breaking the rules
Nadine stood at the head of the table in Conference East, peering at the padfolio that lay open in her hands. "I'd like to remind everyone that any holiday decorations are to be unobtrusive and respectful of people of all faiths." She wet the pad of her index finger, and turned the page. Her eyebrows arched—not by much, but enough for Elizabeth to notice. "Also, in the interest of avoiding any lawsuits, HR have issued a memo stating there's to be no mistletoe."
Matt rocked forward in his seat, and nabbed a croissant from the tray in the middle of the table. "Spoilsports," he muttered, loud enough that it was clearly meant to be heard.
Nadine folded shut the padfolio and tucked it under her arm. "With that out of the way, we can return to the more pressing issue of the situation in Chad."
"Thanks, Nadine," Elizabeth said, as her chief of staff walked over and slipped into the seat next to hers.
She turned to Jay, mouth open, ready to ask if he'd heard back from his French counterparts, when Henry McCord—sorry, Dr Henry McCord—strode through from the outer office, coat slung over his arm, briefcase in hand.
"Madam Secretary." He sent her a stiff nod in greeting. "Sorry I'm late. My car wouldn't start." He gripped the back of the chair next to Matt's, fingertips curling into the cushion, and pulled the chair out from the table.
Still tearing his croissant into shreds atop a paper napkin, Matt twisted to Henry with a smirk. "Is that code for 'I had a hot date last night and had to make it across town to get a change of clothes before work this morning'."
Henry sent Matt a look dark enough to make Matt drop the smirk and return to his croissant. "No. It's code for 'My car wouldn't start'." He placed his coat and suitcase in a heap at the foot of his chair, took a seat, and glanced around the rest of the staff. "Did I miss anything?"
"HR banned mistletoe." Blake's voice, muffled by a mouthful of something, came from the desk in the corner.
"Not that you'd care," Matt muttered.
Daisy raised her eyebrows as she tapped at the screen of her tablet, then set the tablet on the table. "I'd say the lack of a hot date would increase one's interest in mistletoe."
Before they could drift off topic, possibly risk Henry enlightening them about the historical background of mistletoe and why HR were right to ban it, but for totally different and no doubt obscure ethical/cultural/religious reasons, Elizabeth stepped in. "We were about to discuss the situation in Chad. I trust you have an ethical perspective that you'd like to share, Dr McCord."
Daisy raised her mug to her lips; the ceramic barely concealed her murmur. "Here we go."
Henry levelled his gaze on Elizabeth. "Actually," he said, his tone hard, a touch too combative, "I do."
And so began the lecture…
—Sorry. The ethical argument that they ought to consider.
/
Later, there was a knock at Elizabeth's office door.
"Come in," she called out, as she swept her signature across the bottom of yet another document. (She swore the pile was getting bigger with each one that she signed.)
The door handle clattered, the door arced open, and Henry appeared in the entrance.
"Madam Secretary? Can I have a word?"
She tossed the document at the out-tray and capped her pen. "Sure," she said. "Close the door."
Henry stepped inside, and shut the door with a snick; the moment he did, both their expressions gave way and softened into smiles.
Elizabeth rose from her chair and turned, ready to meet him. "Hey, there."
He came to a stop in front of her, but rather than slipping one hand beneath her blazer to sit on her waist and leaning in for a kiss like he usually would, he pulled something out of his jacket pocket and held it above them.
She looked up.
Mistletoe.
She grinned, and returned her gaze to his. "I didn't have you pegged for a rule breaker, Dr McCord."
He shrugged. "On occasion. For the right person."
Warmth spread through her chest, causing her grin to widen; his lines might be cheesier than the chicken Alfredo he cooked for her last night, but she couldn't deny they had the desired effect.
She cupped his cheek, and brushing her thumb back and forth, drew him in for a slow and heavy kiss.
When they parted, she rested her hands on his chest, made a pretence of smoothing his shirt. "Do you think they know?" she said, in reference to the staff—and to Matt's comment, in particular.
He pulled a face, as if genuinely considering it, then gave her an easy smile. "I think we're good."
"So, my place again tonight?"
He winked. "Can't wait." With that, he stepped away—they never had long—and he headed for the door.
The air between them eased back towards professional, but before it could revert entirely, she called after him, "This time, maybe bring a change of clothes."
His back still to her, he mock-saluted. "Yes, ma'am."
The door closed, and the office returned to a steady silence, punctuated by the clock ticking away on the mantle.
She watched after him for a few moments more, then picked up the mistletoe he'd left at the edge of her desk and secreted it into the top drawer. She didn't know yet what this thing between them was, but she felt certain of this:
She'd break every last rule in the book for Henry McCord.