Page 3 of A Man of Power

“Sure,” I say as I shake her hand. Her fingers are long and elegant. My mother would comment that she had pianist hands if she were here.

“Please, have a seat,” I add, motioning to the chair in front of my desk.

She takes the seat and looks at me. Unlike many young people, she doesn’t look away as I stare intently at her. She’s either arrogant as fuck or curious. I’m hoping it’s the latter.

“You probably don’t recognize me,” she starts. When I don’t immediately answer, she continues. “I had shorter blonde hair, and I’m pretty sure I almost always wore my glasses because I ran out of contacts and couldn’t get home to get more until after spring semester.” She blushes slightly. I don’t bother telling her that even if her hair had been bright blue, I probably wouldn’t have noticed her because she was a peon, a mere worker bee in my office. She looks past me at my view.

I look back toward my window. “I never get tired of it,” I admit as my gaze follows hers to the historic building through the window.

“How could you? It’s a great view. To be able to see that every day is…well, you’re lucky.”

I turn back to her and watch her look of awe as she gazes upon the Capitol. Shit, have I misread her? I seldom misread people, but maybe she’s one of those idealistic young interns who thinks she can come in here and change the world. I don’t need another one of those. I need someone who is competent, who can research the hell out of a topic for me, and who writes on-point summaries that tell me everything I need to know.

“What do you see when you look out my window?” I ask as I lean back in my chair.

She looks past me again. “History. Over two hundred years of American history. Did you know that the water used to come all the way up the Capitol building? When it was just the north wing, it housed Congress, the Supreme Court, the Library of Congress, and even the local courts.” She leans in and grins, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Rumor has it that some of the congressmen used to go skinny-dipping right outside the building at night.”

Her comment is so unexpected, I laugh on reflex. “Is that so?”

Her face pinkens again, and she nods. She leans back in her chair and looks at me with those mesmerizing eyes. “But that’s not all I see.”

OK. Now, I’m intrigued. I motion for her to go on.

“Power. I see power everywhere.”

Well, maybe there is more to Ms. Martin than I realized.

“Go on.”

“I know what you need. I’ve seen your office at work. I know the staff. I know how things function. You can review my resume if you like”—she pulls out a piece of paper and sets it on my desk not looking away from me—“but what it won’t tell you is that I excel at research, writing, and figuring out people. I know for a fact that I’m the only former intern of yours that has applied for this position. I’m not here to win you over. I don’t need accolades for my achievements. I just want to be part of this.” She motions around us. “As ugly and brutal as things…and people…can be here, there’s a sort of chaotic beauty to it all. I thrive on that chaotic beauty.”

I look down at her resume. She’s smart. She double-majored in political science and communications at a local university. She’s originally from the Midwest. And Harriet loves her.

“Harriet speaks highly of you,” I state, deciding not to beat around the bush because why the fuck should I?

She shrugs. “She knows me. I mean, I wouldn’t have even gotten the internship if it wasn’t for her.”

I raise an eyebrow.

“My college roommate grew up next door to her. She introduced us at a neighborhood party when we were visiting her parents for the weekend. Harriet mentioned that she needed an intern. I mentioned I wanted to intern. And…well, you can put the rest of it together.”

“You’re friends with Debbie and Mike’s kid?” I ask.

I can see the look of surprise on her face. I’m guessing she is both surprised that I even know who Harriet’s neighbors are, and also that I took the time to learn their names. But what she doesn’t know is that learning and remembering names and faces has been ground into me since birth, which makes the fact that I couldn’t remember her even more frustrating.

“Y-yes,” she stammers. “Erin.”

I nod. “I didn’t realize Erin was all grown up.” I pause and look back at her resume. “I take it that the fact you are attending law school at night is another factor in your desire to work here?”

She frowns. “No, not really. Although, the law school is close by, so I could work until class each evening.”

“Law school is intense. Do you really think you can handle this job and school?”

Her glare more than answers my question. “Yes. I double-majored, worked part-time, and volunteered in college. So, maintaining a day job while I take a few night classes shouldn’t be a huge reach for me.”

She’s defensive. I wonder why. Does she think I’m insulting her intelligence?

“I had to ask. I need someone who can be here when I need them here. Days, nights, weekends.” I’m about to dismiss her when she opens her mouth to speak.

---