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Christian remained standing.  Gina was about to stand again, but Dutch motioned her back down.  And then he gave Christian a look that could chill the sun.  Gina wasn’t certain what it meant, but Christian was.  He promptly bowed nervously and hurried out of the room.  How a nervous man like him got a job as the aide to a take-no-prisoners politician like Dutch Harber, was beyond Gina.
     “He worked his butt off for me during my campaign,” Dutch answered her unasked question.  “He’s a very discreet young man.  Very discreet.  I trust him with my life.”  He said this as he took a seat, not in the chair flanking the sofa, but next to her on the comfortable, yellow sofa. 
     And the mere thought of it, that she was sitting next to the most powerful man in the world, caused her entire body to suddenly feel constricted.  She swallowed hard and then looked at him.  She kept trying not to think about that night in Miami Beach, but she kept failing.  Her eyes roamed down, from his magnificent face with that strong jaw she remembered so well, to his muscle-tight chest. 
      “So,” Dutch said, as he crossed his leg, unbuttoned his suit coat, and turned his body toward her, “you’re the young lady who ate my lunch this afternoon.”
     Gina smiled at the way he had put it.  “Christian said I told you off.”
     “That too,” Dutch said with a smile of his own, a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.  Mainly because he was too busy thinking about her, about how she looked even lovelier when she smiled.  And her sizeable breasts, the way they heaved up whenever she began to speak, made his loins began to pulsate.  “I know you’re Miss Lansing, but I can’t recall your first name.”
     “Regina.  Although all of my friends call me Gina.”  Gina said this and looked at him, to see if her nickname spurred him to remember.
     It didn’t.  “Gina it is,” he said, and extended his hand.  “I’m Walt Harber, Gina, although all of my friends call me Dutch.”
     Gina shook his hand.  “I know.  Your nickname is the most famous nickname in the world.  But why, is what I’ve always wanted to know.”
     “Why is it so famous?”  he asked, unwilling to let go of her hand. 
     “Why are you called Dutch to begin with.  How did that come about?  Are you of Dutch ancestry or something?”
     Dutch laughed.  “No, nothing like that.  You ever hear the phrase ‘going Dutch?’”
     “You mean where you go out on a date and each person pays for her own food?”  Gina had to make extra effort to remove her hand from his tight hold.
     “Correct,” Dutch said, disappointed that she had released his grasp.  “When I was a very young man in high school and would take young ladies out on dates, I was a strict adherent to that rule.  One young lady who didn’t much like the rule, started calling me Dutch Harber, the guy who makes the ladies pay.  From that day to this I’ve been Dutch Harber.  But that’s a label for you.  It tends to stick.”
     Gina agreed.  “You don’t seem like the type who would make a lady pay her own way.”
     “Oh, but I am.  Very much so.  I like my women strong and independent.  Able to handle their business.”  He looked down at Gina’s breasts, and then back up into her eyes, with a hooded, lustful look he wasn’t attempting to hide.  “A woman like you, Regina.”
     Gina didn’t quite know how to take that comment.  Nor that look.  Although she presented as this tower of strength, she didn’t see herself that way at all.  The idea of a man taking care of her, and doing things for her, was romantic in her eyes, something she would probably enjoy.  But since she’d never had the chance to find out if she’d enjoy it or not, she never wasted much time thinking about it.  “I don’t know if I’m all that strong,” she