At half past nine, CJ pulled open the door to the little bistro and looked around for Danny. She had hoped to stop and repair her make-up, but she had had barely enough time to drive home, park, and sprint the block and a half to the restaurant.

The maitre d' smiled. "Bonsoir, Madame. May I take your coat?"

"Yes, thank you." CJ shrugged out of it. "I'm meeting a friend for dinner."

"That would be Monsieur Concannon, oui? He is awaiting your arrival. If you will follow me?"

He led her to a table near the rear of the restaurant, a few people recognizing her. She nodded slightly in acknowledgment, still uncomfortable that she did not know them, the result of combining a well-known face with a small-town upbringing. The room was not full, but it was busier than she had anticipated for a Monday. Danny stood up as they approached, a warm smile on his face.

"You made it!"

"Were you afraid I wouldn't?" she asked as he held her chair for her.

"You never know."

"Would you care for something from the bar?" the maitre d' asked.

CJ did not have to think. "A glass of your house red would be wonderful."

"Trẻs bien. I will have your waiter bring it immédiatement."

The wine, when it arrived moments later, was perfect. CJ took a mouthful, savoring it as the waiter recited the evening's specials and encouraged them to take their time before hurrying off to tend to other diners.

"What are you going to have?" she asked, her attention on the menu.

"I'm... not."

"Not what?" She glanced at him over her glasses. The menu lay closed on the table in front of him. "Eating? You're not eating?"

Danny fidgeted with the silverware. "Yeah, you could say that."

CJ put down her menu. "You asked me to dinner."

"Yes, I did."

"Dinner with a friend, if memory serves," she stated evenly.

"Absolutely."

She took a swallow of wine and contemplated her glass for a moment, wishing she had ordered something stronger. "Then why --"

"Because," a familiar voice said behind her, "I'm the friend."

CJ stood up so quickly she almost lost her balance. "Sam!"

Resting her hands on his shoulders, she scrutinized him. The weariness had not left him completely, but his color was better than it had been on Thursday. Better yet, there was laughter in his eyes, boyish delight in having tricked her. All weekend she had thought only of the emptiness she had last seen there. She kissed his cheek and pulled him into a hard hug. He smelled of wool, wonderful cologne and fresh, cold air.

"I'll kill you both for this!" she said.

Sam grinned unrepentantly. "I'm sorry. This was the only way I could think of to get you here."

"There's such a thing as a telephone!" she scolded him. "And you -- " She turned to Danny. "— could at least have given me a hint."

Danny grinned. "With Josh standing right there? I don't think so." He stood up and waved Sam into his chair. "You owe me a real evening out for doing this."

"I'll see."

"C'mon, you agreed. You owe me the dinner you thought we were going to have, CJ."

"You know, with reasoning like that, I find it amazing you don't write op-ed pieces," Sam offered.

CJ looked from one to the other, unable to stop smiling. "I can't believe you did this. All right, I'll go out to dinner with you."

"When?"

"Soon. Now, go away."

"We'll talk tomorrow," Danny told her. "See you, Sam."

"Thanks," Sam called as he flipped open the menu.

"Danny, wait!"

He turned to her, a question already forming. CJ closed the two steps between them and kissed him.

"Thank you."

His smile was gentle. "I told you I was a surprising guy."

"You are indeed." She considered kissing him again, but he was already moving away. She dropped into her chair and smiled at Sam. "Well, this is amazing."

He returned the smile. "I thought it was smarter to use a go-between. If you didn't know whom you were meeting, you wouldn't have had to make up something. Have you decided what you want? I'm hungry."

She nodded, and he called the waiter over. Within minutes, they had ordered their meals, and Sam had a glass of wine. As he took a mouthful, she pounced.

"All right, Sam, what the hell is going on?"

For a minute, she was not sure which way the wine was going and, as far as she could see, neither did Sam. He finally managed to swallow and kept the coughing to a minimum.

"Okay, so we're going to do this now," he said slowly, setting down his glass. "Go ahead and scold me, CJ, then we'll enjoy dinner."

"I'm not going to scold you. No, wait -- I am! I've spent the last four days worrying about you. All of us have."

"I'm sorry you worried; you shouldn't have. I'm fine."

"I have been in and out of meetings since Friday morning, Sam -- meetings with the President of the United States -- and most of them were about you. I've sat through all of them, listened to what everybody said, and there's still one thing I don't understand. Why didn't you talk to someone? Damn it, why didn't you talk to me?"

The light left his eyes. Folding his napkin, he set it aside and looked for their waiter. "I'm sorry. Having dinner was a bad idea. I never wanted to put you in the middle of this."

"You didn't put me here, I did!" CJ covered his hand with hers. "Just talk to me. Anything you say will stay between us."

Sam studied her, actively searching for something. Finally, he drew a breath and turned his hand over, taking hold of hers. "When I joined the campaign, I knew I had a lot of work ahead of me. I hadn't worked in politics since law school, and then it was as an aide for a two-term Congressman who was an election away from retirement. The President, Leo, everybody saw me as Josh's little brother, some guy riding his coattails -- and they weren't far from the truth. So, when Josh and Toby began crafting our strategy, I sat and I listened and I learned everything I could. After Toby began trusting me a little, they let me create some of the message."

"We wouldn't have been elected without your words, Sam. You know that."

"I'm not sure what I know any more," he said quietly, letting go of her hand. "Anyway, things didn't change much once we got to the White House. I read everything I could get my hands on -- things that didn't even concern me half the time -- hoping I could contribute something. And for a little while, I thought that I had finally caught up, that I might even be making headway, but..." Picking up his water glass, he swallowed half the contents.

"But," CJ prodded gently.

He looked down at the tablecloth and smoothed out a wrinkle. "I wasn't."

"That's not true! Your input is valuable."

"CJ, I can't remember the last time I was in a meeting and Josh didn't say, 'What Sam means to say is...'"

"That's Josh, Sam! You know how he is!"

"I thought I did, but that was before he started shooting down everything I said."

"Did you try talking to Toby?"

"Are you kidding? Last week he told me he could name three writers who are as good or better than I am -- and two of them already work at the White House!"

"And both of them are him! You know he says those things to get you all hepped up!"

"Well, that didn't work the way he planned then, did it?" Sam snapped, his voice hard and angry. "That speech I was working on Thursday? It could have been so much more, it really could have. We had the opportunity to send up a couple of trial balloons, get a read on public opinion. Instead, he turned it into a punishment exercise because I wouldn't toe the line." He laughed, and CJ winced at the bitterness in the sound. "Hell, I don't even know where the line is anymore."

The waiter appeared with CJ's salad and Sam's soup. The look on his face told CJ that he thought he was interrupting a lovers' quarrel. She tried smiling at him as he put down the plate in front of her, but it only made him more nervous.

He held up the pepper mill, not making eye contract with Sam or her. "Cr-cracked pepper, Madame? Monsieur?"

She smiled harder, radiating good will. "No, thank you. Sam?"

He shook his head. "No, but I think the lady could use another glass of wine."

"Oui, Monsieur," and he scurried off to the service bar.

"He thinks we're arguing," CJ said, picking up her fork.

Sam stopped with a spoonful of soup halfway to his mouth. "We aren't, are we?"

"No, we're not. You're venting, and I'm wondering why we didn't have this conversation weeks ago."

"You've had a rough couple of months, CJ. I didn't want you dealing with my crap, too."

"But I want -- "

Sam lowered his spoon into the bowl. "Don't get involved. Find a nice table somewhere, and hide underneath it until this blows over."

"It's not going to blow over."

"I've resigned. Give them a few days, they'll find someone new."

"Damn it, Sam, they won't!" She sighed as the people around them looked over, and their waiter dove back into the kitchen. She picked up her wine glass and smiled at everyone over the rim. When they returned to their own conversations, she leaned forward and lowered her voice. "With all the meetings we've had about this, there's one thing that no one will consider. Replacing you."

"Well, they just might have to when I don't show up for the next two-and-a-half years."

CJ picked at her salad. "Trust me, the FBI will show up at your door long before then."

"The FBI?"

"The President called them in," she admitted.

"Because that's what you do when someone resigns." He shook his head. "That's..."

"Over the top? Out of control? Yeah, the First Lady thought so, too."

Sam pushed away the soup and dropped his head into his hands. "I'm trapped in a Marx Brothers movie."

"No, you're trapped with people who respect your work and your contribution to this Administration. And you know what's even worse?"

He considered the question, and then shook his head.

"They love you."