Mr. Whitaker was the sort of man who commanded the room without saying a word. Sitting behind his desk, his face freshly shaven, his dark hair perfectly styled, he seemed to fill up every space in the large room without opening his mouth, taking all of the oxygen away from Mia as she stared at him from the entryway.

She’d remembered to knock—that was something. He couldn’t be angry at her for that. So why was he staring at her with such a narrowed gaze? Mia cleared her throat and said, ...