He's pointed to the right of the bar, though he can spot the group of half-drunk people from the door— the table's all wrinkled suits, sulking expressions, and, by some, slurred words.
Matt notices him approaching first.
"Blake!" He greets him with a lopsided smile. "You getting fired too?"
He can't tell if it's a joke.
He laughs as he pulls a chair over from a neighboring table. "There are only a few scenarios in which she would fire me." He collapses into the chair with a huff. "And this isn't one of them," he says.
Matt leans over and claps a hand on his shoulder. "Well then, it looks like you're buying," he jokes.
"What happened to spend it while you got it?" Daisy teases.
Matt sips from his drink and then— "That was before there was a possibility of not having it."
While Jay and Matt dive into a conversation of who will have a harder time pinching pennies, Nadine leans towards him and— "She went home?"
"No."
"God, she's still in there with Mike B." Her grumble is accompanied by an eye roll.
"No," he says again.
He watches as her brow knits.
"Then?"
His fingers tap against the tabletop. "Another one of her unofficial late night meetings," he whispers.
She looks surprised.
"And you didn't stay with her?"
That… That certainly wasn't the response he was expecting, but— "She practically threw me out," he tells her. "Believe me I didn't go by choice."
He sees something pull in her eyes as she sits back in her chair. It's the same something he now often saw in the Secretary's.
He leans forward and— "Nadine—" he begins, but she pushes back from the table.
"I'll get us another round," she announces to the group.
"I'll help," he says, quickly standing, and following her to the bar.
She leans up against the wood, hands gripped around the ledge, and he copies her stance.
And as they wait for the bartender to make his rounds among the patrons, some dressed in suits with fancy watches, while others, regulars, sit in jeans and button downs, he wishes he knew her a bit better, knew an efficient way to get what he wanted.
He ducks his head near hers and— "Munsey and Russell are on the schedule again."
She shakes her head. "And?"
"What do you know?" He whispers.
She's looking towards the bartender now, avoiding the same question he's been asking for weeks.
Shot glasses are being filled when— "Nothing that will interest you."
He frowns. "You know that's not true."
She turns to him. "Blake, I'm in the dark as much as you are. The only thing I can tell you is what went on in Venezuela." She sighs. "But even then, I don't know the why behind it."
"Tell me," he says.
The conversation begins with her saying she doesn't look good in orange and ends with an even bigger web of confusion leading absolutely no one where other than the Secretary herself.