The plan was
perfect. Not only that, but it was a plan which simply could
not fail. Murphy had considered all of the possibilities, all of the loopholes, and all of the roadblocks. She was certain that by the end of this lunch, she
would have C.J. Cregg convinced of the fact that she really just
deserved to be let back into the White House. So she'd roughed up C.J.'s boyfriend a few times, so she'd shot some spitwads at Steve and Chris... and some other people... and maybe they'd ended up a little close to the podium once...
But that wasn't going to matter in about an hour and a half. She was positive that in that time, she'd be able to show C.J. the light of her newfound maturity and self-control. She might've actually taken the time to laugh victoriously if she wasn't already occupied with sipping her club soda through a straw.
So caught up was she in the workings of her grand master plan that she didn't notice that she was drumming her fingers on the table and tapping her foot impatiently. Glancing at her watch, she noticed that it was 12:05. That was
a whole five minutes past the time they'd agreed upon.
"Geez," she muttered, her teeth still clamped onto the straw, "I even let her
pick the damn place and she still doesn't show up on time?"
The Iron Gate Inn Restaurant definitely wasn't her territory, but that was, in fact, the place C.J. had picked for this lunch. Murphy figured that if she was going to go to the trouble of calling C.J. just to suck up to her, it was probably better to let her select their meeting location. And at
least she picked a place with nice food.
Murphy glanced at her watch again. 12:06. She sighed and drummed her fingers faster.