Sierra let herself into her apartment. It was a modest two-bedroom decorated with a few photographs and a plant her mother gave her as a housewarming gift she never seemed to remember to water. The mostly unused kitchen lead into a spacious living area with an overstuffed sofa and a few bookshelves. Thanks to her artist roommate, Molly, almost everything had flecks of paint on it here and there. Sierra had learned long ago to keep anything precious in her room.

Merlot in one hand, paintbrush in the other, Molly was standing barefoot over a half finished painting of a wildly colored tree. She had moved the canvas from the nearby easel and laid it on the ground. Her frizzy red hair was tied up with a pair of chopsticks.

"Hey," she greeted her, without looking up. "How was your thrilling expose interview?"

Sierra stepped carefully around the prone painting and helped herself to the open wine bottle on the kitchen counter as she kicked off her high heels.

"I had two security guards walk me to my car."

"Seriously?" Molly asked, grinning.

Sierra poured her wine into a chipped glass.

"They didn't even validate my parking."

"Those bastards!"

Sierra moved over to stand next to Molly and stared down at the half-finished purple and teal tree.

"Why is the painting on the ground?" she asked.

Molly swayed slightly as she stared down, sloshing her wine.

"I think it speaks to me this way."

"I think the wine is speaking to you, sweetie," Sierra said, taking the wine glass out of Molly's hand.

"That's a possibility," Molly said.

She gave the painting a light kick, sending it sliding across the apartment floor in a manner Sierra was certain would horrify Molly's publicist. It came to a stop at the foot of Sierra's white board. Molly tucked the paintbrush behind one freckled ear and flopped onto the couch. Sierra sat down next to her and sipped her merlot.

"So," Molly inquired, "Other than that, how'd it go?"

Sierra preceded to regal her with the morning's disastrous events.

"But you haven't told me the most important part," Molly interjected.

"Which is?"

Molly grinned.

"Is he as hot in person as he is on TV?"

Sierra scowled.

"What he is is arrogant. And cagey."

Molly just stared in anticipation.

"Yes!" Sierra exclaimed in exasperation. "He's gorgeous! If you're into slimy politicians."

"I knew it!" Molly said gleefully, snatching up her wine again. "I bet he's got really thick burley hair on his chest that just makes you want to run your fingers though it and pull till he begs for mercy."

"Molly, sweetie, you really should cut back on your wine consumption."

Molly shrugged.

"Sobriety brings only crappy, overanalyzed art. And awkward social interactions."

"Right." Sierra replied. "Because listening to you rhapsodize about Governor Joe's hypothetical chest hair is not at all awkward."

"He really is up to no good, huh?"

"He is definitely up to no good," Sierra assured her. "I just don't know how, or why, or have any definitive proof yet."

"So how are you gonna get him?" Molly asked.

Sierra slumped on the couch.

"I don't know," she confessed. "I don't have a next move yet."

"Well," Molly said as she poured herself and Sierra some more wine, "If you spend any more money on bribes you won't be able to afford your half of the rent. And then I'll have to cover you, and then I won't have any money left to buy wine and over priced brushes with. And no one wants that."

"Heaven forbid."

"I think that leaves you with either sexual favors or stalking."

Molly grinned at her mischievously.

"What else did you read on his calendar?"