name Sons of Liberty. I think we should take them a little more seriously.”
I can’t stop myself. “Noted. But today is the first time that I’ve heard of them. If you think they’re such an issue, why haven’t you brought it to my attention? That is your job, if I’m not mistaken.”
Michael Fitzpatrick is as useless as Roan Perez.
Michael looks mad enough to hit me. His response is to turn to Evan and throw him under the bus. “That’s the White House Press Office’s job.”
I decide to change the subject and quickly, before Evan and Michael take this outside, old western style.
The rest of the meeting drags on for another hour. It’s a necessary evil of my job, but I find myself thinking about how nice it will be when I no longer have from nine till eleven blocked off on my calendar every day. I vow that my first full day back in civilian life, I’m going to get my haircut and a pedicure during those times.
As everyone meanders out of my office, my receptionist, Joanne, slides in the door. She walks over to me and whispers, “You have a delivery.”
“That’s fine. Bring it in.” I sound as perplexed as I feel.
I begin checking email when something red, white, and blue enters my peripheral vision. I pick my head up and stare as my mouth gapes open. “What in the hell is that?” I ask.
Joanne is hidden behind a red vase filled with a spray of red carnations, white roses, and blue hyacinth flowers. There are even tiny American flags sticking out of it.
She sets it on the edge of my desk and hurriedly retreats to Maggie’s side, who has joined this sideshow. I stand up and walk around my desk and extract the card.
Rachael, you don’t seem like a flowers kind of girl, but I think we share a similar sense of humor. I hope you find these flowers as awful as I do. I had a great time yesterday and look forward to sharing more lazy Sundays with you. Graham.
I burst into laughter. I hate cut flowers. When someone gives cut flowers, what they’re essentially saying is, “Here’s something that will make you sneeze, drop pollen and petals all over your desk, and in seven days they’ll stink so badly that you’ll have to air out the room. Oh! And now you must decide what to do with the atrocious, cheap vase that they came in.”
I hate flowers.
But I love these.
Quickly, I grab my phone and snap a picture. I text it to my best friend in Texas with the words, Best first-date flowers … Ever!
Instantly, I received a response from Caroline. Whoever he is, marry him .
I’m smiling at my phone and finally look up at the two ladies who are wondering what in the world is going on. Realizing that I owe them an explanation, I say, “They’re an inside joke.”
Joanne asks if she should move them to our reception area.
Feeling very proprietary of my patriotic flowers, I tell her no. When my office is empty, I carry the vase to a table by a window that looks out onto the manicured White House lawn. I grab my phone and pull up the picture of the flowers that I sent to Caroline. I compose a thank you text to Graham.
Me: They’re grotesque in a great way. You made my morning. Thank you.
A minute later, he responds.
Graham: Glad that I made your morning. Looking forward to talking to you tonight.
I stare at my phone, not knowing how to respond. My past relationships since Aiden have been superficial. My idea of flirting would be, “Meet me at the Willard, Room 230, at eight.” I have to admit that this is fun. There’s that girly side of me that’s buried very deep, but still there. I like the idea of obnoxious flowers and thinking-of-you texts.
I delete what I had originally typed which was “Likewise.” Instead I send …
Me: It’s a date.
I stand up, shoving my phone in my suit-jacket pocket and stroll back to my desk. It’s time to get back to work. I have one year left.
Chapter Four
“Good evening,” I greet the President of the United States as I shut the door to his private
I can’t stop myself. “Noted. But today is the first time that I’ve heard of them. If you think they’re such an issue, why haven’t you brought it to my attention? That is your job, if I’m not mistaken.”
Michael Fitzpatrick is as useless as Roan Perez.
Michael looks mad enough to hit me. His response is to turn to Evan and throw him under the bus. “That’s the White House Press Office’s job.”
I decide to change the subject and quickly, before Evan and Michael take this outside, old western style.
The rest of the meeting drags on for another hour. It’s a necessary evil of my job, but I find myself thinking about how nice it will be when I no longer have from nine till eleven blocked off on my calendar every day. I vow that my first full day back in civilian life, I’m going to get my haircut and a pedicure during those times.
As everyone meanders out of my office, my receptionist, Joanne, slides in the door. She walks over to me and whispers, “You have a delivery.”
“That’s fine. Bring it in.” I sound as perplexed as I feel.
I begin checking email when something red, white, and blue enters my peripheral vision. I pick my head up and stare as my mouth gapes open. “What in the hell is that?” I ask.
Joanne is hidden behind a red vase filled with a spray of red carnations, white roses, and blue hyacinth flowers. There are even tiny American flags sticking out of it.
She sets it on the edge of my desk and hurriedly retreats to Maggie’s side, who has joined this sideshow. I stand up and walk around my desk and extract the card.
Rachael, you don’t seem like a flowers kind of girl, but I think we share a similar sense of humor. I hope you find these flowers as awful as I do. I had a great time yesterday and look forward to sharing more lazy Sundays with you. Graham.
I burst into laughter. I hate cut flowers. When someone gives cut flowers, what they’re essentially saying is, “Here’s something that will make you sneeze, drop pollen and petals all over your desk, and in seven days they’ll stink so badly that you’ll have to air out the room. Oh! And now you must decide what to do with the atrocious, cheap vase that they came in.”
I hate flowers.
But I love these.
Quickly, I grab my phone and snap a picture. I text it to my best friend in Texas with the words, Best first-date flowers … Ever!
Instantly, I received a response from Caroline. Whoever he is, marry him .
I’m smiling at my phone and finally look up at the two ladies who are wondering what in the world is going on. Realizing that I owe them an explanation, I say, “They’re an inside joke.”
Joanne asks if she should move them to our reception area.
Feeling very proprietary of my patriotic flowers, I tell her no. When my office is empty, I carry the vase to a table by a window that looks out onto the manicured White House lawn. I grab my phone and pull up the picture of the flowers that I sent to Caroline. I compose a thank you text to Graham.
Me: They’re grotesque in a great way. You made my morning. Thank you.
A minute later, he responds.
Graham: Glad that I made your morning. Looking forward to talking to you tonight.
I stare at my phone, not knowing how to respond. My past relationships since Aiden have been superficial. My idea of flirting would be, “Meet me at the Willard, Room 230, at eight.” I have to admit that this is fun. There’s that girly side of me that’s buried very deep, but still there. I like the idea of obnoxious flowers and thinking-of-you texts.
I delete what I had originally typed which was “Likewise.” Instead I send …
Me: It’s a date.
I stand up, shoving my phone in my suit-jacket pocket and stroll back to my desk. It’s time to get back to work. I have one year left.
Chapter Four
“Good evening,” I greet the President of the United States as I shut the door to his private
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