“Don’t give up on Jim Sandecker,” said Gunn. “He may have been blocked by the White House in securing the Roosevelt, but I’ll bet you a dinner with soft lights and music that he’ll come up with a replacement.” “You’re on,” she said, smiling thinly. “That’s a bed I’ll gladly lose.” He looked up curiously. “I beg your pardon?” “A Freudian slip.” She laughed tiredly. “I meant ’bet.”
