Page 73 of State of Denial

“Do you have time for it today?”

“Nope, but I’m doing it because I want a few minutes with my gorgeous wife.”

“How’re you holding up?”

“I’m fine, all things considered. My mother was arraigned earlier and held without bail since she’s apparently a flight risk. It seems the judge saw right through her BS.”

“Well, that’s good, I guess. At least she can’t start a dumpster fire if she’s in jail.”

“That was my thinking, too, although it’s still hard to believe my mother is injail.”

Roland, one of the White House butlers, came into the room with a tray that he placed on the table. “Hello, ma’am. I heard you’ll be joining Mr. President for lunch.”

How did they seem to know everything without being obtrusive? It was their special gift. “You heard correctly, Roland.”

“What can I get for you?”

“How about a tossed salad with grilled chicken, Italian dressing on the side.” She could have that and a little something with her sisters, too.

“No onions, right?”

Sam smiled. “That’s right. Good memory.”

“It’s my job to remember what you prefer, ma’am.”

“You do your job very well.”

His smile lit up his face. “My pleasure. I’ll be right back.”

“Certain aspects of White House life don’t suck,” Sam said.

“No, they don’t.”

“Go ahead and eat while we wait for mine.”

He took the cover off his plate, which had a turkey club and curly fries that he covered in ketchup.

Sam stole one of them and popped it in her mouth before she could think of all the reasons why she shouldn’t. The first one was so good, she had a second and then a third.

Nick pushed his plate closer to her to give her easier access.

Sam pushed it back toward him.

He pushed it halfway back.

She took another fry and gave him a glare.

He laughed. “Eat the fries, babe.”

“I can’t. They go straight to my ass.”

“I love your ass, and mine is the only opinion that matters. I vote for more ass.”

“No more ass. There’s more than enough.”

“Never enough.”

“What are you hearing from the honeymooners?” she asked of Elijah and Candace.

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