn to dance at a table?” he queried lightly as he sat.
    â€œI learn a little bit about what sort of dancing you’re interested in,” she replied. Obviously, they were interested in selling dance lessons, and the conference room was sometimes referred to—jokingly—as the shark-attack haven; however, she’d never felt as if she were actually going into a hostile environment herself. She prided herself on offering the best and never forcing anyone into anything. Students didn’t return if they didn’t feel that they were getting the most for their money. And the students who came into it for the long haul were the ones who went into competition and kept them all afloat.
    â€œSo, Mr. O’Casey, just which dances do you want to learn?”
    â€œWhich dances?”
    The dark-haired hunk across from Shannon lifted his brows, as if she had asked a dangerous question and was ready to suck him right in.
    â€œWe teach a lot of dances here, including country and western and polka. People usually have some kind of a plan in mind when they come in.”
    â€œRight, well, sorry, no real plan. Doug talked me into this. Um, which dances. Well, I…I can’t dance at all,” he said. “So…uh, Doug said something about smooth, so that’s what I want, I guess,” he said.
    â€œSo you’d like a concentration on waltz, fox-trot and tango.”
    â€œTango?”
    â€œYes, tango.”
    â€œThat’s what you call a smooth dance?”
    â€œThere are quick movements, yes, and sharpness of motion is an important characteristic, but it’s considered a smooth dance. Do you want to skip the tango?”
    He shrugged. “No,