******************

"Where have you been?"

My father spoke from the doorway of the small office, and I looked up from my book and took the mangled pen I'd been gnawing out of my mouth to answer, "Street corner."

Sexual humor is one of the themes I'd picked for the duration of my indentured servitude to the Bartlet campaign, considering how I ended up there. I thought it was funny on an obvious level, but mostly I just did it to make Daddy squirm.

He rolled his eyes, "Ellie, please..."

"Oh come on, Daddy, give me some credit." I waited for him to relax, then continued, "I mean, I run a private business, and all my clients are Democrats."

"Ellie!"

He ignored my grin and got to the point. "I need you to do me a favor. There's someone coming up to work on the campaign, and he can't seem to decode simple cross street traffic. I need you to go get him before he ends up in Canada."

I raised an eyebrow, "The airport's like, ten minutes from here."

"So I tried to tell him. Remind me to thank Leo for recruiting only the best and brightest. Anyway, I got his coordinates and told him to stay put. Feel like running a little re-con?"

I stood and stretched, deciding not to notice my father's wince.

Naturally, he had to push it. "What are you wearing?"

I glanced down. My lacy black skirt and green camisole were revealing, but nothing scandalous. A smile played on my lips and I leaned to kiss him on the cheek, "It's fine, Daddy."

"For you, maybe. For the roving packs of hormonal teenage boys, it's more than fine."

We stepped out together, maneuvering toward the front door just as Mom strode through it. She pulled off her sunglasses and stared at the two of us, "You two the welcoming committee?"

"Hi, Mom." We embraced, then I pulled back, "Dad called me a slut."

His eyes widened a bit, "I did no such -"

I spun around, "Is this outfit too revealing?"

Mom looked it over. "In this heat? I'd be wearing it if I were seventeen."

I smirked at my father, "See?"

"Eleanor, in my mind anything less than footie pajamas is too revealing." He threw the keys at me, "Just get out of here."

I left them laughing, and strode through the parking lot to the open sided Jeep. The air conditioning was already turned up high, but I fiddled with it a little, trying to see if I could get even a slightly stronger blast of the cold air. It was hot, and I leaned away from the vinyl seat slightly so I wouldn't stick to it. The piece of paper was crumpled in my hand, and I flattened it out and read the street corners, rolling my eyes at how close it was. The guy must really be a moron.

But it was a guy, so I rooted around in the glove box and pulled out some tinted lip gloss, applying it liberally in the rearview mirror.

Throwing the Jeep into gear, I drove for what felt like all of two minutes before seeing the black rental car pulled over as promised, on the corner of Elwood and Second street. He was staring at a similar crumpled piece of paper, apparently still trying to figure out where he went wrong.

He turned around and leaned against the car, and all of a sudden it's broad chest and square jaw, and...hold the phone. This summer was shaping up.

*******************

(Sam POV)

I'd had better days. I'd been driving for sixteen hours in a funny smelling rental car with no air conditioning. I hadn't slept in two days, DC is a pressure cooker in July, and there was a fifty percent chance I was making the biggest mistake of my career.

On top of that, some idiot had given me these ridiculous directions, and I was sure I'd made a stellar impression on the governor by calling eight times to report that I was still lost.

Also, some girl in a Jeep seemed to be slowing down and honking at me very pointedly. Honking might be an overstatement. More like leaning on the horn so it sounded in one unbroken wail.

I looked at her, bewildered. We stayed like that for a moment, then she stopped, squinted at a wrinkled piece of paper, and looked back at me.

"Are you Sal Seaborn?"

What the hell is this?

"Sam."

"Whatever."

The fifty percent chance this was a mistake? Starting to inch toward fifty-five.

Was this a volunteer? Did they usually send high school girls to greet the members of the senior staff? If Josh had talked me into leaving the firm for some ridiculous ruse, I'd kick his ass.

I gingerly opened the passenger's side door and hesitated again. Her skirt was riding up her thighs to a point that many would debate to be appropriate, and I was not at all sure it wasn't on purpose. The green camisole was modest only in the way that it didn't try to be overtly sexy. The thin straps and clinging fabric mostly took care of that on their own.

It felt like a test. This car is probably packed with hidden cameras.

She was staring at me. "You need an engraved invitation?"

"No...no," I climbed in and tried not to slide any closer to her than I had to, practically slamming the door on my hip.

She watched with a smirk that made me feel like an idiot and quipped, "I don't have cooties, I swear."

The Jeep spun a few rocks as it pulled back into traffic.

"I didn't think - I don't..." I stopped talking and took a deep breath. "So, why are you here?"

I meant in here as part of the campaign, but she looked at me like I was nuts again. "Well, someone asked me to pick you up."

"Who?" Might as well find out what jackass pulled this on me the first day here.

"My father." Before I could ask, she continued, "I believe you know him as Governor Bartlet."

Well, that explained the whole 'test' feeling.

"You're -"

"The Governor's daughter. Yes. The tell-all book is coming out soon."

Seeing the banner-laced headquarters up the street, I timed about forty-five seconds left to make a salvageable first impression. "So, what's your name?"

She rolled her eyes and didn't answer as she drove up, parked and unhooked her seat belt. Before she got out of the car, she looked at me.

"Save it for my sisters, I'm not your way to give him a vicarious ass kissing." Then she smiled sweetly, "Welcome to the campaign."

She swung her legs down and hopped out, tossing and catching the keys as she strode to the door without bothering to wait for me. I sat for another beat, thinking I probably had the equivalent of an emotional concussion from the last five minutes alone.

I dragged a hand over my face and reached into the back for my suitcase.

I really needed to sleep.

***********