Friday night had arrived before she knew it.

Joe had called earlier in the week to tell her they'd be going to La Petite Masion, which Google had confirmed was the most expensive restaurant in Olympia. Sierra couldn't decided if he was actively trying to impress her or just had more money then he knew what to do with.

She had tried on everything in her closet while Molly offered her opinion on each outfit. She finally settled on a classic little black dress with purple suede high heels dotted with metal studs and grandmother's pearls. The shoes were Molly's idea, who had insisted on a splash of color, and far be it from her to question an artist on color. Of course, Molly's most recent painting was of a blue tree.

Sierra tucked a pen and a small notebook into the matching purple clutch, still trying her best to pretend this was an interview not a date. She told herself that the black lace panties she had on were in no way purposefully selected.

Joe arrived at their door right at seven as promised. He looked stunning in a tailored suit that no doubt cost more then her whole wardrobe. He smiled as he looked her up and down.

"Better than what I looked like last time we saw each other?" she asked.

"I don't know," Joe replied, studying her. "I think I might like you covered in mud."

He stepped into the apartment, uninvited, and began looking around. Sierra followed him nervously, grateful that she had pushed the white board full of notes on him into her bedroom.

"You paint?" he asked.

"I paint," Molly said as she walked out of her room. "She writes. And we both drink too much and obsess over our work. Though this is probably the first time she's tried to bang her work."

She shook his hand.

"I'm Molly."

"Joe."

"You know she's trying to destroy you, right Joe?"

"With those legs I just might let her."

Sierra found herself blushing like a schoolgirl and desperately hoping he hadn't noticed. Joe produced a business card from his wallet and held it out it to Molly.

"Give my secretary a call on Monday. I'd like to buy one of your paintings."

Molly snatched up the business card.

"I think I like him," she said to Sierra.

"It's good that you approve." Sierra replied. "Shall we be going?" she asked Joe.

"Of course," Joe said. "You can give me the grand tour later."

Joe swept her out the door of the apartment and down to the parking garage to his waiting Range Rover.

"So," he asked as he pulled out of the garage, "Are you really planning to destroy me?"

Feeling less sure of herself by the minute, Sierra paused before answering, "I haven't decided yet."

He smiled at her.

"Good."

La Petite Masion was located in a charming little white house. The maitre 'd greeted them enthusiastically and didn't seem in the least perturbed that the governor had not bothered to make a reservation. They were lead up to their table on the balcony outside overlooking the cobblestone courtyard below. The menu was almost entirely in French, the wine was fantastic, and the service was excellent.

Sierra waited until the bread course to ask, "So what were you doing out there in the woods?"

"Is this an interview or a date?" he asked.

"You tell me."

He chose another brioche a tete before answering. "I would like to think you're here because you're coming to enjoy my company, but I can't flatter myself that much. Still, I suspect I am growing on you."

"Are you trying to say that you're here for a date and I'm here for an interview?"

"I am most definitely here for a date. And you're still here for an interview, but I think maybe I can turn that around."

"Does that mean you'll answer my question?"

Their first course arrived; a perfectly seared sea scallop on top of a dollop of wild mushroom risotto.

"The truth is I feel a lot more comfortable in the woods then I do at political functions or French restaurants with ridiculously small portions."

"That's it?" Sierra said, disbelieving. "You drove for two hours in the middle of the week to go on a nature walk?"

"I also fish."

"Do you honestly expect me to believe that?"

He smiled at her mischievously.

"What else could I have been doing?"

He was taunting her. He'd brought her to a $100 a plate restaurant just to taunt her.

"Okay," she said. "It's a date."

"It is?"

"If this were an interview, you'd actually answer my questions."

"Really? Have you interviewed many politicians?"

Sierra stood up to go.

"Wait!" he grabbed her hand. "Don't go. I hear the chocolate soufflé is excellent, though also tiny. And if you stay, I'll tell you where the money went."

Cautiously, Sierra sat back down.

"It was a payroll advance for a camp employee. Her daughter's sick and she really needed the money. It wasn't a strictly above board move, but I wanted to help her out. That's an honest answer."

"That was one hell of an advance Joe."

"Like I said, sick daughter. The cost of health care is deplorable. Can we talk about something else now? You did say this was a date."

"What should we talk about?"

"How about how you look in that dress? Or how I'd like to take you to the woods sometime to look at the stars at night, only this time you should wear better shoes, unless you'd like to roll around in the mud with me again, because that's really been the highlight of my week? Or how very tiny this food is and we're going out for steak and baked potatoes after this? I know a good place."

Sierra wasn't sure what to say. He was lying to her. She knew it. He was hiding things that went far beyond the standard skeletons politicians kept in their closets. And yet all she could think about was how she'd really like to drive two hours into the woods with him just to look at the stars.

"The food is tiny," she agreed.

"They're practically child sized portions. I think the chef is actually trying to starve us."

Sierra laughed. Joe reached across the table and held her hand.

Suddenly there was a commotion from downstairs. Loud, but still indistinct voices shouted at each other. After a moment Sierra recognized one of the voices as the maitre 'd.

"-can't go up there!"

"You intend to stop me, son?"

There was more shouting, loud footsteps on the stairs, and then the doors burst open. The man that pushed through them had shoulder length grey hair. He wore jeans and a sleeveless t-shirt that left his muscular, tattooed arms exposed. He had no shoes.

"Joe!" he shouted, "Are you ever going to get a damn cell phone?"

"This isn't a good time, Eric."

"You know him?" Sierra asked, bewildered.

"Yes," Joe replied. "Eric is in...public relations. Eric, this is Sierra. She's a reporter," he said pointedly.

"A reporter. Are you shitting me with this?" Eric replied. "We have problem with Brenda."

"What kind of a problem?" Joe asked.

"The big hairy kind. The kind where you need to come with me right now."

"Alright," Joe said. He turned to Sierra.

"I'm so sorry. Can we try this again another time?"

"Will you tell me what this was about?" she asked.

"Probably not," Joe said.

Then without warning he leaned down and kissed her. The kiss was long, and hungry, and lit her body up like a shot of adrenaline. He pulled away and planted another small kiss on her forehead.

"Enjoy the soufflé," he told her.

And then he was gone. Sierra sat back down in her chair, stunned. Their waiter reappeared and set something chocolately smelling down in front of her.

"Soufflé mademoiselle."