"Ms. Christie? The governor will see you now."

Sierra Christie took a moment to put on her most non-threatening smile. She had spent two hours getting dressed for the interview this morning, rejecting one outfit after the next before finally settling on a pale gray pencil skirt that nicely accentuated her waist and a flowery blouse showcasing no small amount of cleavage. She topped the look off with a double dose of mascara and baby pink lipstick, and left her hair down in a tumble of blonde curls. The look said, "girly", "innocent", and maybe even "easy." It said, "I'm here for a meaningless fluff piece on your charity work Governor Norwood. Certainly not to question you about a scandal that could end your career and land me my next promotion. You don't have a thing to worry about."

Smile plastered in place, Sierra pushed open the imposing oak door and stepped into the governor's office.

The room within was not quite what she expected. No crystal decanters of overpriced liquor on the sideboard. The walls were devoid of the usual array of commendations and smiling photos of himself shaking hands with people more important than him. Instead, most of one wall was taken up by a massive dry erase board. Tacky, yes, but clearly practical. It was covered in barely legible notes on upcoming meetings, proposals, and bills. It was not unlike the one Sierra herself kept in her apartment, currently covered in color-coded notes on the man sitting in front of her. The rest of the walls were devoted to a few nice photographs of the woods, a calendar, and, of course, the large windows showcasing a panoramic view of Olympia below. The desk, far from the usual neat and commanding status symbol most politicians kept, was a mess of papers and post-it notes. This, Sierra decided, was an office that was actually used. Governor Norwood did not use his position just to have a few drinks and knock off early to play golf.

Before she could let herself be too impressed, she reminded herself he was also in all likelihood using his position to embezzle great sums of money.

The reality check was warranted, because if the office hadn't already disarmed her, the man behind the desk would have done it.

He was staggeringly handsome. Of course, he always looked that way in photographs and TV appearances, but somehow she had still expected him to show some fault lines up close. But Joe Norwood had none of those flaws expected of a man of 46. His button down shirt barely concealed his obviously muscular frame. Sierra briefly wondered where he even bought dress shirts big enough for that barrel-sized chest (no doubt he had them custom made with his ill-gotten gold). His almost black hair fell across his face, threatening to obscure his similarly dark eyes. He had a deep golden tan that could have only come from a lot of time outdoors or cooking in a tanning bed. Sierra was 5'9 and currently teetering on 3" heals, and yet when he stood he loomed over her by at least a foot.

He gave her his best politician smile and held out his hand.

"You must be Ms. Christy from The Post. So nice to meet you."

His hands were rough.

"Please," she implored him, "Call me Sierra."

He quickly rearranged the sheaves of papers to clear a space on the desk in front of her as she sat down.

"Sierra," he repeated with another campaign winning smile. "Like the Sierra Nevada Mountains?"

"You'd have to ask my mother."

"Well Sierra, you can call me Joe."

First name basis already, but it didn't surprise her. Joe won his election on his "everyman" demeanor. With a smile, a warm handshake, and a plain-clothes look, he had waded in with fishermen, picked grapes at vineyards, and tromped through the woods with local hunters. People loved "Governor Joe" for his approachability and blue-collar quality.

"Joe," she repeated. "It's great to meet you in person."

"So you're here to discuss the Camp Norwood program?"

"That's right," she lied easily. "Why don't you tell me more about it?"

She had her iPad at the ready to feign taking notes as he regaled her with his latest charity project. Half summer camp, half preparatory school, Camp Norwood was a free four week summer program available to underprivileged children with promising grades and standardized test scores.

"Kid's today spend so much time with their eyes glued to those things," he waved vaguely at her iPad.

"I want to give them a chance to have fun without the screen time. Play outdoors. Fish, hike, rock climb. No television, no computers. These kids will play in the dirt. And get an education too. We're hiring the best in astronomy, botany, marine biology, and entomology. "

"Sounds impressive. It also sounds expensive."

"It is," he agreed. "But not a dime in tax payer money, I can assure you. All contributions for the project are coming from myself and private donors."

Careful now, Sierra cautioned herself.

"I hear your charity auction was quite the successful fundraiser."

"Better than we could have hoped," he replied. "We raised over 85% of our goal."

"Yes," she said, glancing down at her notes. "The project's budgeted at ten million dollars."

"That's right."

"Budgets can be tricky though. It looks like you've already purchased the land for the project and hired a contractor to begin construction. Yet you've already spent eight million dollars. May I ask what the rest of the money went towards?"

Just for a moment, his smile slipped.

"You must be mistaken," he said. "Our budget is right on course."

"Not according to this," she countered, and showed him the bank statement copy on her iPad. "Most of the money has already been withdrawn. Where did it go?"

His smile vanished as he read over the bank statement.

"Where did you get this?"

"From a friend," she said simply.

If by friend, you mean the broke teller she had bribed with almost a week's pay.

"Where did the money go, Joe?"

Joe tried his best to smile again, but this time it didn't quite meet his dark eyes.

"You should recheck your sources Ms. Christie. This is obviously a fake statement."

"My sources are-"

"I'm afraid that's all the time I can spare for you. I have another appointment."

"You don't have another appointment, Joe. Your secretary has you scheduled for this interview for half an hour. It's only been ten minutes."

He paused, dropping all pretenses now.

"You read my schedule."

"It was on your secretary's desk. I just happened to glance at it."

"No. It's on my secretary's computer."

There was a cold fury behind his eyes that Sierra didn't like the look of. But far be it from her to let this man intimidate her. She leaned back in her chair casually.

"You should encourage her to lock her computer screen when she goes to the bathroom. There's no telling what someone might find on there. I wonder what else you're hiding."

Joe took a deep breath, regaining his composure, and stood up.

"Ms. Christie-"

"Please, Joe, call me Sierra."

"Sierra, it's time for you to go now. I'll have security see you out."

She stood and smiled at him.

"Do you really think I require an escort, Joe?"

"Yes," he said as he dialed security.

He gave her a look of annoyance mixed with grudging respect.

"Apparently, you do."