His temples throbbed with every step he took down the hall— Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Each time his foot came down on the marble he could feel the pulsing. He'd preferred the dull ache that had kept him up the night before.
He rounds the corner and before he slams straight into another chest he steps to the side.
"Where's the fire?" She jokes.
He would smile if it didn't hurt.
"Right here on this very floor," he grumbles. "Big corner office."
She laughs as she repositions her hands on the stack of binders in her arms.
"Good luck," she mumbles. "See you later Blake."
He gives a wave to Maddie before making a beeline to the credenza.
He'd told anyone and everyone who usually brought in the carb loaded treats, the ones the Secretary couldn't seem to get enough of, to put them out here instead of in the conference room or god forbid her office. It was his failed attempt at trying to keep her as far away from them as he could— without his knowledge and permission, Matt had slipped her a bear claw sometime after the morning meeting. Matt had given him crap over the gatekeeping of her food after he gave him a telling to— he didn't understand that the blueberry muffins, the scones, and the bear claws caused an increase in her glucose levels. And though that sugar high may be wonderful, the fall from that spike directly affected her mood. And he didn't realize that he was doing his best to fill her up with fruits, vegetables, and vitamin C in hopes she wouldn't catch his cold.
He pops open the tab on one of the cardboard boxes, and finding it empty, he begins loading up the doughnuts, the muffins, the danishes into the box— he needed to get rid of these and fast before she came looking for another.
And he's setting an apple fritter off to the side for himself —he'd had a long day, and the clock hadn't yet ticked past noon. He deserved it— when he hears a familiar clack clack clack of heels on tile.
"What did you do?"
She's standing close now, nearly breathing down his neck.
He drops a sticky bun onto a plate before giving her a glance— there's a lot she could be referring to.
Nadine crosses her arms over her chest. "I just got a phone call from a very pissed off Amelia Gaines," she complains.
He drops the last pastry into the box before wiping his hands with a napkin. "You mean to tell me she has the ability to be something other than pissed," he jokes.
She frowns. "This is serious," she says. "You may think you're the one calling the shots around here, but you're not. Making an adjustment in her schedule when it comes to a meeting with a key individual is my job, not yours."
He swallows. "I do what's necessary for the Secretary," he says.
Her eyes widen. "Meeting with Max Cooper is what's necessary for her." She waves her arm to the right.
His head pounds as he lets out a laugh. He leans in, and— "She has PTSD," he whispers. "She's moody. She's emotional. She's tired." He shakes his head. "She can't handle three back to back meetings. She needs a break."
"She's fine," Nadine argues.
He holds up his hands. "Well god forbid you take a pause and actually look at her."
And he thinks he may have hit a nerve when her face drops.
"I—" She sighs. "She's not comfortable with me. Plus—" Her lips shrug. "—that's not my job."
His eyes search hers. "And this is mine?"
Her right shoulder raises before it falls. "You're the one who draws the boundaries, Blake."
He scoffs.
"I don't think you have any room to speak on boundaries," he says. And maybe it's the fact that he's already feeling unwell, that he'd barely slept the night before, but he decided to go for the jugular.
Her expression softens, and he almost feels bad… almost.
"You're right," she admits. "I'm sorry if I've been—"
He gives a bit of a smile. "It's not your job I get it, but in this town aren't job descriptions a bit vague anyway?"
Her lips pull up at the corners. "What can I do to help you?"
He turns back to the credenza. "You can take my lunch with her on Thursday," he says as he closes the top of the cardboard box. "I have an appointment." His therapy session was switched last minute.
She nods. "I can do that," She tells him.
"Thank you," He mutters as he hands over the box. "You can put these in the Sitting Room."
There's a pinch in her brow, but— "Okay," she says with a laugh.
He grabs the plate with the apple fritter and walks with her.
"I should have checked with you before canceling the meeting with Cooper," he admits.
He does feel bad for that. He thinks he too could make improvements on how their relationship works.
"Nothing a few empty promises couldn't fix."
"Well—" he begins. "I'm still sorry that you had to deal with Amelia Gaines," he tells her.
She looks up at him. "Yeah, you owe me for that."
He gives a smile.
"You know—" He nudges the door open with his shoulder. "—right now, she has just about me and Henry in her circle. It would be nice if she could welcome you."
She crosses the room to one of the two sideboards that line the wall.
"I'll talk to her," she says.
He takes in a breath— he hopes that conversation goes well. He didn't think his head could handle dealing with the emotions that were sure to come if it didn't.
"Be patient," he reminds.
"Blake—" She turns.
His eyebrows raise.
She huffs. "Tell me what to say."
And as they take a seat at the table, he hopes he can trust her with the Secretary when he couldn't be there. He thinks Nadine making an effort, although small, was one step closer to adding her name to the lunchtime rotations. One step closer to letting another individual into their circle.