“Er… I don’t see why not.” I said, following her.She grabbed my wrist and pulled me up to a cramped sections filled with people screaming, shi...tless, and covered in body paint. We found our way to a quiet corner that was momentarily vacant, and sat down. The bleachers were cold, as always.“Ughh… Why are these bleachers always so cold?” She complained, reading my mind.“Oh, well, you can sit on my lap if you want. We’d take up less room that way anyways.” I recommended. Without a word, she took. .. for dinner. I... want you to. Please?" Now my usual dinner fare consisted of whatever pizza or TV dinner I felt up to that evening. I was a heat it and eat it kinda guy. Very rarely did I eat out or go to the trouble of making a real meal for myself. So the idea of a home cooked meal really appealed to me. And I also had a suspicion that "dessert" would be memorable as well! A guy would have to be crazy to turn down an invitation like that! "I'd love to stay for dinner, Rebecca. Thank you,". . some of the PCW stuff was unpleasant to the point of bullying, frankly, and notably more intimidating in tone than anything that had been said to me directly. I pointed this out to Seff, asked her why she hadn't passed it directly to me ... hell, I would probably have come straight back and started shouting at the bastards in person.In response, Seff gave me a somewhat German shrug - competent, confident, in control - and told me that that was precisely why she hadn't told me. It was nothing. We had struggled, but had grown sufficiently to the point where Mr. Morris had begun to put out feelers about buying me out.I was concerned about this, because I did not want to see my company bought, and then stripped of its valuable commodities, and have my people thrown out on the street while I lived high on the hog from the profits of the sale. After all, I do have to shave every day and look at the face I'm shaving in the mirror. But we worked it out and it's now a done deal." It was.