Michael sat at his desk in his legislative office, chewing ice out of a Raising Cane’s Chicken Fingers cup. He was wearing a suit with a blue tie: his standard Lincoln wear, and had his strawberry blonde hair gelled back, a strand of it undone unbeknownst to him. Across the desk from him was Sophie Lowry, sitting in the guest chair, wearing a red blouse and one of her many black pencil skirts. Her red curls fell on her shoulders, deliberately messy. She was scribbling away notes as she conducted the last interview of her Lincoln story.
“So,” she prodded, “what do you think the chances are of you getting Arnie Chaser to pressure Rainn to vote ‘no’ in committee?”
“Well,” Michael answered, “off the record of course, on the one hand it’s going to be hard to get Chaser to do anything for me.
