I huff and I puff... | Eric & Celia
11am, White House | @celia-bosworth
There are a few things that are difficult in the White House beyond the usual avoiding of daggers and snoops. One rather overlooked aspect was how now, thanks to the admirable desires of one Hilary Rodham Clinton, smoking was banned across the whole building. There was one place left for the designated cancer producers, a dingy little concrete house in a hidden part of the Presidential gardens, that offered very little in the way of comfort.
Yet like crazed cultists, the smokers ventured so far out of their way for a magic little puff anyway. Eric was no different. Smoking had been a habit since his legal days, nothing like the neverending bliss of nicotine to get through an endlessly night of legal worries and tribulations and his life had only gotten more stressful since.
As he stepped through the finely trimmed yard to the smoking spot, his eyes caught a fellow addict and he slowed down, his blue gaze pinning the woman down. She was recognisable though it took him a heartbeat to recognise her. “Celia right? Mrs Berkeley’s staff?”
“Mind if I join you?” He was already pulling a pack of out his suit and sticking the tobacco between his lips as he waited for a cordial reply back. He’d seen her around the White House, stuck to the hip of the FLOTUS but the first lady’s life was barely his issue. Still, he couldn’t help but linger over her form for a brief moment. She was pretty, that was very true.
