“So, what is this cookie night?” Genny and the President waited in the Dining Hall of the Second Floor of the Residence. It was so formal, like everything else here. White wainscoting, elegantly tasteful wallpaper the color of a soft sunrise, and an elaborate crystal chandelier dangling over a circular table of dark mahogany that could seat ten. And the seam down the middle suggested that it could be expanded for even more. A spread of hors d’oeuvres had been spread upon the table. She took a few on a small plate. Peter, refusing to cave to the formality of his surroundings, grazed, taking an olive here, a deviled egg there, and eating them with little regard if they were to scatter crumbs.
Per instruction, she had changed into casual clothes, at least the most casual she had with her, bl
