Fandom: West Wing
Category: J/D fluff
Spoilers: Anything up to and including 2C, but nothing
specific.
A/N: This is my first WW fic, and a response to a challenge
posted on the JoshDonnaFF Yahoo list.
Archive: Will be at my site, the Fan Fiction Research Collective. If you'd like to put it anywhere else, just
let me know.
Site Address: http://www.angelfire.com/realm/ffrc Come and share!!
Email: glimmerdark@yahoo.com
Feedback: is yummier than iced espresso lattes. Really.
If you had
asked me six months ago where I would be tonight, I can safely say that sitting
in this restaurant with Donna, C.J., and Danny would not have been anywhere in
the top 100 responses.
Hell, if
you had asked me two weeks ago, I'd have given you very good odds that I'd
still be at the office, tearing my hair out while reviewing polling numbers,
reading them again and again, trying to will them to say what I wanted them to
say. What they hadn't said since we
made the announcement. And what they
wouldn't likely have ever said again.
A lot can
change in two weeks. And it did.
"Donna!" I
called. Well, yelled is possibly a more
accurate term, but I don't think I want to go there.
"What?" she
yelled. I'm perfectly comfortable with
her going there, you see.
"Donna!"
I was more
than a little surprised to see her in the doorway after only the second
yell. I mean call. Whatever.
Something
of my surprise must have shown on my face, because she looked at me with that
impossibly regal dairy princess expression and said, "In the interests of time,
taxpayer dollars, and the Noise Pollution Reduction Act, I've decided to let it
go for now. Besides, I requisitioned an
intercom."
Heh. That'll happen. I've got just a little more pull around here than she does. I think.
"What do I have this afternoon?"
She marched
over to my desk, moved three piles of file folders, a long-cold cup of coffee,
two binders, a map of New England, and somehow unearthed a single piece of
paper from the cascading mounds below the previously stated objects.
"This,
Joshua Lyman, is your schedule for the day.
Am I incorrect in assuming that reading was one of the subjects you
mastered at Harvard?"
"I don't
remember a class on Donna-scratch in the course catalog, no."
She gave me a glare that I think was
insincere. "As it clearly states in my
distinctive penmanship, you are meeting with Feingold at one. Campaign finance reform."
"OK. Leo called and wants me to stop by before I
get going. I need you to pull figures
on the California thing for when I get back."
She pointed
to one of the file folders she'd moved.
I could barely make out what looked like a "C" in the scrawl on top.
"Umm,
yeah." I glanced at my watch. "Gotta go, only 45 minutes until Feingold."
She sighed
expressively, but said nothing. I began
to get a clue that perhaps all was not right in Donnaland then, but I was too
wrapped up in other things to really notice.
I was out the door and halfway down the hall when it must have gotten
just too much for her.
"32
minutes, Josh. Your watch still sucks!"
echoed down the corridor after me.
Margaret
pointed me straight into Leo's office.
He was on the phone, yelling at someone. Never a good sign. He
looked up, saw me, and waved me into a chair. He finished bawling out the
unlucky soul on the other end of the line, then turned to me.
"How ya
doin', Josh?"
"I'm fine,
Leo."
"You don't
look fine to me."
I mentally
reviewed my appearance. So, perhaps the
dark circles under my eyes from sleeping about 2 hours a night were beginning
to be a little obvious. And maybe my
skin could more accurately be called "sallow" instead of "fair." The loose way my jacket hung around my torso
probably wasn't helping the overall image any, either. Hey, even Josh Lyman, Chick Magnet
Extraordinaire, has an off day now and again.
"I'm fine,
Leo."
"You're not
fine and you're not fooling anyone. I
talked this over with the President and you're taking a vacation."
I just
looked at him. A vacation? Now?
"Leo, I
don't need—"
"Yes, you
do. You will be no good to us in a sick
bed."
"This is
not the time."
"It's not
the time for a story about how the Deputy Chief of Staff worked himself into
nervous exhaustion, either. The First
Lady is about to admit you to the hospital.
This is non-negotiable. You're
going, Josh. Seven days. And tell Donna to take vacation, too. God knows she needs it, putting up with
you."
His words
were tough, but there was real fear in his eyes. I wondered how long it would be before everyone would stop
treating me like this.
"Fine. You don't think I can do the job? Then fine.
I'm gone."
"Josh, it's
not like that." He came around the desk
and looked at me. "First off, your
father would kill me if he saw you right now.
Second, your mother will kill me if she sees you like this. Third, we need you at the top of your
game. Nothing less is going to get us
through this."
I looked
down at my shoes. I knew he was
right. I hated that he was right.
"Fine," I
said, and meant it. "It'll take me a
little while to get things clear."
"Josh, if
you're not out of here within two weeks, I swear to God…"
"Okay,
okay." I glanced at my crappy
watch. "Gotta go, Leo. The Feingold thing…"
Halfway out
the door, I turned around. "Leo?"
"Yeah?"
"Do me a
favor, okay? Don't tell Donna yet. I think I could have a little fun with
this."
He gave me
a disgusted look and waved me out of the room.
I could hear him muttering as I left.
"That poor girl needs a vacation more than he does."
The meeting
went pretty well, if you consider being stalled by the same problems that have
cursed campaign finance reform for years "pretty well." At this point, as strongly behind the
concept as we are, turning away potential sources of money seems monumentally
stupid. But it's the right thing to
do. And, right now, clinging to the
right thing is the only thing we can do.
I strolled
back to my office, turning my mind far, far away from the black hole that comes
of thinking about the whole Sagittarius thing.
Funny we still call it that.
It's not exactly a secret anymore.
Oops. There I went again. Well, I had tried to turn my mind
away. I was just starting to think of
some entertaining ways to spring the vacation news on my deserving assistant
when I noticed that she wasn't at her desk.
Odd, since it was only 7 p.m.
"Donna!" I
called. The only response I got was
from the talking heads on the TVs in the bullpen, and I wasn't yet crazy enough
to think that they were talking to me.
I was just
about to go into my office when I noticed that her screensaver hadn't kicked in
yet. Just out of idle curiosity, I
casually leaned over to see what she was working on.
Ha! Caught her.
There was no work involved anywhere.
It was a personal email.
To:dmoss@whitehouse.gov
From:MWHS1991@hotmail.com
Subject:Reunion
Just a reminder that RSVP's for the reunion
are due by Friday.
Please don't forget to tell us
if you're bringing a guest.
For those of you who
choose not to bunk with your folks, we've
negotiated a discount with the Best Western…
call 1-800-345-3342 and tell them you're with
Madison East High School class of '91.
We also have arranged for child care to be
provided during the party at WeeOnes. Call
(608)454-2333 for rates and to reserve a spot for
your little ones!
Hope to see you all there!
Tiffany Schneider(Van Heiden)
Reunion Chairperson
Oh my
God. Sometimes it's so easy to forget
that Donna's a baby. Well, okay, not a
baby, but… much, much younger than I am.
She graduated in 1991?
She hadn't
said a word to me. I mean, this is the
sort of thing that Donna could get mileage out of for weeks on end. Begging, entreating, pouting, commanding… I
could almost hear her voice in my head.
"Joshua, it's my ten year reunion.
You have to let me go!" But
she'd said nothing. Strange.
On impulse,
I clicked the print button. I walked
over to the printer, folded the email up, and stuck it in my pocket. My Machiavellian mind was already turning
over the ways I could use this to my advantage. She's going to owe me big-time.
I wandered back into my office, imagining the look that would be on her
face when she found out she could go.
So, there I
was, tilted back in my chair, hands behind my head, in full-on Prince of
Strategy mode, happily envisioning having an assistant who would, out of
gratitude, get me coffee for the rest of my life, and then I saw Donna come
back to her desk. Even at a distance, I
could tell that something wasn't right.
The way she
was carrying herself, it was just wrong.
Her shoulders were slouched, and her head was hanging forward. I had seen this enough to know. This was not Happy Donna.
Well, easy
enough to fix that.
"Donna!" I
called.
She didn't
even bother yelling back. She just
showed up at the door.
"What is
it, Josh?" Hell, even her voice sounded
tired.
"Come
in. Sit down."
She
actually did something I told her to do.
Without arguing about it. Hey, I
will grudgingly admit that reading Donna is not one of my best skills. After all, they didn't have that
class at Harvard, either. But this was
a sign spelled out in giant neon yellow blinking letters that screamed
"DEPRESSED!"
As she came
closer I could see that her eyes were red and puffy. "Okay, what's wrong?"
She looked
up at me, and I could practically see her gathering a mental shield. "Nothing.
How was your meeting?"
Misdirection. Not gonna work on this fellow, let me tell
you.
"The
meeting was fine. Well, we got bogged
down on Section 8 again. I mean, if
they would perhaps listen to me for once maybe, just maybe, we could…"
Oh. Yeah.
Not what I'm supposed to be talking about here.
"Donna,
you've been crying."
Her face
flushed. "Josh…"
"What is
it? Is there some new gomer?"
Oh,
man. Even I couldn't believe I said
that. She looked away and started to
get up.
"Wait,
Donna. I'm sorry. Just tell me what's wrong?"
I looked at
her with the patented puppy dog eyes and the dimples. No woman alive can resist that look. Well, except Donna, unfortunately.
"You
wouldn't understand, Josh."
"Try me."
She took a
deep breath. "You want to know? Fine.
I can't go to my ten year high school reunion."
I almost
burst out with something before I remember that I should be surprised at this
information. We princes of strategy
have to watch out for the little details that can trip us up.
"You never
even asked if you could go, Donna! You
never told me anything about it."
She just
looked at me, and I started to wonder.
Did she tell me? Did I say
no? Could I have forgotten? It's not like it would have been the first
time.
"Oh, Josh,
I can't go!" She pulled a Kleenex out of
somewhere and started to dab at her eyes, which were bright with new tears.
Damn. I can't stand that look. "Well, you know it's not the best time, but
I could talk to Leo and maybe work something out. It's not like I can't function without you for a few days."
Okay, we
both knew that that's far from the truth, and I set myself up intentionally
there, just in case there's any doubt.
But there was no quip, no sarcastic remark, no witty comeback. The banter had officially left the building.
"It's… it's…
it's not that," she said, and commenced to cry in earnest.
Red
alert. Time for me to save the
day. Unfortunately, I had no idea how
at this point. What did she mean it's
not that?
I got up
and knelt next to her chair. I'll admit
to feeling a little awkward as I tried to comfort her. "There, there," I actually said as I
tentatively stroked her hair. Very
soft. Smelled god, too. "Then why can't you go?"
Her sobs
began to die down. "I can't believe I'm
telling you of all people this," she said.
"I can't go because I don't have a date."
Saying that
must have done something to her, because she started crying all over
again. Well, examining the situation
honestly, I guess I could see why. I've
not been exactly Mr. Congeniality in regards to her dating history. But, honestly, where did she come up with
the losers she's gone out with?
Most of me
was rather relieved that Donna was indeed gomerless. I was wise enough to refrain from saying so, however. I just sort of put my arm around her and started
stroking her hair again. Very, very
soft.
"Don't cry,
Donna. We'll fix it. We'll fix it. Don't cry, Donna." I was
practically begging at that point. The
smell of her hair was doing things to me that didn't usually happen in
connection with Donna, and I needed it to stop so I could put my amazing powers
to work on her problem. I was going to
give her a gift that would result in coffee for the rest of my life, and I was
not about to let anything get in the way of that. I am a very nice guy, I know.
She began
to sniffle, and then finally stopped crying all together. "Thank you, Josh," she said, looking up at
me. Her eyelids were so puffy I could
barely see the radiant blue irises.
"We'll talk
about it in the morning. Go home and
get some sleep."
"Anything
you need? Before I go?" She looked like she was feeling guilty for
leaving before 10 p.m. Well, she
should. But, because I'm a nice guy…
"No. I'll muddle through somehow. Go home."
I turned on the dazzling Lyman smile, and was rewarded with a small one
in return. She waved and walked away.
Okay. Good.
She's gone. Time to formulate a
master plan. It took me all of about 10
seconds to realize that this was not the kind of master planning they taught me
in school, nor the kind of master planning that I had learned on numerous
campaign trails. This was something
else entirely. Girl stuff.
I usually
avoid girl stuff just on general principle.
How manly can one be while engaged in gossip, for example? Or while watching a Nora Ephron movie? But then my inconveniently good memory
reminded me that there is one person, besides Donna, that I had, on extremely
infrequent occasions, done both of these things with. Someone who was, in fact, the perfect person to discreetly help
me with the Master Plan. I just hoped
she hadn't left the office yet.
I hit speed
dial, and was gratified to hear C.J. pick up.
"Do you have a minute? There's
something critically important I need to talk to you about."
There comes
a tired sigh from the other end of the phone.
"Okay, Idiot Boy, what did you do this time?"
"Nothing!"
I said indignantly. "Would I ever do
anything to embarrass this administration?"
"More times
than you can count, Joshua. Get over
here."
"I'm hurt,"
I said into the phone, but she'd already hung up. Women.
On the way
over, I tried to come up with the perfect slogan for the Master Plan. Not that "Master Plan" didn't have a nice
ring to it, but an operation of this magnitude required something special. Hmm.
I decided to stop channeling Sam at that point, and just settled for the
first thing that popped into my head.
C.J. was sitting at her desk, her incredibly long legs stretched out and
her shoeless feet propped up on the corner.
She looked at me and sighed.
"Josh, whenever
you look this pleased with yourself it is all I can do not to run far, far away
to some low stress job. Like air
traffic control, or neurosurgery. Close
the door."
I did, and
gave her my best conspiratorial look.
She groaned.
"Okay,
spill it. What's all this about?"
"Operation
Escort."
Her feet
slipped off the desk and she almost fell out of her chair. "No, no, no, dear God, I cannot do this
again. What is it with these boys and
call girls?"
"C.J.!"
"How could
you be so indescribably stupid—"
"I did not
sleep with a prostitute. That's Sam's
job."
She crossed
her arms and glared at me. "Then what,
pray tell, is 'Operation Escort?' Are
you pimping now?"
"C.J.! It's nothing like that at all." I outlined the details of Operation Escort to
her. Well, except that there weren't
very many details at that point.
She put her
hands on the back of her neck and started to rub. "So, Josh, what you're trying to tell me is that you're trying to
set Donna up with someone so that she can go to her ten year reunion, which she
will apparently not consider attending alone?"
It sounded
silly put like that.
Her hands
moved to her temples and began rubbing there.
"This is 'Operation Escort?'
This is the critically important emergency you interrupted me for?"
"There's a
lot riding on this, C.J."
"Like
what? The national deficit? Peace in the Middle East? A cure for cancer?"
"Coffee for
the rest of my life."
"Don't let
the door hit you on your way out."
So. That didn't go well. But I was not out of shots to fire from my
arsenal. "What about the
sisterhood? You're abandoning a member
of your gender!"
"I'm
protecting a member of my gender from a lifetime of indentured coffee
servitude. And from your colossal
idiocy. I'm practically a hero. Get out!"
She began shuffling through the papers on her desk.
Okay. Time to bring out the big guns. Which was difficult, since I had barely
admitted this to myself. "C.J.? Donna's had a tough year. I want to do something nice for her. She deserves it."
She looked
up again, and her face softened just a little.
Not one to abandon her ground, though, she reiterated her earlier
statement. "Out."
"She was
crying, C.J. I can't stand it when
Donna cries."
Trump
card. I had so won the pot on
this one.
She looked
at me with her head cocked to one side.
There was an odd gleam in her eyes.
"Just to make sure I'm absolutely clear on this. You, Josh Lyman, Deputy Chief of Staff, want
your assistant, Donna Moss, to have a date."
"Yeah."
"You are
not only going to reverse your long-standing policy of hostile intervention,
but are going to go beyond neutral noninterference to actually aid and abet
this development?"
"Um. Yeah."
No need to point out that there was never a policy of hostile
intervention. Not while I was still
trying to win her over to the cause. I
mean, hey, it wasn't my fault that Donna invariably picked the most loserish
guys conceivable.
"Furthermore,
you want Donna and this man to go halfway across the country together."
"Well, Wisconsin's
really not that far."
"Uh-huh. Do you want this to actually be a
date, or do you just want to create the semblance of a date?"
Hmm. Interesting question. Up until this point I had not really
considered anything beyond Donna's joyful response to my heroic rescue of her
tragic situation. My God. This could have ramifications.
I sat down,
uninvited, on C.J.'s couch. This was
going to require a little thought.
The sound
of her sudden burst of laughter did not help me think. I looked at C.J. "What?"
She was
actually wiping tears from her eyes.
"You, Josh Lyman, have no clue what you are getting yourself into."
Since this
was actually true I didn't have much in the way of a clever riposte. I settled for a question. "So.
You'll help me, then?"
The look in
C.J.'s face when she's feeling superior is quite a sight. A sight I wish was less often caused by
myself, but, well, there you are. She
said, "I wouldn't miss this for the world."
I was happy
that she was going to help, but a little confused, too. I mean, I'd be getting coffee out of the
deal. What was she going to get out of
it? I said as much to her.
"The
satisfaction of a job well done," was her enthusiastic reply. "But we really need to change the name."
"Okay. Whatever you want."
I still
couldn't understand why she was rubbing her hands together gleefully as she
said, "Operation Matchmaker."
The next
day was pretty hectic, and I really didn't have much time for chitchat with
anyone. Besides, people were giving me
the oddest looks. I wondered if perhaps
Leo wasn't so far off the mark after all.
But Donna had returned, if not to her usual trivia-quoting ebullient
self, at least to a functional level. I
managed to sneak on to her computer while she was in the bathroom and sent a
reply to that email, RSVPing for two. I
erased the message from her sent mail file and made it back into my office with
no one the wiser. Score one for this
James Bond. I am not completely
computer illiterate.
I still
hadn't decided exactly what to tell Donna about the whole thing without making
myself sound like a total ass. Well,
according to C.J. anyway. I personally
thought that a boss who would be so considerate as to go through all this
trouble for his assistant would be anything but ass-like, but I admit that C.J.
seems to have a better sense for these things than I do.
I glanced
down at the top file on my desk. Donna
had written something on the outside that resembled "Nashua Vocations." It was actually fairly legible. I wondered if my comment last night was the
straw that broke the camel's back, and she was making an effort at
readability. Then I opened it and found
a bunch of travel brochures. Most of
them were for various spots in Hawaii.
Obviously, someone had tipped Donna.
And her handwriting really wasn't getting any better.
I pushed
number 4 on my speed dial. "C.J.
Cregg."
"C.J.,
we're in trouble. She knows. About the vacation."
"Joshua,
don't you have, like, some actual work you should be doing? Or did we declare a federal 'Josh
Self-Indulgence Day?'"
"That's a
great idea, C.J."
"Josh…"
"No, I mean
it. A nation pays its respects. I like it.
I think you should suggest it."
"Josh, I am
trying to be the press secretary right now.
I assure you that I am working on the cloak and dagger stuff, but now is
not the time."
"Buy you
dinner tonight? We can talk about it
then."
There was a
pause on the other end of the line, then a chuckle. "Sure, Josh. Make it hot,
good, and in my office at 7:30."
"You got
it."
In my
defense, I did try to work the rest of the day, but it was hard with Donna
hovering around. I could tell she was
just itching for me to open that folder.
But I took the high road. I did
not say a word. She was dying, I tell
you.
I called
for the food personally. See, I'm not
totally incompetent without Donna. At
least I can feed myself. At seven, I
poked my head out of my office.
"You can go
home now, Donna."
"But you're
not done yet."
"I'm just
going to have dinner with C.J. We're
working on a thing."
"What
thing?"
"A thing."
"Do I know
about this thing?"
"No."
"Shouldn't
I know about this thing?"
"I think I
can survive this particular issue without fifty-nine index cards, thanks."
She gave me
a sour look. "There's a folder on your
desk, Josh."
"There are
about three hundred folders on my desk."
"This one
is important."
"I'll look
at it after dinner. You can go
home. Shouldn't you be kissing my feet
right about now?"
"Oh, my
lord and master, thank you for allowing me to put in only 5 hours of overtime
today!" She jabbed the power button on
her computer and got her purse out of her desk. She got up and stopped right in front of me. For a moment I thought she was actually
going to do it. She was going to kiss
my feet.
I looked at
her and smirked. "I like it when you
call me 'lord and master."
"You
would," she said, and pushed past me into my office. She plucked the folder out of the pile and handed it to me. "I want you to give this some serious
thought, Joshua."
"I promise
you, I'll get on it after dinner."
"Aren't you
even going to open it now?"
"I'll look
at it after dinner, Donna. Which I
should be getting to right now."
"Fine." She walked away.
"Have a
good night, Donna," I called down the hall after her. She didn't answer.
I walked
over to C.J.'s office, where heavenly good Chinese smells were wafting on the
air. She hadn't bothered to wait for
me.
"This is
really good," she said through a mouthful of sesame chicken.
"I know," I
said, helping myself to some. "They're
new… Donna just found them last week."
"Mmm. So, about the thing."
"Yeah?"
"Well, do
you want it to be a date or not?"
"I would
like it to appear to outside observers that it is a date. That's the whole point, C.J."
"But you
don't want it to be a date."
I squirmed,
hedged, evaded, and misdirected, but Claudia Jean was having none of it. "No.
I don't want it to be a date."
"Because
that would involve Donna getting a life."
"Exactly. And her work performance might suffer."
C.J. raised
an eyebrow. "So that's what this is all
about."
"Yes."
"Her work
performance."
"Yes."
I don't
know what was so funny, but she laughed.
" Why don't you take her
yourself, Josh?"
Wow. New thought. No, totally inappropriate.
I wouldn't want anyone to get the wrong idea. I wouldn't want Donna to get the wrong idea. "C.J., are you crazy? We can't make it look like the Deputy Chief of
Staff is dating his assistant! Are you
so bored that now you want to manufacture a scandal?"
"I really
don't think it would be that big of a deal."
"You're
thinking wrong."
"Okay." She dropped it. "Well, I'm sure I can find someone else."
"Give me
the list when you have it."
"What do
you want, veto power?
"Of
course."
"Josh! Maybe Donna should decide?"
"Donna will
pick the most gomerish one of the bunch."
"There
won't be any gomers on the list."
"It's my
plan, and I want to pick."
"Josh. It was your idea. It is my plan, and I'll handle it the way I want. Or you can kiss my help goodbye."
"So, this
is a dealbreaker?"
"Yeah."
Well, she
had me over a barrel. C.J. is very good
at her job.
"Okay."
"I'm going
to tell her tomorrow."
"What?"
"She needs
to know, Josh. It's two weeks
away. A woman has to plan for these
things."
"How are
you going to tell her?"
"I have my
ways. Don't worry about it. Oh, but one thing… I think it would be
better if she didn't know you were behind it."
"What??"
"Oh, I'll
leak it to her after it's all over.
Trust me, it will look better this way.
You're always more impressive when you don't look like you're
strutting."
"And I let
you in on this why?"
"Because
you don't have a clue."
"Fair
enough." The chicken had
evaporated. I figured it was time for
me to do the same. "Keep me posted."
"Okay. I'm going to start doing some real work
now."
"Okay."
As I walked
out of her office, I heard her on the phone.
"Carol, I need a file from Leo's office…"
Around
lunchtime the next day, I tried to get my assistant to gather some figures for
me. That is what she's there for,
right? But no go. She was surrounded by a gaggle of women,
buzzing like bees.
"Oh, that's
so sweet!"
"I can't
believe he'd do that!"
"Oh, he's
just that way, you know…"
Donna's
voice cut through. "I'm just so happy
that I don't have to go alone."
I
smiled. C.J. must have told her after
all. I walked out of my office,
prepared to receive the adulation of a half-dozen assistants. Bet I won't be voted 'most horrible boss' in
the office awards this year.
They didn't
even notice me. They just kept going
about what she was going to wear, blah, blah, blah. I cleared my throat. They
looked up at me and scattered. Odd.
"Donna,
what's all this about? I was calling
you!"
"Oh, Josh,
I'm going to my reunion after all! I
told Cathy about not being able to go, and she told Margaret, and she told
Carol, and she told C.J., and C.J. set me up!
I mean, it's not a real date, but just think how impressed Tiffany Van
Heiden is going to be when I walk into the room on the arm of one of
Washington's most eligible bachelors!"
The words
were tumbling out a mile a minute, and it took me a moment to process the whole
thing. Then I realized she had
absolutely no idea I was involved. But
who was he? I managed to casually ask,
"So, who is the eligible bachelor?"
"Sam," she
said with a dizzying smile.
"Seaborn?"
I spluttered. What the hell?
"Yes! Oh, Jackie Miller is going to be green with
envy when she gets a good look at those eyes.
And that hair!"
How did I
not know this? Why didn't C.J. give me
a heads-up? Oh, she was going to wish
the curse of Bast was her biggest problem.
Donna
continued unabated. "I would have never
thought even to presume to ask him, but he's been just marvelous about the
whole thing! He's such a good guy, I
don't know what Mallory is thinking.
She's just letting him slip through her fingers."
I think she
was still talking when I walked away.
"C.J.!" I bellowed as I neared her office. "C.J.!"
There she
was, behind her desk, looking all innocent.
"What is it, Josh?"
There were
a million things I wanted to say but the only thing that squeezed past my lips
was, "Sam?"
"Oh." She smiled.
"Isn't he perfect? Those Madison
girls won't know what hit them."
So, should I go on?
Your wish is my command. J
